MxF Snark and Sass

[IrishTrinity]

I am a 20+ year roleplaying veteran that has been writing since I was a girl. I had a challenging youth and writing for me was an escape in which I was safe, loved and hopeful. I write in 3rd person omniscient in both present and past tense, pursuant to the subject at hand. I pour myself into my writing because I have an image in my head, a character telling me precisely what to write. Additionally, English was not the only language spoken in my life and so I learned the depth that body language and cadence can add to the communication. Valuable information for a writer.

Fascinatingly enough, I survived said childhood and escaped into adulthood and self-determination where I found out that my escapism wasn't mine and mine alone! Who knew? I found new friends who liked playing this tabletop game called Dungeons and Dragons and a lesser-known one called RIFTS and they wanted me to come along. But sadly, with the attention span of a two year old at the circus I could not keep up with the dice and the rules and the classes and the hit points and the... but what I could do? I could write.

I could breathe life into these characters that my friends had worked so very hard on, give them a richness and a complexity that made them a living creation. For a measly $200 (back in the late 80's that was a lot of money) I would flesh out a whole world for their characters based off of the game being played and make a creation story that truly made the character flesh. As time passed, I wrote creation stories for high and low fantasy, sci-fi, horror, post apocalyptic, modern, supernatural and everything in between. But there was a problem.

I didn't always like where the person I created the storyline for took the character. And so...I started creating characters for me. And then! Then sweet, merciful heavens! I found RP rooms and quickly became intoxicated by the high of making an RP partner breathless in anticipation and tachycardic at my response. I had found my home and my people. The rest is a beautiful history, some tragic, some triumphant. All epic.

I write everyday, though I do not post everyday. Sometimes it is just in need of refinement and sometimes I just don't have two seconds to rub together. But I am also well known for being very communicative so very few people stress out over me being absent for a couple of days while I work (as a psychiatric nurse in a super max prison). I can say that generally I will post 3-4 days a week and possibly more if work is slow and my inmates are squared away.

I am remarkably tolerant of gore and violence BUT it must make sense within the storyline. For instance I have more than one character that has been raped, some even as children (though be aware: I do not RP those scenes out. It will be a part of their history, perhaps a nightmare in their psyche but never a piece of spank bank for a gross human). I "tolerate" that not because that kind of thing gets me off (because it does not) but because that is a REALITY. It happens. It changes and shapes how that victim evolves. So if it makes sense, it is permissible.

At the risk of sounding indelicate, why would I want to explore all of the nuances of my characters but not their sexuality? Madness. As a character in the play of life I am often (read: always) thinking about sex. When I had it last, when I can have it again. What I want to do, how I am going to arrange it, all of the fun details of orchestrating every naughty moment. As I would not discuss my kinks (which are legion) with a stranger in the check out line at the grocer, I won't list them here other than to say that I play fiery, intelligent usually aggressive women that need an alpha male to help them be the best version of themselves. Does that mean she can't survive just fine on her own? Nope; I am sure she has ten fingers and a chest full of toys. Just saying that it would be more fun to knock boots with a man not afraid of her fire. My limits are her limits. Don't expect the virgin to be the naughty sex kitten the first time, and don't expect the sex goddess to be the ingenue. Simple common sense.

I don't generally do fandoms. Change my mind. I like to create my character to be precisely what makes my partners mouth go dry. I feel awkward trying to do that with someone else's creation.

I literally have hundreds of ideas and pages of writing samples. I also have some orphaned plotlines that break my heart. I love my characters and ache to tell their stories. I will love a writer forever that can step into the plot ravaged by an inconsiderate soul and help me bring peace to the characters I was forced to abandon.

I have included writing samples available below so you can see if our writing styles will mesh.

Thank you so kindly for letting me ramble and if you made it this far, with an 'oh God, YES' or two along the way, we could always make you say that louder and more often if you contact me. If not, that's fine too! Good luck in the quest for a writing partner! May every story you write captivate you.

