Sia
❀->–
Hello, friends! Welcome to my search.
I’m hoping to find an advanced partner or two with excellent writing styles and vivid characters. If you match up pretty well with my list, please send me a PM!
My Writing Style:
Plots & Pairings:
Shipwrecked
Muse A has been living on ships his whole life, earning his way up the ranks painstakingly slowly to a first mate’s position. He was promised a captain’s position after his last mission, but to his frustration, he was denied yet again in favor of a young noble who is a cousin to the crown, a cad with no real experience what-so-ever. Despite this mistreatment, he must go, if nothing more but for the considerable pay.
Muse A’s mission is simple: deliver Muse B, the kingdom’s princess, safely across the sea to her intended’s kingdom. Like Muse A, Muse B’s dismal situation isn’t within her power to change. While Muse A struggles to submit under the abysmal leadership of the captain, Muse B grapples with the uncertainty of her future with the foreign king, doing her best to mentally prepare her free spirit for a suffocating marriage.
One night, a storm approaches, and because of the captain's poor decisions, the ship is blown terribly off course and smashes against the rocks of an unmapped shoal. Can the survivors make it back alive, or are they doomed to die on an island where no one will ever think to find them?
Note: I would prefer to play Muse A, unless you have experience with sailing.
The Hunger Games
Muses A and B are hurtled headlong into the games, pre-Katniss and Peeta era. OCs only.
If none of these interest you, don't hesitate to suggest to me a plot or paring of your own! Feel free to expand on my ideas as well.
Please send a writing sample.
Thanks!
I’m hoping to find an advanced partner or two with excellent writing styles and vivid characters. If you match up pretty well with my list, please send me a PM!
My Writing Style:
- Quality over quantity, although I prefer both.
- I use third person and past tense.
- I like more fast paced stories.
- Mature MCs, please.
- My romantic parings are M/F only.
- I can play both male and female characters equally well.
- I absolutely love ethnically diverse characters.
- Clean language, please. Implied language like "he cursed" is fine though.
- I like to use two different PM threads for IC and OOC.
- I'll post perhaps once every 2-4 days, accommodating length.
- I'm a seat-of-the-pants writer, but I do love to discuss plot twists and other details with my partner.
- Fade to black.
- No need to keep secrets about characters' motives or direction. I won't make my character magically know something they're not supposed to just because you tell me OOC.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins as Sebastian stared down into the dark hole. He, Marcello, and Dante were standing at the top of an old apartment complex, listening to the scraping of the humanoid beasts below. The stench of the place was hair-curling, but at least they'd found the right place. The hive would be stirring soon, which meant that now was the time to act.
Sebastian pulled at the two carabiner clips on his harness, handing one to each of his anchors. Marcello and Dante slipped them through their own harnesses and attached the clip to rings they'd implanted in the concrete. Despite the technological advances their society had made, resources in this decimated world were scarce, and many hell-divers, himself included, preferred to do things the old-fashioned way, where they were less likely to receive crippling pay cuts if they lost any gear.
“There are four stories,” reminded Titus through his earpiece, “I’ve set your explosives to fifty percent, so two on each floor will do the trick.” Sebastian sent a small salute and an affirmative answer in the man’s direction, up top on another roof with his holographic scanning systems safe and out of the way.
With a small nod to his teammates, Sebastian stepped out over the gap, his weight supported by Dante and Marcello. He dropped, and the two anchors scrambled to adjust the tensions before he slipped down too far. He clenched his teeth to prevent biting off his tongue and waited for the jolting hold of the ropes. Then, he tapped his watch twice to tell the men to bring him up two feet to correct for the initial drop.
By the blueprinting of the complex, Sebastian knew that this hole went all the way down to the second floor, so they would have to sweep the first floor later. Sebastian reoriented himself, manipulating his harness so he descended stomach-first. Through his night-vision goggles, Sebastian spotted the beasts, huddled in the corners and on top of one another. They were grotesque, merely skeletons of rotting flesh and marled bone, with hollow cheeks and inhumanely long lifespans, their colors only slightly muted by the goggles. The stench itself, even through his mask, was far worse down here, but this was what he'd been trained for.
