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Do gradual relationship development and character-driven advances really do it for you? Do you love taking your sweet time to build up to a scorching fireworks display of intense romance and forbidden desire, rather than blow your literary load all at once? Me too!
About me: I main female leads exclusively. For their relationships, I seek either intensely emotionally intimate MxF stories, or MxFxM triads (but with romance, not just sex.) I don't care what my partner's or partners' gender might be, only that they can roleplay well and get into their character's perspective. I love intelligent horror (don't get me going about Flanagan’s works and Silent Hill. Or do!) In the first encounters of a relationship, at least, I don't like fade to black because what doesn't quite happen is often as delicious as what does, and the interplay determines the outcomes for me when I write--consent happens onscreen in my book, and if it's not the right time then I like to play that out in character.
I also just get really into emotional intimacy and the way desire can build under the surface, especially between two people who have every reason to hold back but just can't help but be drawn to one another. I think it's truly beautiful to watch that fragile trust gradually build, blossoming even in the harshest concrete jungles or the most desolate deserts of the soul. To gently pluck the heartstrings and build a moving, unforgettable melody in harmony with someone else is always my goal.
I am strictly about the characters. If it seems like a character would rather screw than survive, and that's not portrayed as pathological but is taken as banal, I get bored by the lack of groundedness. So please bear that in mind: I seek a partner who can join me in a "characters first, story second, smoking hot sex scenes according to the needs of the first two" mindset. I'm also a dynamic post length kind of woman, so for intros it's novellas but for sensitive scenes, short. If you're looking for a k/l list, I can deliver one, but the general principle's just "I'll write anything that isn't extreme if it suits the characters and story beats."
On that note, here’s a few horror-themed character-driven dark romance plots I'd love to do. As you'll see, the first gives Supernatural/Vampire: the Masquerade, while the second gives Halloween/Fear Street/Silence of the Lambs. I have other ideas, but these are the main ones I'm most enthusiastic about, particularly the second one because I haven't gotten to try it at all yet. And if you've messaged me before but didn't get a response, please feel free to do so again; I might've either missed it or gotten the wrong impression, and I'm very willing to re-evaluate.
You first saw the nightmare when you were a small boy. Black waves swirling around a deathly-white face, the lower half of it drenched in blood. Pale, ghoulish green eyes, staring down at you. As you stood in the sepia light at the bottom of the stairs, wisps of shadow seeming to shift around her like a cloak in wind, you were sure that you were about to die. She took a step towards you… but then, by luck and chance, she heard the sirens and fled.
As you wept over the broken bodies of your parents, shattered between the couch and television, the tiniest amount of the vampire’s eldritch blood must have crept its way into you somehow. Later, in the hands of a small and highly zealous hunter cabal, you learned what a weakness that could be if you didn’t purge it from your system… but you didn’t care. You needed it. You needed to keep a part of her, so that one day you could find her again. She mustn’t escape justice forever.
You failed to integrate into society as you grew; you just weren’t like most people. The scars ran too deep. There wasn’t any room for the possibility of true attachments… your fellow hunters died in this dangerous line of work, and any woman you looked at just reminded you of her. Paranoia and mistrust were a way of life. You were damaged, shaken to your core by what she did to you. She destroyed your world, your safety, your family... she took everything. You had already seen what happens to people you let yourself love. You couldn’t face that again.
You grew. You worked. You learned to excel at killing. And one day, you stumbled across her again.
You didn’t recognize her at first: she looked so different, all cleaned up. So tiny in comparison to what a child had seen; a murderous giant. And her manner was so friendly, so gentle and compassionate… if you didn’t know better, you would think she was different from the rest of her kind.
As you go rogue to tail her across the country, you’re increasingly confused and angered. At first she seems shocked, confused, and distraught by what you’re doing; maybe even frightened… then terribly sad, guilty even.
But after a while, she becomes almost… playful with you. She starts to give you advice on how to hunt her kind. Asks you questions about yourself. At every turn, her soft, friendly-sounding, warm voice fills your ears… her manner is so bizarrely gentle. You feel mocked by her very existence. Surely it can't be that she was lonely before you.
