Topic: Quill's Inked Ideas.

[Inks]

Where to start...

I joined Elliquiy over five years ago, which is an accomplishment on its own, I suppose. Unfortunately, when I started writing here, I was in the middle of finishing my undergraduate, and then, as time went on, my graduate degrees. No matter how deeply and desperately I wanted to write, school and life in generally seemed to sap the creativity out of me and my muses, leaving me struggling to do one post, let alone five or fifteen. The trials of a hobbyist writer, I guess you'd say.

Thankfully, over five years later, I've finally found myself in a place where balancing my days, my projects, and what I do for work isn't as deep of a struggle as it used to be and though I would give anything to spend the rest of my life doing nothing but writing, I've finally found a way to fit at least a small amount of it into each and everyday. I've never felt so fulfilled in this department, honestly.

So, where am I and who am I now?

I'm twenty-sox, a college graduate (not that that means much today), a girlfriend, a mother to one ridiculous dog, a 'housewife', a best friend, an insomniac, and a creator. Take that last one how you will. I spend most of my days bouncing between projects - whether it's my blog, a craft project, or simply writing a drabble or thread. I'm an extremely casual gamer, an audiophile, and I absolutely love horror movies rating A through "Jesus, what the f*** did I just watch?"

Specifically for Elliquiy, I'm here because after writing for months on Tumblr, I missed the simplicity of Elliquiy. I missed the focus on context and though this may come off as pretentious, I miss writing with adults who aren't just looking to be part of a clique or break laws to get off (Underage/Minors writing smut is a major issue on Tumblr.) I also miss the real community that's here - the group of writers who join constantly to encourage, help, and push each other to build upon their passions.

That aside, here I am. Back, excited, and looking to start over or pick up where we left off if we had a thread - just let me know on that front. Here, in this thread specifically, you'll find a basic gist of what I will and won't do (you can find my Ons and Offs here), a few very basic characters I have on hand that I can mold and manipulate for nearly any situation, and the skeletons of multiple plot bunnies.

Right now, I'm working on reposting all of that in a unique way to me, so bear with me as I get this thread in order. As it stands, if you want to catch me, PMs are your best option.

I hope to hear from you soon~
I.

[Inks]

Out of Character Ons

1 | Communication. It is absolutely essential that we talk. I have had way too many threads just die over things that could have been fixed with a simple, “Hey, can you…” Please, in the name of whatever god, talk to me. Additionally, if I am telling you that something you are doing/writing is making me extremely uncomfortable, please hear me. I don’t do it often, and believe me when I say, I can write some really dark shit, so please, if I’m coming to you about something, actually listen.

2| Respect. I may be a little rough around the edges, and I may cuss like a sailor, but here’s the deal: if you respect me and my wishes, I will go above and beyond to respect you and yours. It’s really that simple with me.  I like respect, especially with my writing partners, so it kind of kills the mood when I feel like I’m getting none.

3 | Compromise. I want you to have fun, so even if the original idea for a story was mine, nothing makes me happier than seeing a partner getting involved, changing plot elements, throwing in curve balls. I want our stories to be a compromise, and the more that happens, the more attention and care I’ll put into what we’re doing.

4 | Humor. This may seem like a little out of place, but I live for laughing. More than that, I love laughing with my writing partners, over our story, over something we found online. If you think I might laugh, share with me. I will love you forever.

5 | Attention to detail. Nothing will get me more into a story than a partner clearly having taken the time to respond. Whether through the use of specific language, or going so far as to look up random facts regarding the culture/time/era we’re writing in – if you show even a small attempt at adding depth to our story, I will love you long after the story ends.

6 | Playing Female Characters I prefer, by and large, writing the female characters in our threads. I will write the male lead for friends and that's about it. It's an exhausting adventure for me and I always feel as if I'm lacking in some sort of realistic context when writing them. Besides that, it's less fun for me due to the exhaust and toll on me and my muse.


 Out of Character Offs

1 | Don’t. Be. Rude. If you have a problem, if something I’m doing/not doing, writing/not writing isn’t working for you – let me know! Just, don’t be a dick about it. I’m willing to change, and more than willing to work with partners, readers, and friends, but being rude to me or berating me isn’t going to help the situation.

2 | God Modding. Now, I don’t just mean abruptly killing/damaging my character without letting me know. That we can fix. I mean writing my character for me. Don’t tell me what she’s doing, or thinking. If your character is giving her the best lay of her life, don’t write “It was easily the best sex of her life”. Let me do that. That’s why we’re writing something together. Nothing will make me drop a story faster than seeing you take control of my character repeatedly.