Sebastian detached the first bomb from his belt, pressing it to the wall, and waited a second for the quiet whirr, pop of the suction. When it came, he squeezed the two ignition buttons until the light turned red. Then, he kicked off the wall, feeling his anchors adjusting their ropes to accommodate the turn, and he landed quietly at the opposite wall.
The suction technology on his left gauntlet allowed him to hang on long enough to attach another gas bomb on the other side of the building, beasties just feet below him. He’d long since been desensitized to the fact that each virus-ridden beastie had once been human, but the thought that he might be next still plagued him, especially now that he worked in such close-quarters with them.
Sebastian lowered himself down from floor to floor, swinging slightly from each push-off. For the fullest impact, these bombs would have to be as close to the sleeping bodies as possible, and the father down they went, the more powerful the beast. The second floor occupied many of the males. These were the warrior class, but their immune systems could withstand a bit more than the weak ones on the higher floors. "To your left, Martinez,” suggested Titus through the headset, and Sebastian held a breath, spotting what the strategist had seen.
To his left was the king of the hive, a massive pile of rotting flesh and bones, the telltale red veins visible though his papery thin skin. These ones were particularly hard to kill because each one had their own weak spots. Sebastian used his gauntlet to slowly gravitate towards the beast. His toes tingling, he inched closer and closer until he could reach the wall right by the monster’s head. He pressed the bomb to the wall, and then there was the soft whirr and pop.
The beastie snorted out a nose-full of hot, disease-ridden air that was so foul that Sebastian gagged. He could almost feel the virus seeping into his pores. The hell-diver contained a shudder, and then he reached out, holding down the ignition buttons until the light blinked red.
That wasn’t the only thing that blinked, however. Sebastian’s eyes shifted back to the king, who watched him with its virus-crazed gaze. Then, the beastie moved. His claw-like hand shot out, nearly missing Sebastian's head, and he felt the long, disgusting nails scrape over the right shoulder blade of his protective vest, tearing it straight through to the inadequate metal plates. Titus was already yelling for Marcello and Dante, “Get him up, they’ve got him!”
The king roared as Sebastian swung wildly back out. The place sprang to life! Beasties grabbed at empty air for him, but as soon as he’d been pulled up to the third floor, the gas bombs exploded. Sebastian held his breath on instinct, closing his eyes against the purple smoke even though he wore goggles and a mask. The smoke was strong enough to kill hell-divers as much as the beasties, and he wasn’t inclined to die today.
Sebastian felt a sudden weight drag at his ropes. He swung out haphazardly, fear sharpening his mind. He used the momentum to kick a fume-stunned beast squealing down to the second floor, glancing upwards to gage the situation above. A beast had leaped from the fourth floor and grabbed onto the ropes. He reached out for his hand-gun, flipping face-up despite his injured shoulder to get a clear shot at the beast. I am not done yet.
Sebastian shot at the beast, hitting the flesh of its arm, its leg, until it finally let go and fell. Sebastian batted it away with his gauntlet arm on the way down, and then Dante and Marcello were hauling him up again. His eyes burned and watered, even through the goggle's protection. The conscious beasts grabbed at his feet even as they suffered the agony of the purple fog, but Sebastian kicked them away, emptying his magazine into the fray. Then, he was up and out of the hole. Alive.
There was no time to waste. Dante and Marcello quickly detached themselves from the clips in a matter of seconds, and then they were off, headed by zip-line to their next posts on the ground. The king roared again, chilling Sebastian's bones, and he knew that it wasn't over yet. The rest of the hive was already swarming, and those on the first floor came out to play. Titus didn't have to tell his men to fire. The air became a chorus of gunfire and beastie noises.
