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Author Topic: █ MxM with intros to go █  (Read 2182 times)

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Offline deanwaxTopic starter

█ MxM with intros to go █
« on: November 20, 2016, 06:27:26 AM »
Closed

Hello, I've been roleplaying for 1000 years and I'm also Australian, so strap in for swear words!
  • I'm a fairly regular poster but I'm also an employed adult with other hobbies, so have reasonable expectations and I'll do the same for you. I generally check on people after a week. If you ignore my check, I assume I've been dropped. If you tell me you're busy for X amount of time, I'll wait. Too easy.
  • If you don't have post history on this forum, I'll probably ask for a sample. If this scares/offends you, you're not in a good space for creative collaboration. I have samples in this thread.
  • Quality > Quantity. Posts need meaningful interaction or dialogue for me to work with.
  • I'm a character driven writer! Vibrant characters with strong personalities and side characters who give their lives dimension. I want your character's thoughts and feelings to come through loud and clear, too.
  • On that note, passive characters bore me. Any characters with primary descriptors along the lines of "delicate", "intellectual", "submissive" etc. and just so, so overdone in the realm of my own RP experience. I don't play them and I don't want to play against them. I'm way more into ego clash.
  • Story with smut but not smut without story.

PM me with your ideas if you're interested!
« Last Edit: July 14, 2020, 05:23:05 AM by deanwax »

Offline deanwaxTopic starter

█ M x M █
« Reply #1 on: November 20, 2016, 07:27:39 AM »
ADDITIONAL CONTENT NOTES

The dark stuff
I find emotional and psychological distress, grim scenarios, addictions and mindfuck a million times more appealing than what I'd call "punching bag porn", which is boring. So while I will work with subject matter like kidnapping and slavery, I expect it to be strapped to complex emotional and social themes. Cannibalism may be used as a horror device but not eroticised. I'll generally check with my partners first before including any heavy content.

World building
I fucking love world building, whether it be an actual world or just a fictitious culture or subculture within an established setting. Bring on the detail!

Historicalesque > History
Having limited knowledge about history but having also watched an absurd amount of costume dramas, I'm very familiar with the look, feel and rhythms of a lot of historical cultures but not the specifics. So if you're looking for a XYZ-era-inspired setting or XYZ-culture-coded universe without getting too bogged down in the details, I'm your guy!

Settings & themes
I'll work with almost any setting! Past, present, future, realistic or fantasy. Off the top of my head, the only themes I have a real aversion to are warfare, police and military. It's just not my cup of tea.
« Last Edit: June 27, 2020, 02:20:23 AM by deanwax »

Offline deanwaxTopic starter

█ M x M █
« Reply #2 on: November 20, 2016, 08:20:44 AM »
QUICK IDEAS

I'm bold.

██ Whoops, most of my ideas have intros ready. ~efficiency~

SUGGESTIONS WELCOME!
« Last Edit: July 02, 2020, 08:46:25 AM by deanwax »

Offline deanwaxTopic starter

█ M x M █
« Reply #3 on: November 27, 2016, 08:10:04 AM »
INTROS READY TO GO
██ Blemished goods - taken

Good ol' fashioned Master x Slave. This is roughly set in the 1900s in an AU where slavery is widely accepted everywhere. It would suit a master with a penchant for light bloodplay, or even a vampire.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Name: Teo Soriano
Species: Human (Mixed Spanish/Caucasian)
Age: 21
Height/build: 5"11"; runner's build.
Face: Brown eyes; thick, natural eyebrows; sharp nose; cupid's bow lips, angled jawline. Olive complexion with extremely heavy freckles; clean-shaven.
Hair: Dark brown hair in a crew cut.
Piercings/tattoos/scars: No tattoos or piercings. An S-shaped slave brand on his throat that would be covered with a collar once purchased. Unescorted and uncollared slaves out in public would be arrested.
Occupation: Slave
---
Teo Soriano was soiled goods in the unfairest sense: the handlers at the market had likened his freckles to a man who had stood off to the side when mud was blasted from a shotgun. The blemishes were everywhere: his face, his collarbone, his arms, legs and hands. And masters were flighty: a simple matter of soiled skin was enough to put a dent in his sale price, and didn’t he just hear about it every time he went back on the market? Things got worse as he got older, and he didn’t just mean his freckles were darkening. He wasn’t a boy any more, and who would want a grown man as a child’s playmate, or cup bearer, or errand runner? They even preferred boys for picking fruits in the orchards: they were more nimble on the ladders.

