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Author Topic: Eve Does Like Pickles! (FxM, Plot Driven Fun)  (Read 536 times)

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Offline EvePicklesbgTopic starter

Eve Does Like Pickles! (FxM, Plot Driven Fun)
« on: November 05, 2019, 12:24:18 AM »
So excited to be accepted, to explore this amazing space, and best of all, meet other writers! This is a work in progress. There are so many amazing threads and profiles and I am still learning.

About Eve Pickles:
Hey, that’s me! This is the part wherein which I impress anyone who has clicked on my little name. I hope to entice you into taking up one of my prompts and creating a story with me. That’s what I truly love to do: create. Create characters and worlds that live and breathe. I want to make you smile, entertain those who read our words. In short, I adore the written word.

I’m a long-term writer, descriptive and wordy. Too much so IRL so maybe that’s why I enjoy this hobby! I am looking for another long-term partner who is willing to write on google docs once we get started. I’m ever so hopeless at formatting on forums and the like. I like to send along a chunk of story every few days. Life gets in the way, however, so drop me a line if you need to table our story. This is for fun, not to stress anyone. I can chat on Google Hangouts or on the forum. No discord, I am so sorry!

I will send paragraphs, at least 5, more if the narrative demands it. My tone varies from scenario to scenario. Adaptable, I like to think I am. Collaborative. Flexible. Very open to new ideas. Throw them my way and let’s plot!

First or third person perspective works for me. Weaving in a cast of characters for our protags to work with or against adds excitement, conflict, and a way to move the story ahead. I would enjoy worldbuilding, character crafting. I am more than willing to have extra docs for the plotting and notes.

I am a heterosexual female and my main characters tend to be such. I’m open to writing with anyone willing to write a male main character. Our side cast can be of any permutation; that adds to the spice.

Story Genre Preferences/Themes:
  • Historical
  • Fantasy/Mythology
  • Modern Day/Slice of Life


  • Slow build of tension and conflict
  • Light BDSM elements; I am generally on the sub side
  • MxF pairings
  • Romance/Affection
  • Forbidden or Taboo elements such as cheating
  • Oral/Outercourse/Teasing
  • Breeding/Pregnancy
  • Ample Adjectives
  • Size Differences, large male, smaller female


  • List incoming!


  • Underage characters
  • Blood/Gore/Vore
  • Beast play
  • Toilet play/Scat/Watersports
  • Zombies (don’t laugh!)
« Last Edit: November 10, 2019, 08:41:22 PM by EvePicklesbg »

Offline EvePicklesbgTopic starter

Re: Eve Does Like Pickles! (FxM, Plot Driven Fun)
« Reply #1 on: November 05, 2019, 12:45:14 AM »

These are prompts I've fiddled with, have grown attached to, and would love to find a partner. As I've said, feel free to broach any ideas or critiques you may have because I'd love to improve my skills.

What In Hades?

It would be fun to do a modern twist on Hades kidnapping Persephone and bringing her to live in his underworld kingdom. She is an average college coed, unknowingly the reincarnated goddess Persephone. He has been waiting thousands of years to reclaim his wife. She’s a smart ass and he’s… the ruler of the underworld! I’m very open to Hades’ appearance and personality, though I assume he’d at least have dark eyes. This story will likely have lots of references to the myth (hope you don’t mind!) lots of arguing, more than a few spankings by an irritated and stymied God. I could see for this one: Dom/sub dynamics and play, magical cum, bossy gods and demigods, spicy dialogue, spanking, cum-play, oral sex, copious adjectives, and plot. 

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Maybe you have heard of me. My name is Persephone. Yeah, seriously. Persephone? What the hell were you thinking, Mom? Who names their daughter after a random Greek goddess, not even a cool one like Athena or Circe, someone with some real power. No, she named me after the goddess of vegetation and spring, the one who got snatched by her creepy uncle and dragged to the underworld for six months out of the year.

And don’t even mention how hilarious it is that my parents own a goddamn nursery and that I am forced to work in when I’m not in class. It is just heaping insult on top of injury. It is a necessary evil, however. Selling flats of peonies and azalea bushes is putting me through college, paying for my makeup, and the usual college crap. 

