manatees
pathological people pleaser.
- Local time
- Today 7:37 PM
- Messages
- 1
- Age
- 33
- Pronouns
- she/her
meagan. 32. cat mom.
RPing for 15+ years. (omg)
replies vary daily to weekly depending on life.
hella open to suggestions or creating something together!
descriptive writing style.
longer replies. (500+ words, please.)
i LOVE OOC chat.
PM only.
m/f pairings.
disclaimer: story over smut.
*i don't mind writing it, but love a good plot and story driven RP.
| ACOTAR vibes | pride and prejudice | modernizing fairy tales | romance |
| secrets | conflict | slow burn | addictions | obsession | gods retelling |
| liars | con artists | bets | fate | hatred | denial | fated |
| set ups | love triangels | self - discovery |
| pride | redemption arcs | feuds |
| forbidden | mistakes |
| indebted |
| forever can spare a minute |
modern fairy tale | crime | indebted
| a region of chaos and moonlight |
acotar vibes | secrets | forbidden
RPing for 15+ years. (omg)
replies vary daily to weekly depending on life.
hella open to suggestions or creating something together!
descriptive writing style.
longer replies. (500+ words, please.)
i LOVE OOC chat.
PM only.
m/f pairings.
disclaimer: story over smut.
*i don't mind writing it, but love a good plot and story driven RP.
| ACOTAR vibes | pride and prejudice | modernizing fairy tales | romance |
| secrets | conflict | slow burn | addictions | obsession | gods retelling |
| liars | con artists | bets | fate | hatred | denial | fated |
| set ups | love triangels | self - discovery |
| pride | redemption arcs | feuds |
| forbidden | mistakes |
| indebted |
| forever can spare a minute |
modern fairy tale | crime | indebted
YC is a highly feared crime lord (of your choosing) in a seedy northern seaside town.
MC's father owes him money. a lot of money. out of some out of character reason, YC has decided that instead of
death, he can work off what he owes. MC, tired of living in a shithole apartment with the man addicted to (gambling, drugs...
whatever YC wants to dabble in) decides that it may be in her best interest to offer to take his place.
MC's father owes him money. a lot of money. out of some out of character reason, YC has decided that instead of
death, he can work off what he owes. MC, tired of living in a shithole apartment with the man addicted to (gambling, drugs...
whatever YC wants to dabble in) decides that it may be in her best interest to offer to take his place.
| a region of chaos and moonlight |
acotar vibes | secrets | forbidden
growing up as kids who were friends from different courts, our characters spent most of their free time
where the summer meets winter, sneaking around to spend time together. MC works for the high lord of the summer court.
YC can be.... anything in the winter court? there are rumblings across the seasons that summer is sparking
a rebellion, and winter builds a wall. MC realizes she has one more chance to see YC before it's too late.
super, super loosely thought out. would love to brainstorm this more.
where the summer meets winter, sneaking around to spend time together. MC works for the high lord of the summer court.
YC can be.... anything in the winter court? there are rumblings across the seasons that summer is sparking
a rebellion, and winter builds a wall. MC realizes she has one more chance to see YC before it's too late.
super, super loosely thought out. would love to brainstorm this more.
There was a memory of sunlight, of thousands of colors, of spinning and spinning until she'd collapsed into a fit of giggles. At eleven, there was a tenacity in her that kept her father in the drink. At eleven, there was a certain edge to her, a strong set of her jaw that only tensed at the hands of her mother. At eleven, they had discovered the light. It had been in that field, in the meadow tucked quietly on the edge of the castle grounds, that she had fallen, her small body carving out a little den in the flowers. Her mother had stared on the edge, perched politely on a bench and accompanied by one of her own ladies in waiting who was holding an umbrella to shade her from the sun. She had watched in amazement at how the plants that had been crushed against her daughter's weight straightened around her and how the flowers pulled inward, forming a barely noticeable arch over the little girl's form, like flowers angling their face towards the sun.
All she could remember after that moment, after the fall, was her mother grabbing her by the wrist, pulling her up from the ground and shielding the spot where Luciana had lain with her body. Her mother had whispered fiercely in her ear that the squished flowers coming back to life were going to be their little secret.
The funny thing about fairy tales is that most people dream of living them without truly wanting to live them. There were many a subject who envied the royal family, who dreamed of spending days lounging around in the castle, the finest silks draped over their form. When she lay in bed at night, her blonde curls fanned out across her pillow, she thanked the gods she had been born a Langham. Her own little personal fairy tale. Looking back now to when she was eleven, she had a feeling that she would have changed her tune had she known what she knew now. It had all seemed so magical then. Learning who her father was, a king, a ruler of the land. There were marbled floors that echoed when she ran, a library with shelves upon shelves, and a stable with a pretty white horse bought just for her. She learned that with her father a king, it made her a princess. At eleven what she understood of princesses was that they had pretty dresses and crowns. She had pretty dresses, a wardrobe filled with soft lines that flowed when she swung on the rope swing one of the servants had tied up. She dutifully learned how to make crows of tiny flowers, Queen Ann's lace twisted together with little blue flowers her mother called Bachelor's Buttons.