No, at twenty-one, there was only one type of market his sellers were interested in: whatever could fetch the highest price. They had taken him to the Pleasure Market. In the receiving room, he had been received with great disdain.

“Stick him in Fringe,” a bearded man waved his hand dismissively.

Teo’s heart had jumped in his chest. Fringe was a place for freaks to buy other freaks for the breaking: maniacs and other rough sorts who already had pieces missing. “There’s nothing wrong with me!” he protested, his manacles rattling their chains.

“Just look at ya,” the old man sneered. “What kind of toff is gonna want a piece of muddy skin?” His associates, all equally burly men without much empathy, snickered in agreement.

“Stick me in Labour, then,” Teo said hurriedly. While I’ve still got all my fingers and toes, he thought.
 
“Ha! Another five years of pushups, and maybe you’ll be good for Labour,” the seller jabbed a finger in his chest. “You’re soft. Meat your age is only good for one thing, and if it’s not good for that, then it’s good for Fringe.”

There was only one way Teo could ever appeal to these men, and it was a matter of coin. “Fringe never gets a good price!” he cried. “Why discount me when I’ve still got all my pieces?!” He held up all ten fingers as if to prove a point.

A dark chuckle spread throughout the workers. “You think you’re good enough for Companions?” the bearded man jeered. “Go on, then,” he held up a solitary finger in Teo’s face. “One week. See if you can get a higher price.”

That had been six days ago. Teo was understandably tense. Here he found himself seated upon a blue silk cushion, for the sixth day in a row, beside varying types of merchandise that seemed impossible to compete with. He was dressed in a very wide-necked shift of a semi-translucent white cotton. He sat, arms unbound (Companions were supposed to know how to behave) and legs akimbo, exposing the white loincloth that wrapped around his waist and up between his legs to keep him decent. His back was against the wall in more ways than one. He could see the edge of the sign for the door that lead to the Fringe department from where he sat. His fingers drummed incessantly on his knee.

“You look desperate,” a haughty voice beside him said. A cherubic, blond little thing that had been here all of two days, who sat neatly with their legs folded underneath them and with shift spread over flawless thighs.

“Shut up,” Teo muttered, his brown eyes darting to and from each face in the passing crowd. He hated how they glossed over him like some kind of ugly vase in a store.

“Master’s don’t like desperate,” the other slave lectured.

Teo’s face cracked in a manic little grin. “You’ve clearly never fucked ‘desperate’ then,” he said, fingertips still drumming. “Gets the blood running.”

The blond scoffed. “That’s not what-- mmph!” Teo had been on him in a flash, seizing him in a hard kiss that stopped him from breathing. He struggled, weakly at first, thinking it was a jape, then enough to slap and scratch at his arms.

“What the fuck is goin’ on ‘ere?” the section attendant growled, striding over to break them apart. The blond came away with a brilliant red bottom lip.

“He bit me!” he cried, blue eyes already brimming with tears.

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Teo said raggedly, licking the blood from his lips. He was promptly cuffed upside the head by the seller, followed shortly by a slap across the face from the other slave.

“Keep your hands to yourself!” the attendant barked.

“He bit me!”

“Do as you’re fucking told! And you,” the attendant turned on Teo. “What the fuck are you playin’ at?! Get your muddy arse up and report to Fringe.”

“Fine!” Teo snapped, his blood racing. He pushed himself up stormed down the market hall with scarcely a glance backwards at the cunts he had left behind. It was enough, though, to not be looking where he was going, to crash directly into oncoming pedestrian traffic. “Fuck!”