Sigh. So my name and my inherited green thumb have always been a sore spot for me. Thank god most kids growing up knew very little about Greek mythology and just mispronounced my name (PercyPhone, anyone?)

So other than those few details, I’m a pretty typical girl living a pretty typical life. Until HE shows up.

It starts so innocently. A normal (read: boring) day manning the counter of Gaia’s Garden (again, Mom, why?!) I’m hunched over my bio textbook and praying to every god in heaven that I pass my midterm. Mitochondrial DNA, what a bore. When the bell chimes, I paste that friendly, aloof smile I save just for the customers. It shifts to something a little more alluring because my new customer is very male. Very, very male. It’s pure feminine vanity, naturally; I’ve been dating my boyfriend for a few months but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of mutual admiration.

He buys a potted African violet and throughout the entire interaction, his eyes are fixed squarely on me. My stupid need for light flirtation morphs into an urge to see him gone. He’s too intense, too big, too… much. My father is puttering around somewhere, but that doesn’t stop the nervous chill crawling up my spine.

“Lovely, very vibrant.” His voice is sibilant as he runs a fingertip over one of the blooms. We both know he isn’t referring to the plant.

I drop my gaze to see the edges of the flower curling slightly, turning brown. “Shoot, it’s wilting! I’ll get you another-” Anything to get me away from his disturbing presence.

He cuts me off and drops more than enough cash on the counter. “It’ll do. Persephone.” His mouth forms my name so sensually, I turn a bright red. He smirks. Then he’s gone, making for the door in long, loping strides. Odd. Very odd.

I mention to my mother the darkly good-looking guy and she hoots with laughter. “Persi, you walk around with your breasts bulging out of your top half the time. You can’t be surprised! Better not tell your father.”

The look I give her speaks volumes. Never. Dad always thinks even my simplest Gaia’s Garden tops are indecent.

I could swear I see him again, in the shadows at dusk a day later. Then again, why would a man like that be watching a girl like me? Probably too much test prep and not too much sleep. There’s no way he’d come back again, right? Yeah well when he returns a few days later, this time for a small cactus that nervous chill turns into a fucking blizzard. Who is he? He pays cash again, taking care never to touch me or the plant itself.

Dad emerges from the office, whistling tunelessly. “Your turn to water the backlot.”

“No way!” The man is forgotten in my irritation. Watering those plants is literally hell. Literally! I know for a fact it’s Dad’s turn to hike back there. A heated battle ensues and naturally, I am the loser. Fuck. I’m grumbling under my breath when I emerge into the humid air, the sun beating down on me brutally.

Dad forgot to close the back gate again. I get to nag him about that. Yippee! It’s the simple pleasures that make life enjoyable, you know? That’s the last thought I have in my head before everything goes black, like pitch-black can’t see your fucking hand in front of your face. A noxious smell, like sulfur, fills my nostrils when I suck in a terrified breath to let out a scream. Bands of steel lock my arms against my sides but that doesn’t stop me from trying to kick out, free myself. Then there is nothingness.

I wake on something soft, in a cool room. My head throbs painfully like the morning after a kegger. I’m licking at dry lips as I fight to open my eyes. The room I am in is… unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Walls and floors of black marble, more Corinthian columns than I have fingers and toes, and the bed on which I rest is as big as a lake. Some kind person has removed my jeans and tank top, exchanging them for some weird draped Grecian style gown in emerald green. When I tilt my head, I can see a demented hairdresser has arranged my hair in spiral curls falling over my shoulders; I’ve never in a million years worn my hair this way. This is some creepy shit. “What in the hell…?”

“No, dearest Persephone. You mean ‘what in Hades.’” A familiar voice tickles my ear.

