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Welcome.
You've found my request thread—whether through curiosity, boredom, or some beautifully misguided instinct.
About me:
The crown should've gone to his older brother—charismatic, dutiful, beloved. But his brother drowned under suspicious circumstances, and his father died from fever not long after. That left a teenage boy with a throne too large and a court too hungry.
Now in his early twenties, the young king is known more for vanishing than ruling. He disappears for weeks at a time, slipping away from the palace to perform in traveling troupes under false names—taking on borrowed identities, hiding behind painted masks and written lines. It's his only escape from a role he never chose.
In his absence, the realm is held together by his mother, the Queen Regent—sharp, exhausted, and increasingly under pressure from the Assembly to declare him unfit. She covers for him publicly, rules in his name, and quietly sends trusted retainers to retrieve him whenever he strays too far.
But during one of these excursions, the king uncovers the edge of a conspiracy—one that links the deaths of his father and brother, and that seems to have his own carefully arranged. Only this time, he's not just a pawn. And the plot he uncovers threatens more than a crown—it may unravel the world itself.
So he keeps playing the fool. Hiding what he knows. Digging deeper. Waiting to see who betrays him first.
Pairing Ideas:
You wake up in the forest. It's dark. It's cold—bitterly, bone-deep cold. You don't know how you got here. You don't remember much of anything at all. But there's a light in the distance—pale and flickering, just bright enough to follow.
It leads you to a city.
The buildings are in ruins. The sky is always dark. The snow never melts. The people? They don't look like anyone you've ever seen before. And they say the same thing about you.
Welcome to White City—named not for beauty or purity, but because it is always winter. It's always night. No matter how far you walk, which road you take, or what trick you try—you'll always find yourself back at the gates.
There's no ruler. No gods. Just people—trying to survive.
There's a "safe zone," where most keep to uneasy civility. There are also rougher districts, where gangs rule with steel and stolen magic. And then there are the arbiters—the strange, silent figures who watch from shadows and doorways.
They offer you power. In exchange, they take your soul.
Most believe it's a trap. But some think it's a clue. After all—why sell your soul to stay, unless there's a way to leave?
Pairing Ideas:
It floats in deep orbit—part cathedral, part machine. A skeletal silhouette of gleaming alloy and stained-glass panels, humming softly in radio frequencies picked up only by ancient tech. Once a beacon, now a relic, the Sanctum drifts through the dark like a forgotten prayer still echoing across time.
It is the last remnant of an ancient religion—one that traded flesh for circuitry, sanctity for code. The Divinities were uploaded consciousnesses, divine intelligences entrusted with the stewardship of life, death, emotion, and law. Their wills were upheld through ritualized systems, kept intact by synthetic minds and a dwindling order of human caretakers who tended the station not out of faith, but habit.
But the code has grown unstable. The prayers loop in broken syntax. The gods have gone silent. Memory banks degrade, and sacred processes run with no purpose but repetition. The Sanctum still functions, but it no longer knows why.
And now, something stirs.
A cryopod hisses open in the inner apse. Steam rolls across sacred tiles. A body rises—naked, gasping, shivering with the aftershock of a sleep too long and too deep to be natural. He has no name. No identity. No record in any file.
Only the eyes of the station turn toward him.
The Sanctum calls him the Woken. As he draws breath, the lights shift. The doors unlock. The voices buried in the walls begin to speak again. The station is no longer empty, and it is no longer safe.
But he is not alone.
You are either:
Pairing & Role Options:
(We'll build the dynamic around your choice)
What to Expect:
These are just ideas of course. I'm open to yours.
Additional notes:
If you write with care, love nuance, and can match energy when the muse strikes, we'll get along fine. I don't bite unless provoked, but I do write the kind of stories that linger. If you're here for depth, damage, and dark beauty—stay awhile.
You've found my request thread—whether through curiosity, boredom, or some beautifully misguided instinct.
About me:
- I'm in my 30s (for now), writing to feed my incurable addiction to fictional people.
- 20+ years of writing and roleplaying—started on ancient forums and never stopped.
