MxM Capreo's Commodities

[Capreo]

CAPREO'S COMMODITIES
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Things about me

• 15ish years writing experience
• Multi-para to novella
• Variable reply speed due to a career in health care
• Ghost-friendly
• Big lover of extensive world building sessions and OOC discussion
• Generally writes tops, apprehensive switches or possessive, freak bottoms
• Expect slow burns
• I am very open to working with darker topics such as abuse, past-abuse or
  toxic relationships with very few if no limits, so let me know your boundaries

Settings I enjoy

• Medieval
• Renaissance
• Western/Frontier
• Ancient Rome, from kingdom to empire
• Pirates and Regency era sailors
• War-time plots for stories involving brothers in arms or prisoners
• Chapels, churches and cathedrals

Things I like

• I vastly prefer older men
• Thin willowy men, hairy grizzled men, fat tall short whatever, I like variety
• Soldier types, like knights, warriors or paladins
• Hot/cold relationships with real problems
• A lot of toxicity, such as period-typical misogyny or internalized homophobia
• Religious guilt, adultery and other big tradition-centric taboos

Looking for

• (Medieval or Renaissance) A blue blooded lord (YC) and his charge (MC). Differences in station, title, education and lived experiences separate them.
• (Medieval) Two soldiers bonding over their shared experiences with war, only to realize that it is the very same war that facilitates that bond.
  Bonus points for interest if their aspirations, either in path or scope differ from one another, causing further strife between them.
• (Ancient Rome) A wealthy patron (YC) of the bloodier arts sponsors and eventually purchases a prisoner (MC) made to fight as a gladiator.

Writing examples

• Inn Kyrri sees naught what lies ahead of him besides the imposing shadows of men garbed in what he hopes is finery. He pulls the shawl from his head and smiles wide enough to hurt his jaw were he alive. His eyes are perhaps what any mortal sees first, aided by the way in which they reflect candlelight from the far reaches of a room. Tarnished by decay and cast in a grey fog. His hair a long, matted mess of tawny brown where it wasn't stained rust. The rest of him reeked similarly of both travel and slaughter alike. Despite himself he walked forward, running fingertips along the bone and leather of his dogs in a saunter, hands fast to his hips after they ran off their noses, and he skipped. "We deliver our thanks for your most-understanding escort, my lord. And our apologies, for that which opposed our coming at the wall." He gave one of the beasts a wide berth, the trinkets that hung from his robes, bone and feather, metal and wood, gave their own choir with each spirited step he took. "A disagreement I too know could have been handled with greater care. But in the place of mere men I bring you gifts."
  The floor squeaked beneath his halt as he turned, waving arms in presentation of the draugar he towed. A mess of bone from beasts unknown, held together with scrap from battle fought years past and garbed in the leather-flesh of men who perished not long after. "Hounds! Obedient. They hunger only for war, my lord and forgive me for assuming your familiarity. I speak plainly. And so I would add that they are worth far more than the blood they've shed. You could say the state of our opposition is proof."
  
  
• "And now that you mention it... perhaps I too would find myself placid beneath the assumption that I seek to accost you." Nails turned into whole palms and then he was gripping, running hands down his lord's thighs by his nightclothes. "Don't think me so blind that I cannot see your gaze. I will never follow the track of your eyes but the way your head stills when you catch the scent of prey, my lord, you make your hunger quite plain. How the flesh of your body pulls tight with that rage you've so-imprisoned. My lord seeks repreive too violent for the beating bodies of the living to offer." The words dripped off his tongue like poetry, a strange talent for a man who slept in mud and bone but the deep blur of his thoughts recalled it as a remnant of an eon long-passed, and of a man who was very much deceased.
  
  
• "You want my honest thoughts on the sick? Lyons ain't safe for anyone. Good if you like the taste of boot polish I suppose. The godly sorts get a real kick out of things if they make it past the workers district. You ask me and I say they ain't good people. Nothing really pays but fishin' and the mines and not everyone has the privilege of a boat so they gotta live with the lung rot."
  "Far as the sickness goes, outsiders are fine so long as they aren't looking to the factories as a nice vacation spot. But I've been around enough to know folks don't look the way they should. You got men like me going white tail to tip before we go forty. Then you got The Father, and all the babies being born all thin and clear-eyed, and it makes y'wonder the reason they're scarin' mothers into hospitals weeks before the kids even drop."
  
  
• Did he seek to embarrass and abuse? Surely, it felt good. Did it feel any different than battering Atemes' hands halfway-to-breaking? No... He didn't think so. Perhaps Atemes had taken to duel more naturally, they were both brutes after all, blood separated only by the sea. Did he ever feel small? Perhaps... Not in the literal sense. There were few men he had to look up at. But that damned map made him feel tiny, the colosseum dwarfed him too similarly. And in both places, Elpheti on all sides, closing in.
  Kicking up sand, again. Marduk could feel it bristle the pads of his feet where it started to fill his sandals. He beat his head against the leather of the saddle, horse not even blinking back at him, unphased. Marduk was almost annoyed by that, insignificant as it was. Watching the thing trot forward a step to taste the desert shrubbery felt nearly offensive.