As you stalk her, like she surely stalks her victims, through binoculars and telescopes, you grow to realize she knows you’re watching… those pale eyes look back at you; hauntingly beautiful, eerily alluring and aware. It’s almost as if she’s… flirting with you. The look she gives you when she bites someone almost seems to say, "this could be you... I want it to be... come to me."
That realization makes you sick. It makes you burn inside… over her, over yourself. You thought of your soul as hardened stone, but now she’s playing with your emotions like putty. And worse, details of that night come back to you, the more that she patiently tugs at those strings in your mind, whispering of what a child couldn’t understand. She MUST be manipulating you… lying… planting memories… mustn’t she? But the doubts still grow the more you search your mind for faded fragments of that night.
The more you pursue her, the more you begin to realize this rabbit hole could swallow what passes for your life. She seems to be playing cat and mouse. What if she gets bored and decides to kill you? Would she? Those eyes look so gently at you, faded with sorrow, bleak with remorse… you can’t handle the twisting emotions inside of you. Part of you wants to end this mad, sick game, one way or another.
The doubts, the sight of her wicked curves and haunting eyes, the memories you can’t explain… she has you in a vise-grip you cannot bear. Why won’t she just end your suffering? Should you end hers?
But searching the bottom of your soul, you find the same question she must be asking herself–without the other, would either of your lives have any real meaning anymore?
The Curse of Masks: Criminal Inmate/Psychiatric Nurse {MxF}
The strait-jacket has you in its grip, a strange reversal of fortune.
You stare into nowhere, unable to help sudden flashes of your own grip on many throats, held fast in your hands. Flesh and bone yield under the press of your fingers. That memory sparks others: the gleam of the knife… the spray of blood… the sound of screams, like a soothing music while the mask eclipses your face.
Your sister was the first. She was supposed to be watching you; she'd been the one person you relied on and trusted to care for you, but this night was different… “Get lost, kid,” her boyfriend said as he shoved you out the door. “Go trick-or-treating or something.” You heard her giggling in the background, then making other sounds.
After you put the mask on, everything seemed to turn… grey. You felt nothing but a dull, far-off, strangely cerebral shadow of rage. Somehow, the only thing that made sense was to go upstairs, and make sure it would stop.
The rest, you try not to remember. Without the mask on, if you focus on those memories, it’s unbearable. The doctor says you feel nothing, and that's assuredly what you prefer to think.
Every time Halloween rolls around, you have the urge again, though now they make sure you can’t get your hands on anything you could use to make a mask. No matter how much fear or hatred you receive from the staff, no matter how torturous the conditions they keep you under might be, there’s nothing you can do to stop these people.
By now, you hardly even remember what kindness felt like anymore. It feels as if you’ve lived your whole life like this. The doctor’s false beatific smile, barely obscuring his suspicion and mistrust. The fearful, judgmental eyes of nurses and orderlies, incongruous with their mouths. Fake smiles, fake smiles are everywhere…
One Halloween, there’s a terrible storm. The power goes out again. A migraine throbs in your brain, pounding against your skull as if it's as unhappy to be caged as you are. An idea occurs to you at last; you use a bedsheet this time–you cut holes in it. On it goes, like a ghost costume, but the purpose is far darker. You don’t know why you couldn’t stop yourself. It truly is like some terrible curse.
And now… you get them. You move from shadow to shadow, terrorizing every last employee whether you kill them or not, as if you’re feeding some dark entity which stole your soul.
After the massacre, no one left alive can prove it, but everyone knows–especially the doctor. He looks so angry now. You like the lack of fake smiles, but you’re never tended to by less than three large men at a time anymore. The lights are always on, with backups. You get no sheets, only straitjackets. They won’t let you feed yourself. It seems petty… by now, they should know it only happens close to Samhain, but that clearly doesn't concern them. Fear and mistrust rule your handling.
Every migraine is agony now. They don't let you use an eyeshade, fearing it might behave as a mask. They are torturing you. Even the pillowcase has no zipper this time. They fear you'd open it with your teeth.