Trinity

 

[IrishTrinity]

"Let her take the Maz, Charles," Lucien said quietly, his head canted as he studied the girl—no he silently corrected himself, woman—on the security camera. Lucien was quite accustomed to the best of everything, his consolation for the misbegotten life he was doomed to lead, and so the high definition of the security cameras in the climate-controlled garage caught every pixel of wistfulness that played across the petite Asian's face as she feathered dainty fingers across the glossy blue of the granturismo MC.

"Sir?" his majordomo—known simply as a caretaker in this young country that had no affinity for time-honored titles—gasped before smoothly catching himself. Charles Augustine showed his agitation clearly in that simple question of the master he had faithfully, unquestioningly served all the years of his life.

Leaning against the dark desk that dominated the room, Lucien crossed his arms over his chest and waited patiently; he had time. He watched his loyal employee flounder as he tried to balance his duty to Lucien with his love for his adopted daughter. The daughter he had adopted by Lucien's order.

Lucien recalled that night 25 years ago, the cloying scent of spilled blood, the chaos of allies-turned-enemies and the certainty that he had done what he must. No, not what he must but what he had been compelled to do. Lucien wasn't sure how he knew it, but he had known with a dreadful certainty that killing that girl child would have been the death of him. And just because Lucien hated his life didn't mean he courted his death.

And so it was that the toddler had been whisked to Lucien's estate in Briarcliff, a world away from the tiny village in China where she had been found. But nothing in life or immortality was that easy Lucien had learned.

Sitting on his bed that first night back in the States, cross-legged and contemplative in the dark hush of privilege and wealth, he had watched the child sleep. And felt something the arrogant man couldn't recall ever having felt before: Lucien felt the first tickle of doubt. What had he been thinking? Now that the adrenalin of going rogue had dissipated it left him with a high-maintenance parasite that he was in no way prepared to deal with. As worldly and wise as he was, when Lucien had realized why those diapers needed changed? He'd almost left the kid right there. He'd paid some woman a godly sum to take care of that disgusting problem and it'd been worth every penny.

But it underscored the point that his impulsive decision was insane. He certainly wasn't up to the task of fathering—the very thought made him shudder—this child or any other. But the idea of letting her come to harm made his chest tighten and his teeth stretch painfully from his gums. Stroking a finger along her soft cheek, he smiled as she sighed in her sleep and nuzzled his hand. She needed someone to watch over her, protect her, teach her. She needed someone to love her.

And Charles and Grace had certainly done that, he mused with a slow smile. They'd come at his bidding as night had given way to morning and Lucien had fallen asleep to the noise of the couple fussing over a strange child. He'd awakened that night to the sounds of a small family that had clearly fallen in love with one another.

Lucien had given careful instructions, liberal rein of his assets and done the best thing he could: left the young family to what young families should be able to do, grow in peace. He'd kept his distance, his anonymity but he'd watched Shen grow from a sheltered, biddable child into a headstrong young woman taking on life with an exuberance that often left her parents exasperated.

Lucien frowned as he realized that it was tragedy that had brought him into Shen's life before and it was tragedy that had brought him back again. Bringing his focus back to Charles, he straightened off the desk and paced back towards the security monitor.

Tall and thin, crowned with a ring of silver hair, Charles had not stooped with time. Instead the innate pride he felt at serving the Mercier family gave him an enviable elegance and impeccable grace. Smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles from his shirt, adjusting the impeccably knotted tie Charles gathered his thoughts carefully before he spoke.

"Grace and I had decided Shen will be taking the Audi, a perfectly safe," Charles emphasized the last, "vehicle that we have taken excellent care of over the years. We rather felt it would blend in nicely in Black Rock."

"And she needs that, Sir," Charles' voice strained with an anguish Lucien understood and shared. "She needs to feel like she's not set apart from…everyone. The attack," Charles struggled to find words to describe the attack that had nearly cost his daughter her life, "took that from her."

Lucien's face darkened as he thought of the attack, of the panicked call he had received from frightened parents and the troubling intel he had since gathered. Intelligence he couldn't, wouldn't share with any but a few of his close friends and closer enemies.