A Saelkie's Quandary

Have you ever had an idea that nagged at you until you could get it written? This one was inspired by a song and an amazing friend helped me flesh it out. I love the idea of these creatures wavering between land and water, never really settling. Where the story goes is up to anyone who wants to tackle it with me! I’ve written it in a sort of ancient, fantasy time but a modern-day warrior come to recuperate by the sea would work as well. I’m very open to appearances, personality, time period, basically everything. I’m a long term writer, love plot and conflict. Will he admit he has her skin? Will he bind her to him?

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
My people are said to be cursed to long for what we do not have. From the time the sub was born until the time it dies, we will be plagued by longing. A longing to be where we are not. When we are seals, we send wistful looks toward land. When we stand upon the earth, we ache for the sea.

Such a persistent and nagging desire it is, that we shed our seal-skin when the whim strikes and take to our human legs as often as the wind changes directions. Almost as soon as we cut our first teeth, our mothers sing to us of coves and inlets where we can hide our pelts and walk amongst the mortals. It is a widespread practice to have a lover above and a lover below.

The villages that make their living from the sea know of us. They respect us. They even desire us.

It is those that come from far away who do not know the power of the sealskin or the draw of the waves. Those are the ones I learned not to trust. They find our pelts and hide them, tie the saelkie to them in matrimony until the mortal grows lax with contentment. They always do. Humans are weak when it comes to pleasures of the flesh and pleasure of the cooking fire. Perhaps as she sings wistfully the ocean wife finds her hidden pelt. Or perhaps her children stumble on it.

Then what is a saelkie wife to do? Is she to stay by her weak husband’s side? The white seafoam is in her, it IS her. She will snatch the hide and return to her true home, leaving behind her man and her children.

The call of the sea is too great.

The waves crashed hard on the packed sand, splashing up the jagged walls of the cave. The girl, Emora, cried out in anger. It echoed shrilly around the space but she didn’t seem to notice. Didn’t care. Deep brown hair tangled with seaweed and speckled with gritty sand, she clawed relentlessly and with a frantic pace.

It was gone. Gone.The skin with its sleek hide and familiar comfort was gone.

Emora shrieked again and again, intently burrowing deeper and deeper until the tips of her fingers struck unforgiving rock. They bled, not violently but enough to give her pause.

Tears streamed as she rose, dripped from her cheeks and nose and returned to the sea. A sea that beckoned to her. As strongly as she had felt the lure of solid earth between her toes now she indeed feels the pull of her watery home. Her kind. Her mother and father and brother and cousins and childhood playmates.

She had only come up for a night! A single night, seeking a farmer’s large arms or a fisherman’s rough palms. Even a tavern-keeper would have been acceptable if he’d been ropy and strong. A warrior, however, was not on her list of acceptable candidates. They come from far away, her mother warned her, and did not give the sea its due respect.

Sex and mating are things all animals and people and sea creatures do so there was no shame when she’d left her underwater grotto to find a lover.

To her great dismay, after the trouble of stowing her skin and finding the threadbare dress left by another saelkie, after the admittedly lovely moonlit walk from the sands to the seaside village perched there on the gray cliffs, after all that effort, the men had not been to her liking. Too fat. Too thin. Too old. Too young. Too drunk.

She’d dallied for a time with a young man in a crude lean-to near his crude cottage. Emora has gone away more frustrated for he did not know the ways of a woman. Or himself.

A grimace had marred her face as she had washed away his seed and stomped off into the night. Maybe another village further along the coast would yield better results. It wasn’t hard to find a man willing to bed a seductive girl with heavy breasts and a small waist and little time to talk. She’d find someone more suitable in another village.

Yet when she returned to leave the clothes and take up her sealskin, she’d found it gone. Rage and fear battled for supremacy inside her and escaped in near-incomprehensible screams. Who could have taken it? Who would venture into a cave said to be frequented by sea creatures?

A fisherman might hold it hostage for a large ransom of fish to see him through the winter. A tavern-keeper would trade it to a fisherman for a sack of gold. A farmer would give it to the tavern-keeper. These things followed a pattern. There was always the chance that a lonely villager had taken it to hopefully take a wife. Women from the sea were wild and vengeful without the staying hand of a man. With a man, they were docile and dutiful and lustier than many human women.