"Where do you need me, Titus?" Asked Sebastian, speaking into his comms-link and turning off the night-vision to his goggles. His wound was beginning to itch. It was a bad sign, but he couldn’t worry about that, now. There was a hive to decimate.
“If you can, sit tight and shoot at what you can see, kid,” Titus instructed in between orders to the other members of the platoon, “The statistics on that wound of yours… it’s not looking too great.”
The resignation in his superior’s voice prompted Sebastian to reach back, and his gauntlet came away bloody with clots. His vision swam and he stumbled, the itch transitioning into a burning sensation. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but that only disoriented him. He fell to his knees, the ground no longer even beneath his feet. He could feel every vein, every drop of fiery, contaminated blood as his heart pumped it further and further within his system. Every piece of information he’d been taught flooded through his mind, like how he only had about a minute more from the time he was scratched for the blood to reach his brain and how the doctors couldn’t always keep up with the vaccinations for the new strains.
A lump settled in his throat. Titus had given up on him, and Dante and Marcello had left him to die.
Anger flared within him, but he wouldn’t waste his last moments of sanity. At most, he had to prolong his turning as long as he could. Sebastian reached for his waist and pulled at his belt, freeing the leather strip and pulling it tightly around his neck. He cried out in agony as the virus attacked his heart, but the pain cleared his head, even for a moment.
His eyes located one of the metal rings the anchors had left into the concrete, and he slipped the tail end of the belt through it, using the extra leverage to pull the belt tighter around his neck. His vision swam again, but he reminded himself that choking to death would hypothetically be longer than the turning, and when he did turn, at least he would die soon enough.
His whole being throbbing, he pulled the belt tighter, the clasp cinching it adequately. The virus met the belt, and Sebastian growled, planting his foot against the the building’s lip. He pulled with all his might, praying that it would hold, that cutting off his circulation would be enough. The virus throbbed to the tips of his toes, and his arms began to feel sluggish, unable to grip the belt any more. He slumped back, completely consumed by the agony, his body convulsing.
His vision flickered white, and then the virus halted. He watched the sky as the purple mists mingled with the brown of the ever-present toxic fog. His head still pounded, but it was the kind that ensued after oxygen deprivation. He’d done it, but he no longer had the strength to fight. His vision faded, and he slipped into darkness.
The next sounds he heard were of the hospital’s machines. He felt nothing, but there was only one thought filling his mind: I am alive. I am sane.
Sebastian pulled at the two carabiner clips on his harness, handing one to each of his anchors. Marcello and Dante slipped them through their own harnesses and attached the clip to rings they'd implanted in the concrete. Despite the technological advances their society had made, resources in this decimated world were scarce, and many hell-divers, himself included, preferred to do things the old-fashioned way, where they were less likely to receive crippling pay cuts if they lost any gear.
“There are four stories,” reminded Titus through his earpiece, “I’ve set your explosives to fifty percent, so two on each floor will do the trick.” Sebastian sent a small salute and an affirmative answer in the man’s direction, up top on another roof with his holographic scanning systems safe and out of the way.
With a small nod to his teammates, Sebastian stepped out over the gap, his weight supported by Dante and Marcello. He dropped, and the two anchors scrambled to adjust the tensions before he slipped down too far. He clenched his teeth to prevent biting off his tongue and waited for the jolting hold of the ropes. Then, he tapped his watch twice to tell the men to bring him up two feet to correct for the initial drop.
By the blueprinting of the complex, Sebastian knew that this hole went all the way down to the second floor, so they would have to sweep the first floor later. Sebastian reoriented himself, manipulating his harness so he descended stomach-first. Through his night-vision goggles, Sebastian spotted the beasts, huddled in the corners and on top of one another. They were grotesque, merely skeletons of rotting flesh and marled bone, with hollow cheeks and inhumanely long lifespans, their colors only slightly muted by the goggles. The stench itself, even through his mask, was far worse down here, but this was what he'd been trained for.