3 | Severe Lack of Detail. I get that some people just aren’t as good at description as others. Hell, I’m not all that great myself, but I do try. I want to know about our setting, about your character, and I need help with that. If I start to feel like I’m the only one putting in effort, and after talking with you, nothing changes, the stories going to get dropped.
 
4 | Regarding Smut I will not, under any circumstances, write smut for the sake of writing smut. I know, this sounds a little extreme, but I have so much trouble writing sex scenes without any real context, any real character depth. It bores the ever living hell out of me. This also includes plots that begin with and focus on sex as the main motivator behind well, everything. I need more to a story to keep me engaged, to keep me focused. Can we have a plot that starts with a one night stand and builds into something more? Sure. What I'm talking about are those threads that start with smut, lead to more smut, and are 90% about nothing but smut, making smut happen, etc. I just...There's more to life than sex and I like my writing to reflect that.

5 | Regarding BDSM. So, I normally wouldn’t do this, but I feel like it’s a necessary evil. I love BDSM scenes. I think they’re the tops in stories, but here’s the deal. I know when you don’t know the first thing about BDSM culture. I know when you don’t know the basics, and worse, I know when you’re basing your knowledge off of 50 Shades of What-the-fuck-ever. I know because your character starts treating my character like an animal to be tamed, expecting them to be easily cowed, expecting subservience. I don’t write subservient characters. I can’t, and I can’t write BDSM scenes with people not willing to even do a basic Google search. Please, do not engage in something like this, if you’re going to expect a subservient character. It’s boring for me, and I will have to drop the story.

6| Regarding Reality v. Roleplay. Just to be clear, I am not my muses. I am not my characters. I write them, I give them their voice, but I am not them and the line between reality and fiction will never cross. If you try to blur that line, if you ask me if I'm getting off to something we're writing, if you try to lay claim to me, I will give you one warning, and then our connection will be ended if the issue continues. I have a significant other (you can find him here as Falkflyer), and I am not here looking for anything more than friendship and an outlet for my creativity. Trying to cross that boundary will make me uncomfortable and chase me away. Please respect that.

[Inks]

Andi Bullock

Andi Bullock | 26 | Magazine Editor
Born the third of five daughters, Andi was your stereotypical middle child. Quiet, often overlooked, and taught to be more observant than active, when she chose a life of writing, of fixing other's mistakes, no one was surprised. The editor of the foodie blog and magazine "Taste This!", she spends her life in a constant cycle of correcting copy, tasting new recipes, and spending too much time travelling, tasting, and sleeping alone.

After years of working from mail room to editor's office, Andi stepped out of her comfort zone, joined forces with another editor and a dear friend of theirs and opened a bakery. Putting the pen down and picking the whisk up was, in a way, freeing. Sure, she was the owner that was rarely there, but from her travels came some of their best-sold treats. From her columns came the stories of others like them - others who had stepped out of the world of safety they had built for themselves and into the world of passion, of food, of risk and reward.

At night, when she's home, she finds herself reading recipe books, trying new flavors, making her own. She often fills the void in her bed with books, with the lessons from women and men who had made the same jump she did. Her sisters fill the rest. Abby, Lina, Deidre, and Callie all lived within a few hours drive, all joined forces once a month to catch up, and while Andi assured herself they wouldn't miss her if she was gone, she never misses those sessions, never misses family get togethers when she can avoid it.

What she has yet to do, while jumping into a new unknown and holding onto the familiar hands of family, is reach out for love, for commitment. After all, who could understand her hours? Who could understand three am cupcakes and five am taco-truck runs to sate curiosity when it abruptly strikes?

You can find Andi in my story with Adonis, A Life Long Escort.

[Inks]

The Harlequin Romance

The Harlequin Romance.

When they ask me about my future wife, I always tell them that her eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long. I tell them that she has a walk that can make an atheist believe in God just long enough to say, ‘God damn’. I tell them that if my alarm clock sounded like her voice, my snooze button would collect dust. I tell them that if she came in a bottle, I would drink her until my vision is blurry and my friends take away my keys. I tell them that if she was a book, I would memorize her table of contents. I would read her, cover to cover, hoping to find typos, just so we could both have something to work on, because aren’t we all unfinished?
-Rudy Francisco, "A Lot Like You."

