♡Might Bite for the Right Plot!♡
• NOVELLA • ADVANCED LITERATE • PLOT BASED • POE'S CORNER •
• FANTASY • MAGIC • FICTIONAL • MEDIEVAL • VICTORIAN •
• WITCHES • DEMONS • VAMPIRES • ADVENTURES • GORY BATTLE SCENES • PLOT-BASED SMUT •
|
𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝑒
My name is Jumbled and I've been writing on and off for 20 years (give or take). I have a full-time job working from 4am to 1pm (EST), and a family at home, so my active times for chatting or writing may vary depending on the day and my energy levels. I'm here for M•F pairings, big chunky posts with lots of yummy details, and maybe making some new friends along the way.
I have ADHD. I can tend to hyperfixate on things. I love coffee and art.
Below I'll give you more details about what I'm looking for and what I like, tropes to build off of, and writing samples.
If we seem like we'd be a match, please reach out to me with a story idea. I am very willing to flesh things out if the idea sparks my interest.
|
𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓕𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓽
-
I do tend to mirror my partner when it comes to post lengths. I am reactive to what has happened in the previous post and will take my time to respond to things accordingly. I'm just a sucker for detail. So while I say I'm a novella writer, my post lengths will vary, but I want our roleplay to read like a novel might. On a happy day I've written above 1000 words, but I've done 2000+ when very into the story with a partner that likes to write just as much. Word count isn't the focus here, it's just something I look at whenever I complete a post. I will occasionally reach out when I need an idea of how a (your) character might react to things, communication between partners is important.
Fantasy will always be my love; magic, adventures, some dark opposing threat that will end the world without some heroic intervention— ! I'm content to write as a female character with or without magical abilities so long as the world is interesting enough and has some form of powerful force existing within it. Any female I choose to play will either be human, humanoid, magical or even lacking magic. My stories are full of adventure and in turn, violence, blood and gore (just not sexually). If you are only comfortable with lighter levels of this, please inform me and I can adjust for you.
Slice of life has too little direction for me. I'm not here to create a cozy home or write a sitcom. I want epic battles, and romance that has to struggle to win.
Fictional Medieval or fantastical Victorian era settings are fun. I may draw off of history and research, but I don't want to be confined to only what has happened in the real world.
I write in third person, past tense.
I currently do not have an interest in fandoms. I prefer to world build as we go. Stories I play could look similar to something like Dragon Age or Skyrim, but I'm not going to specifically write in those worlds.
World building is very fun for me. I'll create maps, worlds, collect character images (I can use face claims or digital art, or only use text descriptions- please tell me what you want to do so I can mirror). I have even gone so far as to create a list of worshiped Gods, religions, cults, and guilds. This might sound very DND but I'll admit I'm a complete novice when it comes to tabletop RP.
I write for plot before smut. While I want romance to be a major theme, I'm happier with a slow burn. If a story is tempting enough and involves something closer to love at first sight I might be convinced.
That being said I'm fond of male leads that can be pompous, antagonistic, strong and brooding, powerful, mysterious, and utterly fantastic at being romantic when it counts. However, he doesn't have to be all of those things together.
|
𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓼
(These are not so important to me,
sexual scenes in the story will be
dependent on the story and plot)
Vanilla— Flirting/ Teasing, Kissing, Cuddling,
the 'Touch' love-language
Bondage— Probably in a mild form.
Restraining hands or blindfolding.
Doms and Subs— More of switchy play.
Far more likely to play a sub well.
Bratty behavior is possible.
|
𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰
Degradation, Humiliation, Toilet play, etc.
Non-con, Heavy drug use, Abuse (toward loved ones or the sake of it)
|
|
• CHOSEN ONE • RELUCTANT HERO • UGLY DUCKLING • WALLFLOWER • WIDOW • LOVE&HATE •
• ARRANGED MARRIAGE • SUNNY&GRUMPY • MENTOR • PROPHECIES • ACCIDENTAL TRAVEL •
• ENCHANTED ITEM • THE QUEST • FANTASTICAL CREATURES •
• ALL HOPE IS LOST •THE PRICE FOR WINNING •
|
𝓟𝓵𝓸𝓽𝓼 & 𝓢𝓪𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓟𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓒𝓵𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼
-
①
② Two characters fall in love. However, they're both cursed (maybe because of it). To stop their curses from tearing them apart, they must unravel the dark magic that binds them and find a way to break the spell.