██ Fairchild commune

A young man from a hippy commune x New guy in town. There's gonna be some queasy conflict between wholesome hippy stuff and straight-up eco-terrorism and non-eroticised cannibalism, so strap in.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Name: Riley Hope Fairchild
Species: Human (Caucasian)
Age: 18
Height/build: 5'9"; average build with light musculature.
Face: Pale green eyes; thick, natural eyebrows; snub nose; cupid's bow lips. Outdoorsy but not heavily tanned complexion; clean-shaven.
Hair: Wavy, golden brown hair, about 3 inches long, typically an unruly mess
Piercings/tattoos/scars: No tattoos or piercings. A few dime-shaped scars on his thighs and buttocks.
---
Riley Hope Fairchild stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn't seem all that self-conscious about it. In fact, he barely seemed conscious about his differences at all. Not about his wild, un-styled hair or the little daisy tucked behind his left ear, nor how different his well-worn, hand-made clothes were in a sea of t-shirts and jeans. His cut-off pants were made with hemp, actually. His shirt, or maybe it was more of a tunic given how long it was, was made out of off-white cotton, with a v-shaped pattern embroidered onto the front half of the neck - goats and suns, if you looked close enough.

His bare feet had caused a stir at the front office; there'd been some staff turnover since the last exams and there was a new lady at the front desk who hadn't dealt with any homeschools from the Farichild Commune before. Peggy was a forty-five year old former accounting assistant whose eyebrows flew up into her salt-and-pepper hairline at the sight of this young man's bare feet in her hallway. Not too dirty - he was cleaning them, at least, but bare all the same. "We usually require students to wear shoes, for health and safety purposes."

"Oh," Riley shrugged and smiled. "We don't do that."

We. The older woman bit back the phrase you people behind her tongue. "You all don't wear shoes?" she clarified.

"Yeah," Riley said, repeating what he'd been told to repeat. "It's a religious thing. You can phone my parents if you want. We have a phone - the number's engraved here," he lifted the hem of his tunic and reached into a little hand-woven pouch belted to his narrow hips, pulling out a folded pocket knife. Sure enough, there was a phone number engraved on the handle, but the means of delivery caused a whole new wave of alarm.

"Oh!" Peggy said. "We don't let our students have knives in the school."

"But I need it to sharpen my pencil." Riley's pouch was also carrying a #2 pencil and an eraser: everything he needed.

"We have sharpeners at the front of the exam room if you need to do that," Peggy explained.

"Okay, can you please keep this safe for me until the end of the day?" Riley asked sweetly. "Please be careful with it - it's a family heirloom."

It was polite, calm exchanges like this that caused Peggy and countless others to second-guess themselves about their opinions on the Fairchild Commune. They numbered maybe thirty or so, all living together in a property that bordered on the woodlands by Pondstone Lake, and it had been that way for about a hundred years. Everybody knew of them, but not much about them - the local sheriff never so much as heard a peep from them. They all seemed to be good, nice people, but they had an air of eerie detachment from the usual way of doing things that set most folks on edge.

So, Riley wasn't too upset by the fact that most of the students milling outside the exam room seemed too spooked to approach him. That was normal, and downright fair: he'd never gotten to know any of them, after all. He took all his lessons at home and only showed up for state-mandated tests to prove that he was learning the curriculum just fine.

He only seemed a little unsettled when a smartphone camera flashed in his direction. "Please don't do that," he said clearly wth a furrow in his brow. "I don't like it." 


██ Space Beets

Terrorist x Another prisoner on a literal prison planet, in space. BIG sci-fi vibes with a view to a jail break and other planets. I can work with alien species, but keep it humanoid.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Name: Dannid Koet
Species: Human from Quarth 4, a synthetic microreproduction of planet Earth brought to you by QualCorp™
Age: 28
Height/build: 5'11", lean, wiry muscle
Face: Hazel eyes, natural eyebrows, strong features, full lips, chipped eyetooth. Fair-skinned with caramel undertones, unlikely to be sunburnt due to great care in avoiding exposure.
Hair: Chestnut brown, but may appear grey due to the ashes used as a rudimentary dry shampoo. Long and uneven due to being hacked off with machete once there's enough to grip at the base of his neck. Widow's peak hairline. Preferably clean shaven but usually has stubble due to ineffective shaving tools.
Piercings/tattoos/scars: In addition to unremarkable wear and tear scars, there's a square inch patch of scar tissue on his right temple where a computer interface chip was forcibly removed.
---
The world was simple here; small, low tech, monotone, repetitive. It was possible that Dannid was on the edge or already right in the middle of a psychotic break. That was part of the punishment, right? Beets. The plant grew with a flower with an easy-to-get seed, sometimes ships would pass and air-drop more of the seeds onto the soil in open areas where they’d take root pretty easily. It reminded Dannid of those ancient-times crop duster planes back home. The ones that  had sprayed pesticides, or mustard gas. Perhaps there were a weed. Whatever they were, they were edible. You were more likely to die from being out in the open than starvation here; just ask his machete. Standard issue. Getting one was easy, keeping it on you or even just keeping it sharp was another story.