Cliches can often lead to some of the best stories. For this 'idea', I want to keep it open to any of your typical love stories. Guy meets girl, falls in love, things fall apart, and come together. Maybe a spouse dies first. Maybe it's a high school situation. This one is purposely left absolutely open in order to welcome any and all ideas. Some of my personal favorite pairings are listed below:

Lost Princess & The Heir Apparent
High School Sweethearts Having Drifted Apart
The Girl/Guy Next Door
"My Best Friend's Wedding."
"Pretty Woman."
The Princess and the Pauper

Broken Anonymity

Broken Anonymity.

The parties I usually go to
consist of coffee and feelings. A few times a week
we sit in a circle and try to piece our lives together,
we don’t remember them so clearly.
- Michael Lee, "Waking Up Naked."

Character A and Character B meet at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Character A has struggled with alcohol in the past, however Character B is actually not an alcoholic at all and is attending the meetings in order to research the subject for a book. As they grow more attached, both at the meetings and outside of them, Character A finds out that Character B has been lying and relapses due to the pain of betrayal. Character B, guilt-ridden, attempts to fix what they’ve done.

The Arrangement

The Arrangement.

She's not of money, and in a land where the only way up is through marriage, this new union is her only escape from the mud and hard work she's been accustomed to. Unfortunately, it's also the only way her family can keep their land - which means she has to do everything in her power to make her new marriage work. All she can hope for is a husband who is as willing as she to find common ground.

Finding Peace

Finding Peace.

Eli came back from Iraq
and tattooed a teddy bear onto the inside of his wrist
above that a medic with an IV bag
above that an angel
but Eli says the teddy bear won't live

and I know I don't know but I say, "I know"
cause Eli's only twenty-four and I've never seen eyes
further away from childhood than his
eyes old with a wisdom
he knows I'd rather not have

Eli's mother traces a teddy bear onto the inside of my arm
and says, "not all casualties come home in body bags"
-Andrea Gibson, "For Eli."

He is a veteran fighting the demons he couldn't leave behind. She's a therapist of a different sort - focusing on the power of the arts to heal. Whether it's music, painting, or yes, even dancing, she shows those who were willing to lay down their lives a new way to use their hands - one meant to help them find their way home in mind as well as body. It's a hard job, emotional, taxing, but she loves it, and in time, she finds she loves him too - loves the niches of who he is.

Spoken Word

Spoken Word

All the poets that you love listening to
love lying to you.
I’m not that egocentric to make you believe that I’m not one of them.
I lie all the time,
mostly up here.
See, I’ve been doing this for a little while
and I’m starting to understand things:
poetry is not about telling you the truth.
It’s about telling you the version of a story
that gets the most reaction,
the one that flows the best on the mic,
the one that has all the lines
that the audience is going to like.
See, maybe the truth
isn’t supposed to rhyme so well.
Maybe it doesn’t have to rise to a crescendo.
The truth
never sounded like sound bites
and name dropping.
- Chad Anderson, "Liars, All of Us."

She is a writer, a poet. By day, she's something else - a baker, a teacher, a financial analyst for some wall street broker trying to make it rich - but at night, when she's in a dark room, drinking cheap coffee, she's a poet. It's the only place she feels like herself, like she can be something more than just another cog in the metaphorical machine. It's the only place where her opinion matters, where her voice can be heard. The last thing she thought she'd see when she took to the mic, a poem on the tip of her tongue, was a coworker looking just as dog tired as her, just as lost in a sea of nothingness that has become their 8-hour a day, 40-hours a week job. He's the last person she thought might understand, and for a while - they say nothing, merely exist in the room of coffee and slam poetry. Over time, their poems, their words begin to wrap around one another, the lines secret notes passed from her lips to his.

(Note: This game will include the need to write  poetry, even if it's only in short bursts, so please keep that in mind.)

The Friend Zone

The Friend Zone...


Ladies, admit it, we all have that one guy “friend” that has always been more than just a friend.

He’s the guy you always find yourself to be around with after breaking up with your ‘yet again’ jack-ass boyfriend. The always willing ‘rebound’ guy. Hardly really rebound 'cause you both know for sure that he’s been there since day one, even before the jack-ass boyfriend/s happened. He’s the one that makes it seem alright that your boyfriend is cheating on you. He’s the guy you know you love but not really “in” love with.

He is your history. You probably been with him for ages now. Number of boyfriends and girlfriends had passed but you two, inseparable.