No, that could not be the cause for a lonely villager would have stayed near the cave to claim his new bride.

No one had bragged of a found pelt in the tavern. The young man didn’t mention one. What if… her stomach clenched tightly. What if it had been one who did not know the ways of the sea…

She tore out of the cave, kicking up sand and rocks with her bare feet. The fact that the waning moonlight touched her naked body, she did not care. What use did she have for clothes if she was to die here on the land?

The beach was dimly lit now that the moon was going to its heavenly bed; she whipped her head around, ready to rip away her precious possession from whatever mortal held it.

There was no one. Emora screamed again, gnashed her teeth, blood pumping madly. “MY SKIN! RETURN IT TO ME!” And she waited. No one replied. No one but the rhythmic waves and the bubbling foam.

It was then her wide eyes saw the light. Oh, it was small, flickering, obviously not those tallow candles the villagers used to light their homes. It didn’t come from the clutch of houses clinging to the cliffside or beyond the small trail that leads to the village proper. No, it came from the small copse of trees she had avoided when she’d first come here hours ago. Why would she go to the forest when a cock was more easily found in snug little taverns and houses?

Water licked at her ankles while she snaked down the beach. She wanted to touch the sea as long as she could before plunging into the wooded thicket and taking back what was hers. Her heart cried a bit as she veered away from the shore, her footsteps less frantic and more quietly methodical. If she could sneak into this campsite and find her pelt… no one would have to die… or marry anyone…

Quietly, up the hill, avoid the dead branch, the thorny bush, take cover. A large tree blocked her view and Emora drew in a pull of air. It still smelled of the sea but it was overlaid with the scent of firewood and cooked meat. Not fish. Meat.

Let it not be a stranger to the sea. Let it be a jilted husband, a morose farmer, but not a stranger.

She eased herself around the thick trunk as soundlessly as she could manage, to stare at the snapping fire and its lone attendant.

Supervillains Make Terrible Boyfriends - Closed

A silly idea that came to me the other day: how do super villains find girlfriends? Would there be a special app? Maybe the sister of a henchman? I thought it would be fun to explore a hopeful supervillain who is growing his super villain business (death rays are expensive, you know) but is also very interested in dating. Of course, she’s nuts about him and doesn’t know precisely what he does. At first. The story would pick up when he reveals his true occupation.

It would probably be fairy vanilla and romantic, lots of flirting, lots of dates that turn out to be missions to scope out the world’s largest diamond or secret lairs or finding loyal henchmen. Should she go all in and help him with his villainy? Will she draw the line at his dream to melt the polar ice caps? I’m very flexible about appearances and personality and his evil shenanigans.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Super villains make shitty boyfriends. 

Or at least that will be the conclusion I come to when I find out what it is you *actually* do. Because you lied. However, I am blissfully unaware of that fact. As it is, I am asserting, very loudly and drunkenly, that’s IT guys make shitty boyfriends.

“He’s always fucking working, y’know?” I wave to the bartender because the level of booze in my glass is getting dangerously low. You can’t have a whiny bitchfest without plenty of lubrication. “Instead of going hiking, he had to go into the office.  We were s’posed go to a concert next week but he said he’s gotta go to look at some servers or some stupid shit.” What the fuck is a server anyway?

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Two months. I thought-,” A hiccup then a tiny burp interrupt my tearful words. “I thought he was a really great guy. Attentive and smart, sexy in kind of a nerdy, intellectual way. You know… just my type.”

My friends all make the exact same sympathetic face and the same aw sweetie, you pathetic bitch sound. A sound I know all too well. A sound I make when things in my love life are going swimmingly. And now… now I’m here in this bar during the happy hour crush, steadily getting loaded of gin and tonics (two slices of lime thankyouverymuch) and wondering where I went wrong.

Where we went wrong. It started off normally. I swiped on a cute guy. I mean, you didn’t have a picture of yourself with a dead fish so I was intrigued. You said you liked reading… actual books. You enjoyed traveling. You were employed. What more could a girl ask for?