Just when you were expecting to live like this forever, now that the doctor has entirely stopped trying to tame his monster, they bring someone new in… a nurse. The first woman you’ve seen in awhile, but more than that… the first person here that you can remember treating you like someone who isn't a complete monster. Someone who can feel, grow, and change. Someone who has agency and deserves a say in their care. It almost feels… unnatural. You can't figure out if you love it, resent it, or both.
Your bond with her deepens. The more she talks, the more you believe… she might actually be right that you’re not innately evil. It throws everything you’ve lived into question, in ways both positive and negative. It also frightens you. She's loosening your restrictions. She's trusting you. Should she? Can you trust yourself? Were they all right about you, or is she?
As Samhain once more approaches, you find a fever gripping you… a burning determination to take control of the uncontrollable; to become your own master once and for all… but there’s more at stake.
You want free of these bonds. You want free of your curse. You want to make sure she never stops looking at you like she does, with that warm, sweet acceptance; not even when she’s underneath you gasping for air…
Now that you’ve had a taste of getting what you want, the trend will continue.
You just moved into this house. It was a steal–very close to your place of work, gorgeous, nice hot-tub… recently remodeled. The fact that someone died in it 30 years ago didn’t seem like a problem.
Your new neighbor is sweet as maple syrup. She brings you a tray of brownies, she leaves cute little notes, she lets you meet her dachshund and asks if you want to join her D&D group. She got so used to this house at the end of the lane being empty, though, that she forgets to bother to close her curtains and blinds a lot. It’s a nice view.
Unfortunately, the view also shows you that her husband doesn’t treat her very well. He’s verbally abusive, frequently absent, and paying a pro-domme instead of sharing his lusts with his wife. She seems quite fatalistic about this situation she didn't agree to. Maybe a handsome neighbor’s undivided attention could persuade her to jettison the dead weight, and give a lonely single man all the devotion her husband didn’t appreciate?
There's the gist of it. If you'd rather play a canon character like Michael Myers or Loki, I do have an obvious plot for the first and one I haven't written out here for the latter. I also love Alucard. Really, I'm a sucker for the "pretty, average to scrawny, more subtly masculine" type, especially if he's complex and very far from douchey. Feel free to drop me a line if anything interests you or you have a concept you're sure is up my alley; I'm happy to chat!
About me: I main female leads exclusively. For their relationships, I seek either intensely emotionally intimate MxF stories, or MxFxM triads (but with romance, not just sex.) I don't care what my partner's or partners' gender might be, only that they can roleplay well and get into their character's perspective. I love intelligent horror (don't get me going about Flanagan’s works and Silent Hill. Or do!) In the first encounters of a relationship, at least, I don't like fade to black because what doesn't quite happen is often as delicious as what does, and the interplay determines the outcomes for me when I write--consent happens onscreen in my book, and if it's not the right time then I like to play that out in character.
I also just get really into emotional intimacy and the way desire can build under the surface, especially between two people who have every reason to hold back but just can't help but be drawn to one another. I think it's truly beautiful to watch that fragile trust gradually build, blossoming even in the harshest concrete jungles or the most desolate deserts of the soul. To gently pluck the heartstrings and build a moving, unforgettable melody in harmony with someone else is always my goal.
I am strictly about the characters. If it seems like a character would rather screw than survive, and that's not portrayed as pathological but is taken as banal, I get bored by the lack of groundedness. So please bear that in mind: I seek a partner who can join me in a "characters first, story second, smoking hot sex scenes according to the needs of the first two" mindset. I'm also a dynamic post length kind of woman, so for intros it's novellas but for sensitive scenes, short. If you're looking for a k/l list, I can deliver one, but the general principle's just "I'll write anything that isn't extreme if it suits the characters and story beats."
On that note, here’s a few horror-themed character-driven dark romance plots I'd love to do. As you'll see, the first gives Supernatural/Vampire: the Masquerade, while the second gives Halloween/Fear Street/Silence of the Lambs. I have other ideas, but these are the main ones I'm most enthusiastic about, particularly the second one because I haven't gotten to try it at all yet. And if you've messaged me before but didn't get a response, please feel free to do so again; I might've either missed it or gotten the wrong impression, and I'm very willing to re-evaluate.