He’s the one who replies to your midnight SMS in a heartbeat. The one who stays with you on the phone until you’re finally sleepy. He’s the one who stalks you on your daily afternoon coffee hour. He’s that spoiled friend you deliver snacks to at work. He’s the one who doesn’t mind going to work late just to flirt with you on your not-so-good days.

He’s your regular coffee date. That one friend you don’t understand why you have to be all pretty and dressed up when he asks you out to lunch. You hardly go on dinner dates 'cause you’re both scared of 'stares’ and 'speculations’. But he’s the one who tucks your strands behind one ear while you’re trying to pretend to be invisible whenever you see familiar faces at the same restaurant you’re 'friendly dating’ in. He makes you order his meal assuming you know his favorites and food allergies.

He’s the one who never gets tired of taking you out for a stroll. He knows you enjoy it. He loves playing with your fingers while you’re watching the city lights pass by you. He’s that guy who randomly hugs you from behind, that thing you love. He’s the guy you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss.

He’s the one who hates your short dresses, your shorty shorts, your high heels, but lets you flaunt them anyways. He’s the one who wipes your face when he thinks you had too much make up on. He’s the one who never fails to say you look great even without the help of MAC.

He’s just cool. Doesn’t pressure you with commitment. He tolerates that 'party animal’ side of you and allows you to go out drink with the girls (not that you needed his permission but it had been customary ever since). And when you get crazy drunk, he’s there, always to the rescue to drive you home. (not a date or a friend can stop him)

It doesn’t bother you if he goes out with other girls, or at least you try to pretend that it doesn’t. You’re never afraid to ask him whenever you get into hearing that he’s been out with some girl and he always tries to deny (confused why) until he then admits and asks you if its ok.

He’s the one who never gets tired of inviting you to, go bask in the sun at his favorite island, go drive away to the East, go fly away to the North, though you never really had gotten the chance to say yes..yet. You’re always the first to know of his travel schedules. You’re his personal assistant on most days. You’re the first person he would like to see whenever he comes home from a vacation.

He’s the one who replies with “I can pass by” whenever you text him with “I miss you today”. He’s the one who gets monster angry when you don’t show up. He’s the one you always have big fights with among all your other guy friends, and the one who will keep you up bothered at night until you two make up.

He’s your confidant, as well as you are to him. Nobody knows you more than him, so is he to you. You both know each other’s darkest secrets and worst embarrassments. You both know when to keep your distance and when to stay close. You both know when to stop communicating, and when to run to each others arms again.

He is your saving grace.

He’ll be there until the next tear drop falls

He’ll be there until you get over your jack-ass ex

He’ll be there until your yet another heartbreak

He’ll definitely still be there even after you get married, and get into a messy annulment.

You’re not exactly sure about how he feels about you, and you’re not actually sure about your feelings for him. You go on with your life convincing your selves, you’re “just friends”.

The only thing you both are actually sure of is, you can’t go on without each other.

And then late at night, when you know you should be sleeping, you find yourself awake at 2 in the morning, texting him, asking him if he’s still up, and he replies in a heartbeat, saying, “what’s wrong babe?”

The Runaway Heart

The Runaway Heart


She wore blue jeans and a rosary
Believed in God and believed in me
All her friends think she's a little crazy
She wears a smile, heart on her sleeve
Don't give a damn what the world thinks of me
She tells me it's all good
She's happy with a bad seed
Happy to be misunderstood
- Kid Rock, "Blue Jeans & A Rosary"

He's a biker - a President of a 1% club constantly caught up in the wrong side of deals - the side that doesn't always pay, but when it does, it does. She's not quite the preacher's daughter, but her family is part of the Catholic church in town. She's a dancer, volunteers for multiple charities, helps out at the hospital in the hopes that one day, she'll be one of the nurses helping people day in and day out. Her dad - divorced from her mother, removed from her life - is an old timer in the MC, the club that runs their sleepy little town. He's a good man, she knows, but her mother has worked hard to protect her and her brothers from the life, to give them a fighting chance at something more, and her dad has respected that. What neither parent could plan for was their daughter being the one there when one of the club member's gets shot, when she's suddenly thrust into a life surrounded by men rougher than any she'd ever known. Now thrust under the club's protection and unable to go anywhere without being followed, she has to learn to live with men watching over her like a hawk - one man more than others.

The Call

The Call. 