It got even better when we started texting. You typed in complete sentences that ended with punctuation; you used emojis judiciously and never that unfortunate eggplant. I was smitten. We met and the chemistry was there, I know it was. I know you felt it. Our first kiss was an explosion, a fiery, hot… wet… torrid explosion. Oh god. I guzzle the last of my drink to cool myself.

We were taking it slow which I didn’t mind. If that kiss was any indication, the sex is going to be phenomenal.

Was going to be phenomenal.

Because it’s over. Definitely over. If you can’t find time for me then we are through! As another drink magically appears before me, I make my decision. I get it; we both have careers we want to advance but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have personal lives. Right? If you can’t set work aside for a few weekends a month and maybe a weeknight every once in awhile, outstanding sexual chemistry or not, we just won’t be compatible. Look at how mature I am being.

My friends all nod sagaciously. End it. More fish in the sea. Dick is prolific and easily found. You can still be friends.

So I tossed back the last of my drinks and ordered an Uber. Better to get it done quickly so I can put myself back out there. My stomach drops at the idea of endlessly perusing a selection of men who just won’t measure up.

Too late now. Get ‘er done. Somehow, my hand raises to knock on your door. I tried for a polite little tap-tap-tap but tipsy me has managed a rather loud BANG-BANG-BANG. Fuck. I sound like the damn police. As you appear, I’m fiddling with my dress, my hair, my purse strap.

Ignoring the fact that my mouth goes a little dry, I blurt, “You’re always fucking working!”

An Elven Courtship - Closed

A love story between a human prince and an elven princess. Elements of fantasy and romance with a bit of old fashioned tension from two words colliding to stop a war. Simple, straightforward with lots of room to world build and develop a history.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Many eons ago, back when the world first began, the elves lived together in peace. The Wood Elves lived freely in the forests of the land, helped the earth bloom and thrive. The High Elves ruled and built beautiful cities amongst the Great Trees. Their capital, Celusindi or The Green City on the Blue River was a beacon of refinement and spirituality. Though they were very different in the way they worshipped the earth, the two peoples lived in harmony.

Yet the Dark Elves did not live as one with their brethren. Avaricious and sneaky, they made attempts to steal, cheat, and lie. Banished to the arid west, they seethed with anger. They thought the High Elves were haughty, the Wood Elves backward. Their kings eyed the glittering capital city with greed. They desired the fertile lands the Wood Elves occupied. However, the Dark Elves found themselves unable to defeat the joined armies of their brothers so they bided their time. Waited. Watched.

There was a tentative peace as the humans in the north grew from babe to man. They learned to live in the cold regions, learned to grow what crops they could while the Elves lived peacefully to the south of them.

But the day came when the High Elves heard murmurings of war. The dark ones began assembling their forces and making threats. They demanded tribute, food, gold, slaves, everything.

So the king of the High Elves turned to the Wood Elves but they had become peacefully lazy. King Eroan sought help from the warriors in the nation to the north, the humans. After all, should the High Elves fall, the dark ones, the Drow would surely come for the human lands next. He offered his greatest gift, his only child and the throne she would one day inherit.
« Last Edit: November 10, 2019, 08:45:52 PM by EvePicklesbg »

Offline EvePicklesbgTopic starter

Re: Eve Does Like Pickles! (FxM, Plot Driven Fun)
« Reply #2 on: November 10, 2019, 09:25:33 PM »
Mighty Aphrodite Seeks Acolyte

Aphrodite needs a man. Right now. That doesn’t mean she’s going to settle for anyone! Who will she spot across the bar? Will she use her sex goddess powers to induce him to come home with her? A man who perhaps reluctantly agrees to submit to a woman half his size, becoming her one-man harem? A man who wants a one night stand but is drawn back? A dominant who battles with her? As usual, open to ideas!

Things to explore: Clothed sex, light D/s, size differences, power clashes.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Attractive Greek goddess seeks long-term adherent devotee. 5'1, blessed with blonde curls and heavenly endowments. Adore romantic walks along the Styx, anointing myself and partners in oil, and fine dining. Please be hung like Adonis ready to submit dedicate yourself to my pleasure cause.