"Charles," he said softly, with a sympathetic smile, "We are sending our girl, born and raised with New York City at her fingertips, to a town of what? A thousand hillbillies? I don't think the car will be what makes her stand out."

"Then why are we sending her there, Sir?" Charles questioned, "If we cannot keep her safe?"

"I didn't say that, Charles," Lucien corrected him, "There is a certain admirable quality to a people that see the dictates of our judicial system more as theories than laws."

Charles made a noise that was as close to verbally disagreeing with his master as he could manage.

"Without getting into details," Lucien said, taking pity on the conflicted man, "I am hiding her in plain sight with a man I would trust with my own life."

"Very good, Sir," Charles said, beaming in relief. While Lucien felt an obligation to those that served him and extended his protection accordingly, there was no question that he was unabashedly self-serving in all areas. Except one, Charles thought with a smile watching his daughter pack her luggage into the Audi's trunk. If Lucien Mercier would trust a man with his own life, that was high praise indeed and that meant that Shen would be safe.

"Grace and I will get her on way then, by your leave?" Charles said bowing.

"Please do," Lucien answered, turning away as Charles backed away. Letting the man think he'd won for a brief moment, Lucien couldn't help the smile that bloomed as he said, "And Charles? She's taking the Maserati."

 

[IrishTrinity]