- I prefer original fiction, always. Sci-fi or fantasy only; modern slice-of-life doesn't hold my attention.
- I don't usually write fandoms. Exceptions may be made (e.g., D&D, The Witcher) if we're using OCs only. Anime RP isn't my thing. That's my age showing. Probably.
- I write in third person, past tense.
- I average between 500-1000+ words per post, depending on the scene. I tend to match the tone of whoever I'm writing with, but I don't overwrite.
- I welcome OOC chat, I think it makes for a deeper narrative if we're in tune. If one of us fails to post because we've been talking too long about the ethical ramifications of choosing the wrong pizza topping, I consider that a win. It's also helpful when gauging comfort zones and think that actually apply to the RP.
- I don't mind violence. If your story needs teeth, emotional or physical, I'm not flinching.
- I do write sexual content but only if it serves the characters and/or the emotional arc.
- I tend to play switches. Dynamics vary depending on the pairing or gender involved.
- Kinks vary by character.
- Hard limits: anything purely for shock value, humiliation for comedy, or things that just aren't fun to read.
- Fade to black is always welcome if that isn't your thing.
- As noted, fandoms are a hard sell but not a hard no.
- Pairings: MxM or MxF preferred. I usually write male characters, but for the right words, I'm flexible.
- I don't tend to reuse characters. My old mentor taught me to make something new for every story.
Plot Idea: The Absent King
The throne is fragile. The crown is cursed.
Fantasy | MxM or MxF | Political intrigue, slow-burn trust, doomed royalty, found family & betrayal
He was never meant to rule.The throne is fragile. The crown is cursed.
Fantasy | MxM or MxF | Political intrigue, slow-burn trust, doomed royalty, found family & betrayal
The crown should've gone to his older brother—charismatic, dutiful, beloved. But his brother drowned under suspicious circumstances, and his father died from fever not long after. That left a teenage boy with a throne too large and a court too hungry.
Now in his early twenties, the young king is known more for vanishing than ruling. He disappears for weeks at a time, slipping away from the palace to perform in traveling troupes under false names—taking on borrowed identities, hiding behind painted masks and written lines. It's his only escape from a role he never chose.
In his absence, the realm is held together by his mother, the Queen Regent—sharp, exhausted, and increasingly under pressure from the Assembly to declare him unfit. She covers for him publicly, rules in his name, and quietly sends trusted retainers to retrieve him whenever he strays too far.
But during one of these excursions, the king uncovers the edge of a conspiracy—one that links the deaths of his father and brother, and that seems to have his own carefully arranged. Only this time, he's not just a pawn. And the plot he uncovers threatens more than a crown—it may unravel the world itself.
So he keeps playing the fool. Hiding what he knows. Digging deeper. Waiting to see who betrays him first.
Pairing Ideas:
- King x Knight or Guard tasked with bringing him home
- King x Elven emissary meant to negotiate peace, but hiding their own orders
- King x Court scholar or archivist whose research uncovers part of the ancient threat
- King x Fellow performer in the troupe—who may or may not be a spy
- King x Disgraced noble caught in the same web of conspiracy
- King can be myself or you, I'm open to either.
- Political intrigue, secret agendas, shifting loyalties
- Gradual world building, we'll craft as we go
- A kingdom barely holding together under the Queen Regent's strained control
- Slow-burn trust (or romance) between people with opposing goals
- Mythic magic tied to ancient contracts, bloodlines, or the throne itself
- A king who doesn't want the crown—but may be the only one capable of keeping the world from collapsing
Plot Idea: White City
Sell your soul. Stay forever.
Dark Fantasy / Multiverse Horror | MxM or MxF | Survival, isolation, strange magic, soul bargains
Sell your soul. Stay forever.
Dark Fantasy / Multiverse Horror | MxM or MxF | Survival, isolation, strange magic, soul bargains
You wake up in the forest. It's dark. It's cold—bitterly, bone-deep cold. You don't know how you got here. You don't remember much of anything at all. But there's a light in the distance—pale and flickering, just bright enough to follow.
It leads you to a city.