③
④ A character accidentally takes over their body from a parallel universe which will change the dynamics of many relationships. Where can this go?
|
-
Setting a scene; Intro post.
Tor Saphir, the glittering gem of Atiamonia, was a bustling coastal city dotted with market tents and vendors that trailed beyond the docks, leading the way to the larger businesses and smaller seaside homes belonging to the locals. The city was famous for the glimmering effect of the sunlight that danced across the surface of the Drifdan River. It was rumored that the Drifdan contained particles of the magical forces that influenced and shaped the world around them, mages called it mana. The air in Tor Saphir always smelled of sea salt and smoke, the sort that left every stomach eager for a hot meal. Fish was an obvious enough staple for the citizens, as well as traveling merchants from places beyond the water and walls of the city.
The Laughing Boar: Tavern & Inn was beyond the riverside where the docks overflowed with ships from the surrounding regions and tents displayed their goods. Patrons from around the world eventually made their way to the Laughing Boar if they were in the market, needing a place to rest tired bones and weary eyes. The Boar had plenty to offer, be it food and drink, entertainment or a place to sleep for the night— though the rooms often filled quickly. Many banners flew inside the tavern, housing soldiers and knights alike— some local, some not— in an environment where in-house fighting wasn't tolerated. If men on opposing sides of the river wanted to settle a score, it was done through gambling, be it cards, drinking, or whatever other wagers they had to offer.
Even the occasional Academic came into the Boar from time to time. It was most common during the Biannual Amature Mage Selections, or BAMS, that the tavern would have an influx of the magically inclined filling its chairs. The BAMS had already happened the year before— a fact that caused a stir in the establishment when an elderly man clad in a midnight blue cloak planted heavy, uneven footfalls onto the hardwood floors, the door swinging shut behind him through his will alone. The tavern's chattering men and women fell silent as their attention fixed onto the interloper that walked with a slight limp in his gait. All eyes were on the academy elder as he trudged forward. He stopped before the counter with his hands moving toward a small scroll he procured from the satchel hanging by his side. The silence settled in the room until the owner, Thomnas Fennigan, cast them all a stern glance that warned them to hurry back to their own business.
Once the volume returned to an acceptable level, Thomnas stepped forward with his arms across his chest. He was easily the same width as the mage was, only several inches taller with harder muscles and less pudge. "Through 'ere," Thomnas directed the mage to follow him to a door that led into the kitchen, finding several women rushing around the cook with baskets of potatoes and carrots. The help didn't even notice the two enter, though the men stood together like a newly constructed wall in the sweltering room. It was only when a twenty-something lad walked in through a different door did the ladies pause, and without warning, their baskets ripped open at their bases, tumbling vegetables down onto the ground.
"Kitchen's got problems." the owner stated. Upon hearing Thomnas' voice, everyone stopped collecting the displaced produce to look up at him, startled only then to find the visitor observing the scene with such scrutiny. From his satchel, the man removed several trinkets, one that looked like a handheld hourglass, the other something like a compass. But these were enchanted items that served a different function than time and direction. The mage walked the room, only interested in the compass piece, and the kitchen staff finished their labors as quickly as they could to get out of his path. It was only when the man halted in front of one of the females that he paused to stare at her.
She stood in a brown dress and linen apron tied around her front, dusted and stained from work, just like the other two ladies. Her hair, a blonde that was more white than golden, was pulled away from her face and braided down the back, the end reaching just above her hips. She was not nearly as tall as the two men, but still a head's height more than the women beside her. Her dark brown eyes shifted as she registered that the mage was irritated with her, her expression puzzled.
"Name," the academic asked her. She continued to stare, confused about what was happening. "That's Thalia Walter." Thomnas had answered for her. It was then that she looked at her boss.
"Is there something wrong?" she asked. Her hands rested near her sides but her fingers were slowly curling into fists. Before she had time to react, the old man had grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her fingers open with a strength she didn't expect from the looks of him. He quickly took the hourglass item and jabbed a sharp end of it along her fingertip, allowing it to drop several fat beads into the device.
"Ow! Excuse me you f—!" an elbow into her ribs on the left caused her to silence her mouth and the language one learned while working with their cook. Low chuckling in the background was barely audible over the sizzling pans the man worked with. He hadn't bothered to stop cooking just because of some academic.
Thalia fidgeted where she stood, closing her hand over her apron to stop the bleeding. He was holding up the device with her blood seemingly trapped inside the center of it, and although she was livid, she also found it intriguing how long he stayed there considering it— whatever it was. Without so much as another word, he walked away and Thomnas gave her a sympathetic glance before he turned around and followed after the elder man.