At eleven, Luciana was blissfully unaware. At twelve, she wanted out.
xx
"Well if you like him so much why don't you marry him?"
The question hung in the air as she picked up her glass with a slight force driven by anger, her drink sloshing around dangerously close to spilling over the rim and onto her dress. Her eyes stayed intently focused on her father, the blue turning an icy shade as she leaned back against the formal dining chair, crossing one of her legs over another, the soft white of her dress rustling in the sudden silence. All of the help, the servants, the guards who stood against the edge of the wall went mute at her vocal rebellion. Ciana didn't care, she didn't want to hear all about the reasons that it was her responsibility to marry. Those reasons had been drilled into her mind since she had been twelve years old.
"Luciana, please," her father, the king, pleaded, his head already down into his propped elbow, forefinger and thumb pressing against the bridge of his nose. "Not tonight dear, Victoria, please talk some sense into your daughter." With the mention of her mother, her nostrils flared, showcasing the rage that was filling up inside of her. All eyes in the room were on here, and there was a slight tug in the pit of her stomach that reminded her that she was letting people down - disappointing them - again. But the anger was too much, and like always it was directed at her parents. They had conspired against her, plotted to send her off to be with someone for the sake of making allies. When Luciana thought of it, she could hardly stomach it. When she'd dreamed of being a princess she had, as most little girls do, dreamed of a prince - one with kind eyes and a grateful heart and one who loved her for who she was. She had not imagined her father calling her into his office one day, home from months of traveling, and announcing that she was to be wed by the end of the season. Ciana supposed she should have been honored. She was saving the kingdom, doing her duty. Doing what she had been born to do.
"May I be excused?"
Her father's answer was cut off from the sound of her chair scraping against the stone floor before she stormed off.
xx
"Ouch," she muttered, her hair jerking in the direction of the rotund woman who was brushing through her hair. Ciana winced, waiting on the light smack of the hairbrush from the woman, and she smiled slightly when she felt the familiar wack.
"Don't complain, princesses don't complain," Winifred chided, clicking her tongue though she studied the blonde who was slinking down into the tub, trying to avoid any and all grooming. Her father had requested a meeting with her, down in his study, and Ciana knew that he only entertained her when he was telling her what to do. She watched as Elaine, her lady in waiting, sorted through her ribbons to tie one in her hair. Her eyes narrowed as she caught the woman looking dreamily out her bedroom window.
"What are you so happy about," she questioned, though Ciana had to admit that she was curious. She and Elaine were close, nearly sisters, and when she stood and Winifred helped her into a robe she crossed her arm over her chest and moved to where the taller blonde stood. "I knew I was missing something during lessons today," Ciana grumbled, and she nudged her friend playfully, waiting to hear whatever news she had for her.
Elaine's fingers clasped on a thin, white ribbon and she gestured for Ciana to sit down at her vanity, sitting behind her to braid the piece of fabric into her hair. "Have you seen your father's newest addition to the guards?" When Ciana locked eyes with her friend in the mirror, she grinned, though rolled her eyes in disbelief.
"I'm quite sure I have, and there wasn't much to remember," she teased, "Now help get me into this dress so I can get this over with."
xx
"Now listen very carefully Luciana, we don't have time for any of your silly games." Her father was standing behind his desk, his large hands splayed out across the papers and maps he had sprawled out. Ciana knew that if she got close enough she'd smell the rum on his breath and she kept her head to the side, defiantly studying the low burning fire as he spoke. "I don't have time for you to be stubborn, I don't have time for you to say you don't want to do something. I have reason to believe that our kingdom could be in danger and you are too old to be acting like a child." He angrily swiped his hand in rage and Ciana looked boredly where the candlestick that sat on the edge of his desk fell to the floor, the gold clattering.
Internally she flinched, but outwardly she appeared uninterested, finally letting her eyes move over to where her father stood. "Now who's acting like the child," she made sure to mutter -loud enough for everyone in the room to hear - and she jerked her head in the opposite direction to where she could have sworn one of the guards was trying to disguise a snicker. There was Peter, her constant, more a father figure to her than her own father, and the new guard whose name she didn't quite know. Her eyes narrowed at the both of them before looking back at her father.
"I'm not going to play games, I'm ready to be sent away and bred like a poor cow to atone for your sins." When his hand hit across her cheek, she merely flinched, sniffling a bit at the action. Her pride hurt more than her cheek.
All she could remember after that moment, after the fall, was her mother grabbing her by the wrist, pulling her up from the ground and shielding the spot where Luciana had lain with her body. Her mother had whispered fiercely in her ear that the squished flowers coming back to life were going to be their little secret.