The Shadow Below: Vampire Hunter/Vampire {(MxF}
You first saw the nightmare when you were a small boy. Black waves swirling around a deathly-white face, the lower half of it drenched in blood. Pale, ghoulish green eyes, staring down at you. As you stood in the sepia light at the bottom of the stairs, wisps of shadow seeming to shift around her like a cloak in wind, you were sure that you were about to die. She took a step towards you… but then, by luck and chance, she heard the sirens and fled.
As you wept over the broken bodies of your parents, shattered between the couch and television, the tiniest amount of the vampire’s eldritch blood must have crept its way into you somehow. Later, in the hands of a small and highly zealous hunter cabal, you learned what a weakness that could be if you didn’t purge it from your system… but you didn’t care. You needed it. You needed to keep a part of her, so that one day you could find her again. She mustn’t escape justice forever.
You failed to integrate into society as you grew; you just weren’t like most people. The scars ran too deep. There wasn’t any room for the possibility of true attachments… your fellow hunters died in this dangerous line of work, and any woman you looked at just reminded you of her. Paranoia and mistrust were a way of life. You were damaged, shaken to your core by what she did to you. She destroyed your world, your safety, your family... she took everything. You had already seen what happens to people you let yourself love. You couldn’t face that again.
You grew. You worked. You learned to excel at killing. And one day, you stumbled across her again.
You didn’t recognize her at first: she looked so different, all cleaned up. So tiny in comparison to what a child had seen; a murderous giant. And her manner was so friendly, so gentle and compassionate… if you didn’t know better, you would think she was different from the rest of her kind.
As you go rogue to tail her across the country, you’re increasingly confused and angered. At first she seems shocked, confused, and distraught by what you’re doing; maybe even frightened… then terribly sad, guilty even.
But after a while, she becomes almost… playful with you. She starts to give you advice on how to hunt her kind. Asks you questions about yourself. At every turn, her soft, friendly-sounding, warm voice fills your ears… her manner is so bizarrely gentle. You feel mocked by her very existence. Surely it can't be that she was lonely before you.
As you stalk her, like she surely stalks her victims, through binoculars and telescopes, you grow to realize she knows you’re watching… those pale eyes look back at you; hauntingly beautiful, eerily alluring and aware. It’s almost as if she’s… flirting with you. The look she gives you when she bites someone almost seems to say, "this could be you... I want it to be... come to me."
That realization makes you sick. It makes you burn inside… over her, over yourself. You thought of your soul as hardened stone, but now she’s playing with your emotions like putty. And worse, details of that night come back to you, the more that she patiently tugs at those strings in your mind, whispering of what a child couldn’t understand. She MUST be manipulating you… lying… planting memories… mustn’t she? But the doubts still grow the more you search your mind for faded fragments of that night.
The more you pursue her, the more you begin to realize this rabbit hole could swallow what passes for your life. She seems to be playing cat and mouse. What if she gets bored and decides to kill you? Would she? Those eyes look so gently at you, faded with sorrow, bleak with remorse… you can’t handle the twisting emotions inside of you. Part of you wants to end this mad, sick game, one way or another.
The doubts, the sight of her wicked curves and haunting eyes, the memories you can’t explain… she has you in a vise-grip you cannot bear. Why won’t she just end your suffering? Should you end hers?
But searching the bottom of your soul, you find the same question she must be asking herself–without the other, would either of your lives have any real meaning anymore?
The Curse of Masks: Criminal Inmate/Psychiatric Nurse {MxF}
The strait-jacket has you in its grip, a strange reversal of fortune.
You stare into nowhere, unable to help sudden flashes of your own grip on many throats, held fast in your hands. Flesh and bone yield under the press of your fingers. That memory sparks others: the gleam of the knife… the spray of blood… the sound of screams, like a soothing music while the mask eclipses your face.
Your sister was the first. She was supposed to be watching you; she'd been the one person you relied on and trusted to care for you, but this night was different… “Get lost, kid,” her boyfriend said as he shoved you out the door. “Go trick-or-treating or something.” You heard her giggling in the background, then making other sounds.
After you put the mask on, everything seemed to turn… grey. You felt nothing but a dull, far-off, strangely cerebral shadow of rage. Somehow, the only thing that made sense was to go upstairs, and make sure it would stop.