Sebastian detached the first bomb from his belt, pressing it to the wall, and waited a second for the quiet whirr, pop of the suction. When it came, he squeezed the two ignition buttons until the light turned red. Then, he kicked off the wall, feeling his anchors adjusting their ropes to accommodate the turn, and he landed quietly at the opposite wall.
The suction technology on his left gauntlet allowed him to hang on long enough to attach another gas bomb on the other side of the building, beasties just feet below him. He’d long since been desensitized to the fact that each virus-ridden beastie had once been human, but the thought that he might be next still plagued him, especially now that he worked in such close-quarters with them.
Sebastian lowered himself down from floor to floor, swinging slightly from each push-off. For the fullest impact, these bombs would have to be as close to the sleeping bodies as possible, and the father down they went, the more powerful the beast. The second floor occupied many of the males. These were the warrior class, but their immune systems could withstand a bit more than the weak ones on the higher floors. "To your left, Martinez,” suggested Titus through the headset, and Sebastian held a breath, spotting what the strategist had seen.
To his left was the king of the hive, a massive pile of rotting flesh and bones, the telltale red veins visible though his papery thin skin. These ones were particularly hard to kill because each one had their own weak spots. Sebastian used his gauntlet to slowly gravitate towards the beast. His toes tingling, he inched closer and closer until he could reach the wall right by the monster’s head. He pressed the bomb to the wall, and then there was the soft whirr and pop.
The beastie snorted out a nose-full of hot, disease-ridden air that was so foul that Sebastian gagged. He could almost feel the virus seeping into his pores. The hell-diver contained a shudder, and then he reached out, holding down the ignition buttons until the light blinked red.
That wasn’t the only thing that blinked, however. Sebastian’s eyes shifted back to the king, who watched him with its virus-crazed gaze. Then, the beastie moved. His claw-like hand shot out, nearly missing Sebastian's head, and he felt the long, disgusting nails scrape over the right shoulder blade of his protective vest, tearing it straight through to the inadequate metal plates. Titus was already yelling for Marcello and Dante, “Get him up, they’ve got him!”
The king roared as Sebastian swung wildly back out. The place sprang to life! Beasties grabbed at empty air for him, but as soon as he’d been pulled up to the third floor, the gas bombs exploded. Sebastian held his breath on instinct, closing his eyes against the purple smoke even though he wore goggles and a mask. The smoke was strong enough to kill hell-divers as much as the beasties, and he wasn’t inclined to die today.
Sebastian felt a sudden weight drag at his ropes. He swung out haphazardly, fear sharpening his mind. He used the momentum to kick a fume-stunned beast squealing down to the second floor, glancing upwards to gage the situation above. A beast had leaped from the fourth floor and grabbed onto the ropes. He reached out for his hand-gun, flipping face-up despite his injured shoulder to get a clear shot at the beast. I am not done yet.
Sebastian shot at the beast, hitting the flesh of its arm, its leg, until it finally let go and fell. Sebastian batted it away with his gauntlet arm on the way down, and then Dante and Marcello were hauling him up again. His eyes burned and watered, even through the goggle's protection. The conscious beasts grabbed at his feet even as they suffered the agony of the purple fog, but Sebastian kicked them away, emptying his magazine into the fray. Then, he was up and out of the hole. Alive.
There was no time to waste. Dante and Marcello quickly detached themselves from the clips in a matter of seconds, and then they were off, headed by zip-line to their next posts on the ground. The king roared again, chilling Sebastian's bones, and he knew that it wasn't over yet. The rest of the hive was already swarming, and those on the first floor came out to play. Titus didn't have to tell his men to fire. The air became a chorus of gunfire and beastie noises.
"Where do you need me, Titus?" Asked Sebastian, speaking into his comms-link and turning off the night-vision to his goggles. His wound was beginning to itch. It was a bad sign, but he couldn’t worry about that, now. There was a hive to decimate.
“If you can, sit tight and shoot at what you can see, kid,” Titus instructed in between orders to the other members of the platoon, “The statistics on that wound of yours… it’s not looking too great.”