“Aphrodite, get off that fucking phone for a Gods-damned minute!”

The lights in my penthouse dim and flash, shocking me from writing the worst dating profile bio in the history of the universe. The phone jumps right out of my hand and slams into the far wall. My father has had a flair for dramatic entrances for thousands of years. Long, tedious years.

“Father, I have asked you repeatedly not to just appear and do your whole thunder and lightning routine.”

Zeus, King of the Greek Gods, Ruler of Mount Olympus… dear old Dad.

One would think being a goddess would be easy. It should be easy. I can make things appear with a snap of my fingers. I’m immortal. I’ve got a sweet fucking penthouse funded by my father. I’ve got gravity-defying tits and an ass that will never sag. I am the fucking goddess of love, beauty, pleasure, procreation...and prostitution but that’s irrelevant.

It just ain’t easy. First of all, I’ve got Zeus riding me every day about this and that. He calls me a troublemaker. Me! Yes, I’ve sparked a few conflicts. The Trojan War, my smiting of Hippolytus, that mess with my ex and Ares… I’m essentially the perfect goddess of love other than a few trifling snafus. However, according to my father, I’m nothing but a burden.

Then there is the more pressing matter, the reason why he has descended from his tacky marble palace on Olympus. Although come to think of it, he was probably transforming himself into a duck or some shit to seduce some dumb farm girl. Yeah, my dad is freaky.

"Where is your acolyte, girl?"

“Zeus, please stop using that voice with me!”

He sighs, aims a thunderous glare at me. Though he lowers his voice, he retains the gray nimbus that curls around him. So very intimidating. “I gave you a month, Aphrodite, thirty days to find a worshipper amongst the mortals.”

“I know that! These things take time.” I fold my arms mutinously and pace around the room. Just because a girl is the goddess of all things romantic does not mean she can’t be picky.

Zeus continues. His rolling cloud shifts to form his ugly palace as an illustration. “You’ve got no one praying to you, no one calling to the mighty Aphrodite-”

“You’re disappearing from the Pantheon.” I finish the sentence for him, throwing myself down on the white chaise in despair. “I get it, I know, I know.” All gods and goddesses need faithful devotees to stay on this plane; we’ve found a handy workaround in this modern time of monotheistic religions. One or two (or more) disciples kept by our sides is enough to allow us to roam the earth as we see fit.

I haven’t had one in a while. Crazy, right? The goddess of love celibate for a few hundred years. No one has struck my fancy and I’ve been more interested in my other pursuits. I went to Machu Picchu three times! Plus, I got sucked into reality tv shows there for a long time…

“You just need one worshipper. I don’t understand the problem. Mortals are led by their genitals.”

Like you aren’t? I hide my smirk. Just barely. “Mortals are a pain.” I’m not ashamed to say there’s a petulant pout on my lips. “You’ve got to stroke their stupid egos and give them blessings, gifts, attention. It’s exhausting. Daddy, please can’t I just stay?”

Despite my protestations, I quite enjoy living amongst you humans. I find your daily dramas so entertaining. Plus there’s not much shopping or fine dining on Olympus so isn’t it understandable that I’d rather stay in my expensive apartment? I’ve got hobbies, friends here; at times, the other family members come to visit.

“Doesn’t matter. Download that app, that Tinder.”

“Ew no.” Such things are beneath me.

"APHRODITE, LISTEN TO ME.There’s a bar around the corner. Put on one of your many dresses and shake it for some horny college boy. Get one and keep them this time.”

“I do not think you’re one to tell me to keep a human around-”

He’s gone in a pulsating flash of the lamps scattered throughout the room. Ugh. One doesn’t just ignore a directive from my father. I know he’ll snatch my fine ass right back home if I don’t meet his deadline.

Guess I’m trolling for mortal dick tonight.

The creamy white dress is sufficiently tight, the heels are high, hair and makeup on point. The bar is stuffed full of men, at least. I perch on the bar stool and try to find my own modern-day Adonis.