The rest, you try not to remember. Without the mask on, if you focus on those memories, it’s unbearable. The doctor says you feel nothing, and that's assuredly what you prefer to think.
Every time Halloween rolls around, you have the urge again, though now they make sure you can’t get your hands on anything you could use to make a mask. No matter how much fear or hatred you receive from the staff, no matter how torturous the conditions they keep you under might be, there’s nothing you can do to stop these people.
By now, you hardly even remember what kindness felt like anymore. It feels as if you’ve lived your whole life like this. The doctor’s false beatific smile, barely obscuring his suspicion and mistrust. The fearful, judgmental eyes of nurses and orderlies, incongruous with their mouths. Fake smiles, fake smiles are everywhere…
One Halloween, there’s a terrible storm. The power goes out again. A migraine throbs in your brain, pounding against your skull as if it's as unhappy to be caged as you are. An idea occurs to you at last; you use a bedsheet this time–you cut holes in it. On it goes, like a ghost costume, but the purpose is far darker. You don’t know why you couldn’t stop yourself. It truly is like some terrible curse.
And now… you get them. You move from shadow to shadow, terrorizing every last employee whether you kill them or not, as if you’re feeding some dark entity which stole your soul.
After the massacre, no one left alive can prove it, but everyone knows–especially the doctor. He looks so angry now. You like the lack of fake smiles, but you’re never tended to by less than three large men at a time anymore. The lights are always on, with backups. You get no sheets, only straitjackets. They won’t let you feed yourself. It seems petty… by now, they should know it only happens close to Samhain, but that clearly doesn't concern them. Fear and mistrust rule your handling.
Every migraine is agony now. They don't let you use an eyeshade, fearing it might behave as a mask. They are torturing you. Even the pillowcase has no zipper this time. They fear you'd open it with your teeth.
Just when you were expecting to live like this forever, now that the doctor has entirely stopped trying to tame his monster, they bring someone new in… a nurse. The first woman you’ve seen in awhile, but more than that… the first person here that you can remember treating you like someone who isn't a complete monster. Someone who can feel, grow, and change. Someone who has agency and deserves a say in their care. It almost feels… unnatural. You can't figure out if you love it, resent it, or both.
Your bond with her deepens. The more she talks, the more you believe… she might actually be right that you’re not innately evil. It throws everything you’ve lived into question, in ways both positive and negative. It also frightens you. She's loosening your restrictions. She's trusting you. Should she? Can you trust yourself? Were they all right about you, or is she?
As Samhain once more approaches, you find a fever gripping you… a burning determination to take control of the uncontrollable; to become your own master once and for all… but there’s more at stake.
You want free of these bonds. You want free of your curse. You want to make sure she never stops looking at you like she does, with that warm, sweet acceptance; not even when she’s underneath you gasping for air…
Now that you’ve had a taste of getting what you want, the trend will continue.
The Voyeur {MxF/MxFxM)}
You just moved into this house. It was a steal–very close to your place of work, gorgeous, nice hot-tub… recently remodeled. The fact that someone died in it 30 years ago didn’t seem like a problem.
Your new neighbor is sweet as maple syrup. She brings you a tray of brownies, she leaves cute little notes, she lets you meet her dachshund and asks if you want to join her D&D group. She got so used to this house at the end of the lane being empty, though, that she forgets to bother to close her curtains and blinds a lot. It’s a nice view.
Unfortunately, the view also shows you that her husband doesn’t treat her very well. He’s verbally abusive, frequently absent, and paying a pro-domme instead of sharing his lusts with his wife. She seems quite fatalistic about this situation she didn't agree to. Maybe a handsome neighbor’s undivided attention could persuade her to jettison the dead weight, and give a lonely single man all the devotion her husband didn’t appreciate?
There's the gist of it. If you'd rather play a canon character like Michael Myers or Loki, I do have an obvious plot for the first and one I haven't written out here for the latter. I also love Alucard. Really, I'm a sucker for the "pretty, average to scrawny, more subtly masculine" type, especially if he's complex and very far from douchey. Feel free to drop me a line if anything interests you or you have a concept you're sure is up my alley; I'm happy to chat!