"I've had her workin' since she was a wee one. Things are sometimes strange around 'er, but BAMS were never anythin' impressive. She can't do much o' anythin' s'far I can tell."
The mage rubbed his eye with bored fingers before exhaling deeply. "Have her packed and ready to go within the hour. I'll eat a meal here, then Miss Thalia Walter will come with me." It wasn't a request, and although what the mage said was startling to hear, the only display of surprise Thomnas allowed to slip was the widening of his blue eyes. He grunted a sound of either annoyance, agreement, or maybe both, then left to deliver the news to the girl.
Uprooted.
Thalia had been completely uprooted from her home; dragged off, away from Tor Saphir and all the people she knew and cared about! Thomnas didn't seem very invested in fighting for her to stay at the Boar, either. She had no reason to run off with the mages or to attend the academies. That was made abundantly clear when she was a child. It was unheard of for a grown person to be taken by force the way old man Clifford had— that was his name, the mage with a scowl on his face and a limp when he walked.
He was a dreadful man. He wasn't even nice to look at. With almost no hair to speak of, he sported only poofy white tufts on both sides of his head that Thalia imagined had actually grown out of his long, stretched out ears. His skin resembled old leather in need of a good oiling while his eyes were always red, looking like a man waking up in the Boar after having one too many. Though she never saw Clifford drinking, she wasn't convinced he wasn't doing something to maintain the unhealthy look upon his face.
"Hand," his voice cut through her loathing thoughts of him as she glared in his direction. Since they'd left together, he'd taken that clepsydrae— the hourglass shaped thing she'd come to hate— to draw her blood four times already. Her body recoiled and she moved away from him with a step backwards.
"All the results have been the same. Why do you insist—" she began, but Clifford was louder than her and spoke over her with ease.
"Not the first one. As you know- as I explained. Your blood never chose a direction. It centered itself."
"A fluke. A mistake. A dud." she countered.
Clifford already had to use his abilities against her several times on their journey. Thalia wasn't a fan of how he could take control of the very bones inside of her body. It was painful. No man, magic or not, had the right to do that to her, so she continued to fight Clifford the entire way there, regardless of what he'd do to her. The mage didn't seem inclined to kill her, or maybe he'd been ordered not to. He mentioned sending word to his home Academy in Asctovicia when they'd boarded a small transport boat. Three days after leaving Tor Saphir, their carriage finally arrived in Asctovo, the capital city.
The air was heavy with fog and smelled of horses and dirt, and all things Thalia wasn't accustomed to being around, in Asctovo. It made her think of the past, like her parents and waiting for the next meal to come in a home too small and too cold to house them properly. She frowned at the memory, pushing it aside to retain the details of the capital and how the hard packed roads had turned to stones that still didn't compare to what she'd left behind.
The two had entered a building that was larger than most anything Thalia had ever seen before. She marveled at how the staircases curled upward to the second floor from either side, mirroring each other. But her gazing was cut short as Clifford was distractedly throwing a fit at the academy's secretary behind the desk.
"What do you mean, he isn't here?" Clifford demanded. The woman looked speechless, which Thalia had understood well from being on the other end of the old man and his vexations for days. The weary kitchen help sighed heavily and turned away from the two as his voice was booming loudly over the woman's and bouncing off of the fancy walls.
"Come on, girl." Clifford suddenly hissed, his leaden steps sounding his approach from behind. His formalities with her had slipped away after so many times of him having to keep her from leaping out of boats or carriages. "I won't take any more chances with you." he muttered as he physically grabbed her arm which she failed to pull away from.
"Let me go, bastard."
"That's enough of your peasant mouth spewing trash in this reverenced place. Take this." he demanded as he pushed a gold token into her hand. She stared down at the shimmering color, never having held such wealth so close before.
"It's not tender so don't go thinking you'll buy a ticket out of here with it. Though, ironically that's just what we'll be doing."
Clifford ushered her into a room where several serene statues sat, with empty archways between them. "These are tokens that will lead directly to High Mage Adran's land. Though I cannot recall where the other side of the gate is in correspondence to his castle."
"— Castle?" she interrupted, her tone laced with disbelief.