Today was gonna be the day
He'd already wrote the note
And parked that Chevrolet
At the end of that dead end road
Had his finger on the trigger; just about to end everything
He was taking one last long breathe; when he heard his cell phone ring

And his best friends say man where you been?
We're headed down to the lake this weekend
You better not miss it 'cause buddy I swear
It won't be the same If you ain't there
And I told that girl that you like so much
You were coming along and her eyes lit up
I better let you go man I really hope I didn't catch you in the middle of anything

He said you kinda did but I don't mind at all
I'm glad you called

- The Call, Matt Kennon

Depression is hell, especially when colored by a life chock-full of hell. S/He'd been looking for an out after the third round of psych-cocktails failed to make a difference. S/he'd been looking for a solution, always coming back to the same one, the one everyone condemned, the one s/he couldn't admit to out loud for fear of being told what s/he already thought: s/he was a lost cause. Carrying out the plan had been time-consuming, had meant planning things a living person shouldn't have to think about - wills, last request, clean up...Leaving a mess behind would just be cruel at this point.

So, what happens when that planning goes wrong? What happens when you get to the end of the road and find...more road waiting for you?

 

Investigation

Investigation

She was a journalist, one who spent more time researching than she did socializing, so when she was asked to research a lifestyle that had recently hit mass media because of 50 Shades of Grey, she figured a little time on the computer would solve her problem. Her boss, however, had another idea entirely. He wanted accounts - first hand - and observations of local clubs. That, unfortunately, meant she had to go out, had to find contacts that didn't actually exist. What started as basic research exploded into interviews, observations, and inserting herself into a tight-knit community overly worried about more negative attention from the media.

(Note: There's more plotted for this one, just waiting for the right person to pick it up with, and on that note -- roles are negotiable, I'd just prefer to play the female regardless if she's journalist or not.)
 

Among the Dothraki

Among the Dothraki

She is not his wife. She, by all rights, belongs to another - taken as spoils of war, made to breed, made to bore sons meant to ride, meant to rule. She will never be a Khaleesi, but she is the one who draws his attention, his passion, the part of him that is neither gentle, nor tender, but is everything the Dothraki cherish and worship. She does not bend to him, had grown watching Khal Drogo's own Khaleesi refuse to bend solely because she is woman, had grown with a pride and strength all her own.
 

The Perfect Night

The Perfect Night.

And now we've outstayed our welcome and it's closing time
I was holding her hand, her hand was holding mine
Our coats both smell of smoke, whisky and wine
As we fill up our lungs with the cold air of the night
I walked her home then she took me inside
To finish some Doritos and another bottle of wine
I swear I'm gonna put you in a song that I write
About a Galway girl and a perfect night

A chance encounter, a night of adventure, passion, and fun. At the end of the night, you both go your seperate ways with the intention of having one, perfect, well preserved memory. What do you do then when that's not enough? When the other person is someone you can't get out of your head? When you need to know more about them? How far are you willing to go? How close are they without you knowing?
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[Inks]

Sibling Rivalry

Sibling Rivalry

They were born under the same moon, with powers unrivaled by any. Siblings, twins, mages, masters of the elements who were at one time the best of friends. But time itself has not been kind, tragedy has turned one cold, has made the other distant. Now, they often find themselves clashing, strengths against strengths, weaknesses so obvious it's only a matter of time before one destroys the other. What happens, then, when they are forced to join forces? When they are forced to set aside decades of hatred and resentment to work together?

Rise of the Valkyrie

Rise of the Valkyrie

She's a two-thousand year old valkyrie. A woman warrior blessed by gods and birthed by strength, a being of incredible power, and incredible beauty. Petite and deceptively wicked, it is stunning to the whole of the Lore when she is caught, taken in the dead of the night never to be heard of again. He is her captor, her keeper. A man with a motive she can't wrap her head around, one she fears and despises. (Based on the Immortals After Dark series, Open to Discussion.)

When Packs Collide

When Packs Collide

In werewolf society packs dominate the land from right beneath the noses of humans, fighting over and guarding territorial lines. Character A and Character B are wolves from enemy packs and are told they need to become mates in order to settle a dispute.Despite how their families are appeased by this arrangement, Character A and Character B continue their rivalry, treating each other as enemies all the way to the bedroom.

Persephone Lied

Persephone Lied

Based on the poem below, I'd like to write a version of Hades and Persephone that is less kidnapping and more...willing capture.

The truth is, I was bored.
My mother blissing ahead of me, rosebuds rising in her footsteps,
And I skulking behind, thinking,
Oh look. She walks in beauty.
Again.