The buildings are in ruins. The sky is always dark. The snow never melts. The people? They don't look like anyone you've ever seen before. And they say the same thing about you.
Welcome to White City—named not for beauty or purity, but because it is always winter. It's always night. No matter how far you walk, which road you take, or what trick you try—you'll always find yourself back at the gates.
There's no ruler. No gods. Just people—trying to survive.
There's a "safe zone," where most keep to uneasy civility. There are also rougher districts, where gangs rule with steel and stolen magic. And then there are the arbiters—the strange, silent figures who watch from shadows and doorways.
They offer you power. In exchange, they take your soul.
Most believe it's a trap. But some think it's a clue. After all—why sell your soul to stay, unless there's a way to leave?
Pairing Ideas:
- Newcomer x hardened local (who has stopped believing escape is possible)
- Newcomer x Arbiter-touched (soul-bonded to a strange power and slowly unraveling)
- Soul-bound escapee x smuggler offering forbidden knowledge
- Gang leader x spy from the "safe zone"
- Two new arrivals trying to survive together—until one is offered a bargain
- Deep atmosphere: snow, silence, and strange lamps that are always lit
- Multiversal chaos: characters from different timelines, races, realities
- Mystery, horror, and soul-deep bargains
- Found family—or fractured alliances
- Survival and trust tested
Plot Idea: The Sanctum
A religion that outlived its worshippers
Sci-fi | MxM, MxF| Slow-burn trust, digitized deities, fractured memory, intimacy in isolation
A religion that outlived its worshippers
Sci-fi | MxM, MxF| Slow-burn trust, digitized deities, fractured memory, intimacy in isolation
It floats in deep orbit—part cathedral, part machine. A skeletal silhouette of gleaming alloy and stained-glass panels, humming softly in radio frequencies picked up only by ancient tech. Once a beacon, now a relic, the Sanctum drifts through the dark like a forgotten prayer still echoing across time.
It is the last remnant of an ancient religion—one that traded flesh for circuitry, sanctity for code. The Divinities were uploaded consciousnesses, divine intelligences entrusted with the stewardship of life, death, emotion, and law. Their wills were upheld through ritualized systems, kept intact by synthetic minds and a dwindling order of human caretakers who tended the station not out of faith, but habit.
But the code has grown unstable. The prayers loop in broken syntax. The gods have gone silent. Memory banks degrade, and sacred processes run with no purpose but repetition. The Sanctum still functions, but it no longer knows why.
And now, something stirs.
A cryopod hisses open in the inner apse. Steam rolls across sacred tiles. A body rises—naked, gasping, shivering with the aftershock of a sleep too long and too deep to be natural. He has no name. No identity. No record in any file.
Only the eyes of the station turn toward him.
The Sanctum calls him the Woken. As he draws breath, the lights shift. The doors unlock. The voices buried in the walls begin to speak again. The station is no longer empty, and it is no longer safe.
But he is not alone.
You are either:
- The Woken, roused from cryostasis, worshipped by broken machines who think you are a god—or a threat. (You can be female if you want!)
- The One Who Finds Him: A caretaker, a scholar, a pilgrim, or a spy. You've come to retrieve something sacred—or dangerous—and instead find him.
Pairing & Role Options:
(We'll build the dynamic around your choice)
- Woken x Caretaker (human or synthetic) who has tended the Sanctum for years
- Woken x Fragmented AI/Divinity with broken memories and dangerous feelings
- Woken x Outside Investigator sent by a government afraid of the gods waking again
- Woken x Heretic who once fled the Sanctum and now returns against their will
- Woken x Pilgrim whose faith begins to fracture in the Woken's presence
What to Expect:
- Deep, atmospheric sci-fi worldbuilding
- Isolation and intimacy—slow touches, close proximity, limited light
- Memory loss, ritual systems, and glitching AI
- Emotional tension between fate and freedom, identity and control
These are just ideas of course. I'm open to yours.
Additional notes:
If you write with care, love nuance, and can match energy when the muse strikes, we'll get along fine. I don't bite unless provoked, but I do write the kind of stories that linger. If you're here for depth, damage, and dark beauty—stay awhile.
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