Clifford growled under his breath and forced Thalia through the archway. She looked up at the man like he was a fool, sighing as she turned back expecting to see the wall on the other side of the statues. Instead, she was met with a freezing chill of cold from a river up to her knees— she was standing in it. Clifford was suddenly sounding very much like he belonged in the kitchens of the Laughing Boar. The whole thing was laughable. She actually laughed. It had been days of misery and rage, but the absurdity of it all finally broke her.
"Desist in that insufferable laughter at once." Clifford demanded. But Thalia was beyond listening to him or to reason. The world was a place of magic and mysteries her blood was never supposed to know or feel and she'd just moved from one space to a river in Gods knew where.
A little steam, a hint of spice
Pastel looked soft from a distance; his wings and coloring, even the sparkling gold and lavender concealment that trailed after him. His name was literally a term for soft, powdery shades of color. But looks could be deceiving…
…Then again, looks could be everything. Just like the one he gave her before he unleashed his lustful wrath upon her— anything but soft.
Elodie was lost in his touch, consumed by the feeling of his exploring hands and the taste of his kisses; kisses he took from her greedily as though he'd been starved of them. Pastel's claim of strength was confirmed as he lifted her easily, only to ram the bookshelf with her backside as he shoved her into it. Elodie clung to him with fingers digging into his arm and a tightened grip around his hair, all the while softly giggling, lips parted in a grin, not daring to actually break away from his affections.
As though his body was driven by the need to be as close to hers as possible, his arm hooked under her leg, locking her hips against his side. She could feel his arousal trapped inside of his jeans, his excitement matched by the warmth between her own legs that begged her to forget any sense of self control, not that she clung to anything other than Pastel and his lean figure. She was enthralled by his passion, ensnared by the motion of his hips and the rhythm of his grinding length that teased her through the thin fabric of her leggings. Her hands roamed, exploring his chest from above his shirt, then slipping under it, intentionally avoiding his wings and backside for fear of harming him. But she would harm him in other ways, with nails dragging down his abdomen, fingers hooking into his belt loops, yanking him forward suddenly, deliberately.
He pulled away from the kiss, allowing her a full breath of air before it was stolen in a gasp as he clutched her hair firmly. She shifted just so that both sleeves of her knitted jacket fell off of her arms and down onto the floor. Her eyes quickly found his, pleading for him to return to her tender lips, missing his taste and the feeling of his breath on her face. Then he tilted her head with that firm grip of her hair he still held.
"Pastel," she voiced quietly, pleadingly. Her neck was incredibly sensitive. Anticipation in the form of shivers traveled up her spine, her breath heavy as she felt each intentional step of his path that inevitably took him further down. His lips met her supple skin, her pulse racing as he marked her, making her whimper and writhe under him, her body curling inward toward him with her hand clinging to his shirt tightly. Her muscles tensed from the intensity of sensations that only furthered the electricity coursing through her body, straight down to her center that needily pressed against his hard bulge that rocked into her.
He was devouring her, leaving bites and bruises behind as proof. Her movements became slower, her grinding harder as he dipped down into her shirt, wrapping long, slender fingers around her breast, his hand pleasantly full as he held her there. Her eyes closed as she began to fade into his will, her body synchronizing with his every motion. His voice strained to direct her. Elodie opened her eyes again, watching his wingspan flutter quickly as he indicated she could touch them. No, demanded she touch them. He wanted her to do it.
Anything she was doing before stilled as she took in his wings under the purple muted lights of the store. But Pastel wouldn't let her forget he wasn't done with her, toying with her nipple. She whined and gripped onto his arm, squeezing him hard as if to make him stop, wanting to have a clear moment to see what she was doing. Her hand reached forward, hovering in the air with hesitation as her fingers pointed toward his wings then withdrew as she considered it. Only a moment more kept her from him, then Elodie gently ran her index and middle fingers slowly across the span of his wings, the rest of her fingertips light as feathers, as only their tips grazed them. His wings were so soft, but stronger than what she worried they might be. She lifted her hand, looking at the color on her fingers thoughtfully, wiping it like a streak of chalk over her white shirt, directly over her breasts.
"This doesn't hurt you?" She needed to know. Wanted to understand more about him.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers falling down into the darker purple mane of soft fluff, petting it delicately.
"And this, Pastel...?" She watched his expression as she touched him there, until her mouth found a clear path to his neck she could no longer resist, biting him hard, only to release soon after, kissing the spot before running the tip of her tongue up his neck toward his ear. Her tongue finished tracing the outer cartilage of his ear and she whispered to him. "You aren't allowed to just leave when you're done with me."
|
|
|