The funny thing about fairy tales is that most people dream of living them without truly wanting to live them. There were many a subject who envied the royal family, who dreamed of spending days lounging around in the castle, the finest silks draped over their form. When she lay in bed at night, her blonde curls fanned out across her pillow, she thanked the gods she had been born a Langham. Her own little personal fairy tale. Looking back now to when she was eleven, she had a feeling that she would have changed her tune had she known what she knew now. It had all seemed so magical then. Learning who her father was, a king, a ruler of the land. There were marbled floors that echoed when she ran, a library with shelves upon shelves, and a stable with a pretty white horse bought just for her. She learned that with her father a king, it made her a princess. At eleven what she understood of princesses was that they had pretty dresses and crowns. She had pretty dresses, a wardrobe filled with soft lines that flowed when she swung on the rope swing one of the servants had tied up. She dutifully learned how to make crows of tiny flowers, Queen Ann's lace twisted together with little blue flowers her mother called Bachelor's Buttons.
At eleven, Luciana was blissfully unaware. At twelve, she wanted out.
xx
"Well if you like him so much why don't you marry him?"
The question hung in the air as she picked up her glass with a slight force driven by anger, her drink sloshing around dangerously close to spilling over the rim and onto her dress. Her eyes stayed intently focused on her father, the blue turning an icy shade as she leaned back against the formal dining chair, crossing one of her legs over another, the soft white of her dress rustling in the sudden silence. All of the help, the servants, the guards who stood against the edge of the wall went mute at her vocal rebellion. Ciana didn't care, she didn't want to hear all about the reasons that it was her responsibility to marry. Those reasons had been drilled into her mind since she had been twelve years old.
"Luciana, please," her father, the king, pleaded, his head already down into his propped elbow, forefinger and thumb pressing against the bridge of his nose. "Not tonight dear, Victoria, please talk some sense into your daughter." With the mention of her mother, her nostrils flared, showcasing the rage that was filling up inside of her. All eyes in the room were on here, and there was a slight tug in the pit of her stomach that reminded her that she was letting people down - disappointing them - again. But the anger was too much, and like always it was directed at her parents. They had conspired against her, plotted to send her off to be with someone for the sake of making allies. When Luciana thought of it, she could hardly stomach it. When she'd dreamed of being a princess she had, as most little girls do, dreamed of a prince - one with kind eyes and a grateful heart and one who loved her for who she was. She had not imagined her father calling her into his office one day, home from months of traveling, and announcing that she was to be wed by the end of the season. Ciana supposed she should have been honored. She was saving the kingdom, doing her duty. Doing what she had been born to do.
"May I be excused?"
Her father's answer was cut off from the sound of her chair scraping against the stone floor before she stormed off.
xx
"Ouch," she muttered, her hair jerking in the direction of the rotund woman who was brushing through her hair. Ciana winced, waiting on the light smack of the hairbrush from the woman, and she smiled slightly when she felt the familiar wack.
"Don't complain, princesses don't complain," Winifred chided, clicking her tongue though she studied the blonde who was slinking down into the tub, trying to avoid any and all grooming. Her father had requested a meeting with her, down in his study, and Ciana knew that he only entertained her when he was telling her what to do. She watched as Elaine, her lady in waiting, sorted through her ribbons to tie one in her hair. Her eyes narrowed as she caught the woman looking dreamily out her bedroom window.
"What are you so happy about," she questioned, though Ciana had to admit that she was curious. She and Elaine were close, nearly sisters, and when she stood and Winifred helped her into a robe she crossed her arm over her chest and moved to where the taller blonde stood. "I knew I was missing something during lessons today," Ciana grumbled, and she nudged her friend playfully, waiting to hear whatever news she had for her.
Elaine's fingers clasped on a thin, white ribbon and she gestured for Ciana to sit down at her vanity, sitting behind her to braid the piece of fabric into her hair. "Have you seen your father's newest addition to the guards?" When Ciana locked eyes with her friend in the mirror, she grinned, though rolled her eyes in disbelief.
"I'm quite sure I have, and there wasn't much to remember," she teased, "Now help get me into this dress so I can get this over with."
xx
"Now listen very carefully Luciana, we don't have time for any of your silly games." Her father was standing behind his desk, his large hands splayed out across the papers and maps he had sprawled out. Ciana knew that if she got close enough she'd smell the rum on his breath and she kept her head to the side, defiantly studying the low burning fire as he spoke. "I don't have time for you to be stubborn, I don't have time for you to say you don't want to do something. I have reason to believe that our kingdom could be in danger and you are too old to be acting like a child." He angrily swiped his hand in rage and Ciana looked boredly where the candlestick that sat on the edge of his desk fell to the floor, the gold clattering.
Internally she flinched, but outwardly she appeared uninterested, finally letting her eyes move over to where her father stood. "Now who's acting like the child," she made sure to mutter -loud enough for everyone in the room to hear - and she jerked her head in the opposite direction to where she could have sworn one of the guards was trying to disguise a snicker. There was Peter, her constant, more a father figure to her than her own father, and the new guard whose name she didn't quite know. Her eyes narrowed at the both of them before looking back at her father.
"I'm not going to play games, I'm ready to be sent away and bred like a poor cow to atone for your sins." When his hand hit across her cheek, she merely flinched, sniffling a bit at the action. Her pride hurt more than her cheek.