The resignation in his superior’s voice prompted Sebastian to reach back, and his gauntlet came away bloody with clots. His vision swam and he stumbled, the itch transitioning into a burning sensation. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but that only disoriented him. He fell to his knees, the ground no longer even beneath his feet. He could feel every vein, every drop of fiery, contaminated blood as his heart pumped it further and further within his system. Every piece of information he’d been taught flooded through his mind, like how he only had about a minute more from the time he was scratched for the blood to reach his brain and how the doctors couldn’t always keep up with the vaccinations for the new strains.
A lump settled in his throat. Titus had given up on him, and Dante and Marcello had left him to die.
Anger flared within him, but he wouldn’t waste his last moments of sanity. At most, he had to prolong his turning as long as he could. Sebastian reached for his waist and pulled at his belt, freeing the leather strip and pulling it tightly around his neck. He cried out in agony as the virus attacked his heart, but the pain cleared his head, even for a moment.
His eyes located one of the metal rings the anchors had left into the concrete, and he slipped the tail end of the belt through it, using the extra leverage to pull the belt tighter around his neck. His vision swam again, but he reminded himself that choking to death would hypothetically be longer than the turning, and when he did turn, at least he would die soon enough.
His whole being throbbing, he pulled the belt tighter, the clasp cinching it adequately. The virus met the belt, and Sebastian growled, planting his foot against the the building’s lip. He pulled with all his might, praying that it would hold, that cutting off his circulation would be enough. The virus throbbed to the tips of his toes, and his arms began to feel sluggish, unable to grip the belt any more. He slumped back, completely consumed by the agony, his body convulsing.
His vision flickered white, and then the virus halted. He watched the sky as the purple mists mingled with the brown of the ever-present toxic fog. His head still pounded, but it was the kind that ensued after oxygen deprivation. He’d done it, but he no longer had the strength to fight. His vision faded, and he slipped into darkness.
The next sounds he heard were of the hospital’s machines. He felt nothing, but there was only one thought filling his mind: I am alive. I am sane.
The wall caught a gust of wind that blew away the hood, and Conrad found himself staring into what seemed to him to be the world's most exotic creature. She was indeed a willowy thing, with hair that shined so auburn in the moonlight but would have been a brilliant red by day. And her eyes, the determination in those beautiful grey eyes could have matched any warrior he knew. Cassius probably wouldn't have looked twice at her, but Conrad found her strong features pleasing.
The woman was fast, clearly not a stranger to scaling walls, but she was not fast enough. One of the men caught her foot and pulled her down, but by that point, Conrad had awoken from his stupor. With his notched arrow aimed to harm, not kill, he pulled to half-draw and fired, catching the one who had her ankle by the shoulder. The man screamed in surprise and agony, but he did not let go. The girl fell with him, and Conrad silently cursed himself for not attacking sooner.
Almost before the first arrow had found its target, another was on its way. The second thug toppled, an arrow speared through his knee cap. Cries of pain echoed through the quiet night, and Conrad knew that the Bellona house would awake to them. Aid would come, but they wouldn't be fast enough.
The last one ran for cover, but Conrad was done with the bow. Anger pulsed deep within his veins, but he wasn't just angry at himself. There was only one reason why three men would be chasing after a girl at this hour of the night, and it didn't sit well with him. Disgusting vultures, he thought, jumping down from the wall and rolling forwards over the stones to break his fall.
When he stood, he held two knives, one broad and about twelve inches long, the other thin and only about seven. Both were humble pieces without gems or fancy craftsmanship, but the metal was black, smoke hardened and strong enough to rival the finest sword.
He used his momentum from the roll to propel himself down the alley. This fight should be easy! The man was exhausted from keeping up with the girl for who knew how long, and his movements would be sluggish. Even now, his stumbling footsteps betrayed his tiredness. The alley curved, and Conrad pushed himself faster, but when he rounded it, a flash of silver caught his eye. He wasn't fast enough to stop completely and back away, so the enemy's knife striped his chest. It had been a calculating move, one that only a skilled blade could have made.