Her power could boil rivers, if she chose.
She doesn’t choose. She scatters
Heliotrope behind her.
And me, I’ve no powers. I think she’d like
A decorative daughter. A link to the humans
She feeds with her scattered wheat.
A daughter wed to a swineherd’s just the thing
To show that Demeter’s a down-to-earth
Kind of goddess.

Do you know what swineherds talk about?
Swine.
Diseases of, ways to cook;
“That ‘un’s got no milk for ‘er shoats;
Him, there, he’s got boggy trotters.”

And when he leaned in, smiling,
While we sat in a bower sagged with Mother’s honeysuckle,
When he said, “Now,
My herd’s growing and I’m thinking I could feed a wife—”
That’s when I snapped, I howled, I ran.

And when a hole opened up, a beautiful black, in all the pastels of my mother’s sowing.
Let me fix the lie: Nobody grabbed, nobody pulled.
I jumped.

I thought it was a tiny earthquake,
Thought I was killing myself,
Starting a long journey to Hades.

It was a more direct trip
Then I’d imagined—
I landed in his lap.
He just looked at me, said “Well,”
And kept driving his chariot down,
Flicked his leather reins near my face.

He did not give me flowers.
He never spoke of pigs.
Didn’t speak much at all. Just took me down in darkness
And did dark things.

I liked them.

I stumbled through his grey gardens, after,
Sore and smiling.
And the gardener said, “Little girl,
Little sunlit flower,
You belong in the world above.
Trust that they’ll come for you,
But while you wait
Don’t eat the food of the dead, for it will trap you here.”
And I said give me the fucking fruit.

But when I ate I could hear her howling,
See her spreading winter on the world.
My poor mother, who missed me after all;
My poor swineherd, starving.
Huddled up for warmth with the few he hadn’t eaten.
I spat out half the seeds.

So now I suffer through the summers,
Smile at the swineherd who tells me
Which shoat is off its feed.
Smile at my mother and walk behind her.
My powers have come to me now, and in her candy-colored wake I scatter
Sundew and flytrap, nettles and belladonna.
I smile and wait for November,

For when I come back to you.
Your clever cold hands and your hard black boots.
I don’t ask what the leather is made from.
I don’t think I want to know.

His Favorite Story

His Favorite Story.

By day, she is the ghost that haunts his home, a figure roaming from room to room while he works, watches tv, hosts parties, reads. By night, she is his favorite story. Her body, her pages, her spine, caressed and held in calloused hands meant for creating, baking, building. He holds her like a lover, alone in his bed, her story his favorite to read once, twice, a hundred times over. Each night they lay together, his mind a million places and on her all at once. For weeks, this is their dance - one he is an unknowing partner to until fate intervenes, until the heroine of his favorite book - beautiful, intelligent, and mysterious - becomes his next customer while already sharing his bed.

A Family Unbreakable (A Harry Potter Verse RP) (Takenish)

A Family Unbreakable

They were an old family - one driven by old money and old power dating back to the days of Merlin himself. For years, they had kept their heads down and silently supported the Dark Lord's cause through monetary support and by providing a safe house for all those on the run from dementors and the Ministry alike.  As numbers dwindled and the powers shifted to mudbloods and worse, they remained in the background, fighting for what would be a losing cause. Through trial by fire, they fought to keep their holdings - marrying off their only daughter, Angelina, to a not-so-distant cousin in order to keep their lines pure, and their traditions strong.  Their eldest son became their bigger issue - a man refusing to brings heirs, a man who preferred the hands of other men than those of his own wife. (This would follow the story of the children - the brother and the sister trying to make it in a war-torn world, under suffocating traditions)   

[Inks]

[Inks]

[Inks]

Personal Threads
Places where you can find me or my inspiration.


Inks' Splattered Corner | Storyteller Cafe
A Little Ink for the Well | Finders/Seekers
An Empty Well | My A/a

Current Stories
A list of my current games and my lovely partners.


The Words unspoken | KazCasparis |Bondage
For the Sake of the Heart | Adonis |Bondage




Group Games
Obvious explanation is obvious




Paused
Stories that have not been responded to in a month or longer.





Ended
Stories that have ended for one reason or another since my return to E.


Leather and Scrubs | Cardoc | NonCon



 Please Note: This list has been updated as of 15 July 2017. I've removed roleplays that have no had replies for over a year. If we had something you'd like to revive, please just shoot me a pm and we can discuss it~

[Inks]

Looking to add 1 or 2 new threads.

[Inks]

Added the perfect night.

Currently craving: The Perfect Night. Runaway Heart. And Rise of the Valkyrie.


I am only willing to write the female roles for these.