Like a wraith She raced through the trees that were old friends to her, sometimes touching one for leverage as she leapt over rocks, jumped small streams and nimbly ran along narrow ledges to get into position.
Anticipating where the intruders she was following would make their camp for the night, the woman known only as She made a rapid ascent into a nearby tree flush with dense foliage that masked her scent and her presence.
Disturbing nothing, she laid in wait so still that even the woodland creatures didn't make note of her presence. The Eng'dari woman was clearly in her element.
And though she was an obvious predator, her lethality could not mask the pleasingness of her form. Long limbs framed surprisingly full breasts, a narrow waist and slim hips.
Unaware and uncaring of her appeal to men though, she was saved from their leers and approach in public places by the ruination of what was an otherwise beautiful face. Intricate tattoos bisected and edged a heart-shaped face framed by neatly braided hair so light as to be silvered. But the ink, a symbol of Anahita's approval that this daughter leave the sea to find her heart in the forest, served its purpose: its deep blue broke up the pale contours of her face so that she blended into the treeline seamlessly.
Her patience was rewarded as the party broke the tree line and, as predicted, the bickering men made their camp nearly at the base of the tree she occupied, oblivious to her presence. Stretching her muscular frame along a thick tree branch to better hear their words, sharp eyes missed nothing as the two set their camp.
"You're an idiot!" the one snapped. Shorter than his companion, thin to his cohort's bulk, he dropped a load of firewood and started building a small fire. "What we do is far too important for distractions! You know well that our boss will not tolerate deviation from our orders!"
"But when will be given another opportunity like this, Gordan?" the other man demanded, unrolling sleeping bags jerked off their mounts.
"The Warhorse is not our problem!" Gordan said, exasperatedly running his hand through his lanky hair. "It is imperative that we not lose sight of our mission. We have to deliver these letters! Nothing else matters!"
"But think of the blow this will deal the royals! His most trusted lapdog slain!" the bigger man said wistfully.
She's ears pricked at the mention of the royals. Even a hermit like She had heard every salacious detail of the disastrous Coronation and the subsequent strife in the royal marriage bed. She had no love of politics and the machinations it entailed but she feared for the kingdom and her forest's place within it.
"It would leave the bastard shaken," Gordan conceded grudgingly, "And perhaps get these animals out of our land all the sooner. You make a good point, Aeryk. But what of his size?" he asked about their intended victim, "There are but two of us!"
"It is the right thing to do," Aeryk said in a rush, pressing his advantage, "I have good information that he was uneasy at court and took refuge in the forest near the Wailing Woman Falls."
"We could creep upon him tomorrow morning and slaughter him while he still sleeps!" Aeryk assured Gordan.
"We'd be heroes," Gordan pointed out.
"And think how that would please our master!" Aeryk said slyly.
"We'll do it." Gordan agreed, nodding. "We'll do it."
Curling her lip in disgust, She's distrust of these palace people was justified by their own words and actions. Now what to do about it? Easing back to the crook of the tree, she considered her options.
Their affairs were really none of her concern and she felt no loyalty to save yet another intruder in her forest. Gordan and Aeryk were loathsome to be sure, not to be trusted and rather a waste of the skin they wore but hers were not the affairs of the royals. Her domain, her family was the spirit of this forest and the creatures that dwelled within it. And thus far, neither man had done aught to violate her domain. Ergo, she had no quarrel with them.
Then again, these idiots had camped close enough to the tree she was in that escaping undetected may prove difficult. She could just slay them and save this Warhorse a fight.
With a thinning of her lips, She acknowledged that neither option seemed particularly appealing and so she went with a third. Looking around, she found a thick overhang of branches from several trees.
With dainty steps and a measured calm she edged from the thick base of the tree branch to the thin tip until it bowed beneath her weight and let her step to another thin tip. Repeating this till she had edged her way away from their camp, she hurried towards Wailing Woman. She found a sudden curiosity to see this Warhorse.
Not more than an hour passed before she found his camp.
It was neat and well-tended, with firewood stacked next to kindling. Instead of the fires she made though, he had hollowed out a spot in the ground before digging a trench bordered by rocks. Squatting next to it, She admired his handiwork. By doing thus he could leave a small fire burning with no fear of it escaping and destroying the woods around him. Standing, she walked around the camp inspecting before disappearing into his tent. He carried nothing extraneous with him, she realized rifling through his carefully folded and stored things. That in turn indicated that he knew how to see to his needs in the wilds.
But search as she might She found no traps for those that would sneak up on him and no weapons secreted in the surrounded brush with which to defend himself. Frowning, she decided it was time to find the man. Disquieted at the ignorance of such an easily-found camp juxtaposed with the wisdom of an outdoorsman, She hoped he would not be difficult to find.
Anahita was with her, she realized with a pursing of her lips as she easily found the boot prints in the dirt leading straight towards a wide path of bent vegetation that even a child would have seen.
She's brows knit over sly eyes as she swept the trees surrounding the path. Was this a trap? Swinging her gaze over the clearing, she again took to the trees and stayed in the canopy until she was able to approach the pool of the falls from the opposite side. Mayhap he had been in need of water?
Hearing a thunderous splash before the silence was split by a graveled baritone bursting into lusty song, She rolled her eyes. Staying in the treetop near the water, she carefully pushed the branch aside as delicate as a stray breeze.
Finally catching sight of the man who had piqued her curiosity, her eyes and mouth rounded in tandem. The giant may be a Warhorse, but he was definitely a stallion. Mouth gaping, She felt an unfamiliar surge between her legs as Warhorse took himself in one hand and used a handful of silt to clean himself. Holding her breath, She leaned forward to better see him before gasping when the tree branch collapsed beneath her weight and in a graceless heap She fell from her perch.
Flattening herself to the ground, she heard rather than saw the Warhorse turn towards the sound. Edging towards the rocks over which the water tumbled, she heard the silky parting of the water he stood in as he waded closer to assess the source of the noise.
Biting her lip, she squeezed herself into the narrow space behind the falls, easing towards the far side ignoring the mist that soaked her simple clothes until they were plastered against her skin.
Her heart hammered when she heard him start to sing again, although by the low pitch she knew he was still watching to see who watched him, she did not move again until he was as loud as he had been initially.
When he moved back to the place he had been standing, only a thin veil of water separated them. Peeking around the edge of the canopy she watched him bathe, her heart hammering hard again.
He was beautiful. His back to her, he had massive shoulders corded with muscle that descended smoothly to a narrow waist over the hard slope of buttocks that became thickly muscled legs. Swallowing, She prayed for him to turn around.
I will sacrifice a stag in Your Honor she promised Anahita when her wish was granted.