There’d been a guy who had died, pretty obvious why, his skin had rocky protrusions just like whetstone. The left forearm severed from his carcass had kept Dannid alive for about two years now. He kept it buried under the dirt floor of the hut he’d built by the river on the cliff, far enough from the top of a waterfall that he could still hear the snap of a twig. It was out in open if someone bothered climbing up here, sure, but they didn’t. Not if they were smart. The last one who tried had taken a pretty thrilling swim. Dannid slept with his machete under his pillow.

Wake up, beets. Check the forest line. Water the beets that were still growing. Rub the ash from last night’s fire into his scalp. Risk a bath if he couldn’t take it any more. Alone. Exposed. Fix the hut. Do push-ups; gotta stay active, gotta stay fast. You’re going to die here but you don’t want it to be today.

They said they had a way to find you at the end of your sentence but Dannid doubted it; this was a rock where they stuck you to forget you, that they sprayed with beet seeds to keep the Universal Council of Conduct off their asses. He’d pissed off too many people in his days, but fuck, it had been funny. Fuck, it had been worth it.

Scan the tree line. He wondered if he thought he was stupid. He wondered if he thought he wouldn’t notice a change, however slight, in something he looked at a dozen times or more, every single day, for months now. Straightening up, he kicked the firewood he’d been splitting off of the chopping block. Yanked the greying singlet of his high enough to expose a nip with a mad-bastard grin, dragged the machete across the line of his throat nice and slow. He should have known better to come around here.

It didn’t stop his routine. Dusk. Fire. Beets. Box the air again. Whittle stakes out of branches. Looking at the stars was a bad idea if you wanted to stay sane.

“I’ll kill you, you know,” he spoke aloud, maybe for the first time in days. He couldn’t remember, but he was surprised that his voice came out just fine, not raspy and out-of-practice like you’d think. Stay hydrated. “I can hear you.”
 


« Last Edit: July 23, 2020, 08:34:42 AM by deanwax »

Offline deanwaxTopic starter

█ M x M █
« Reply #4 on: January 05, 2017, 08:19:59 AM »
ayyy 2017 bump
« Last Edit: August 31, 2017, 12:24:38 AM by deanwax »

Offline deanwaxTopic starter

█ M x M █
« Reply #5 on: July 31, 2017, 06:34:45 AM »
Wahey guess who's back
« Last Edit: August 31, 2017, 12:24:44 AM by deanwax »

Offline deanwaxTopic starter

Re: █ M x M █
« Reply #6 on: August 09, 2017, 08:35:34 AM »
Eh, fuck it. Overhauled content.
« Last Edit: August 31, 2017, 12:25:21 AM by deanwax »

Offline deanwaxTopic starter

Re: █ M x M █
« Reply #7 on: August 16, 2017, 09:06:29 AM »
Added 3 intro starters; A Familiar face, Cobra's Poison and Ranch Trouble.
« Last Edit: August 31, 2017, 12:25:09 AM by deanwax »

Offline deanwaxTopic starter

Re: █ M x M with intros to go █
« Reply #8 on: September 18, 2017, 11:05:42 AM »
Merry September

Offline deanwaxTopic starter

Re: █ It's MxM Time █
« Reply #9 on: June 19, 2020, 11:10:55 PM »
Been about 3 years.

Offline ConstantineStories

Re: █ It's MxM Time █
« Reply #10 on: June 22, 2020, 10:50:59 AM »
Hey man: I'm very interested in "A Familiar Face" and "Gloryhole."  I can role with either or can create something else.  Very detailed and creative and looking at a more longterm arrangement.  Your descriptions of how you write and what you want to write are spot on for me.  Let me know if you need a sample!

Offline deanwaxTopic starter

Re: █ MxM with intros to go █
« Reply #11 on: June 26, 2020, 05:04:57 AM »
Update for new intros:
Welcome to the rich side
Blemished goods

and revised Quick ideas for current tastes.