The wound burned, but it wasn't deep enough to be fatal. Conrad danced away, using the opportunity to block the man's escape. For a moment, the two stared at each other, and then out of desperation his opponent lashed out. Quick as a snake, Conrad used his forearm to deter the strike, which left the man's torso open to attack. He took the opportunity, smoothly transitioning his free blade to a lunge that the man was able to catch thanks to his long arm.
Knife fights were bloody ordeals, the victor usually determined by speed or strength or endurance. Conrad felt that he had those on his side, but he was also not fighting for his life the way this man was. Then again, maybe he'd met his match. Conrad withdrew out of reach, taking the time to reassess the fight. Distance was key in a lot of knife fights, and this was certainly one of them.
Longer arms meant that his opponent had the advantage. Conrad would have to slip into dangerously close territory to be able to hit him anywhere vital. Without taking his eyes off of the man, he imagined every different way this tall man could attack. Then, he shifted his stance so that his right shoulder was unprotected. It was a rookie mistake, one that any practiced knife fighter would notice, and faster than Conrad expected, the man pounced on his opportunity, too desperate to think.
The tip of the blade touched his shoulder, drawing blood, but Conrad had known the blow would come and he stepped back out of range, slicing his small blade across the thug's wrist with a flick. Metal clattered on stone and Conrad lunged forward, burying his larger knife into the gut of the other man. Cruelly, he twisted it, opening the wound further so it wouldn't close easily, against his opponent's cries of pain. Conrad's ears closed to his plea for mercy, and he pulled out his knife, giving the man a savage kick.
The woman was fast, clearly not a stranger to scaling walls, but she was not fast enough. One of the men caught her foot and pulled her down, but by that point, Conrad had awoken from his stupor. With his notched arrow aimed to harm, not kill, he pulled to half-draw and fired, catching the one who had her ankle by the shoulder. The man screamed in surprise and agony, but he did not let go. The girl fell with him, and Conrad silently cursed himself for not attacking sooner.
Almost before the first arrow had found its target, another was on its way. The second thug toppled, an arrow speared through his knee cap. Cries of pain echoed through the quiet night, and Conrad knew that the Bellona house would awake to them. Aid would come, but they wouldn't be fast enough.
The last one ran for cover, but Conrad was done with the bow. Anger pulsed deep within his veins, but he wasn't just angry at himself. There was only one reason why three men would be chasing after a girl at this hour of the night, and it didn't sit well with him. Disgusting vultures, he thought, jumping down from the wall and rolling forwards over the stones to break his fall.
When he stood, he held two knives, one broad and about twelve inches long, the other thin and only about seven. Both were humble pieces without gems or fancy craftsmanship, but the metal was black, smoke hardened and strong enough to rival the finest sword.
He used his momentum from the roll to propel himself down the alley. This fight should be easy! The man was exhausted from keeping up with the girl for who knew how long, and his movements would be sluggish. Even now, his stumbling footsteps betrayed his tiredness. The alley curved, and Conrad pushed himself faster, but when he rounded it, a flash of silver caught his eye. He wasn't fast enough to stop completely and back away, so the enemy's knife striped his chest. It had been a calculating move, one that only a skilled blade could have made.
The wound burned, but it wasn't deep enough to be fatal. Conrad danced away, using the opportunity to block the man's escape. For a moment, the two stared at each other, and then out of desperation his opponent lashed out. Quick as a snake, Conrad used his forearm to deter the strike, which left the man's torso open to attack. He took the opportunity, smoothly transitioning his free blade to a lunge that the man was able to catch thanks to his long arm.
Knife fights were bloody ordeals, the victor usually determined by speed or strength or endurance. Conrad felt that he had those on his side, but he was also not fighting for his life the way this man was. Then again, maybe he'd met his match. Conrad withdrew out of reach, taking the time to reassess the fight. Distance was key in a lot of knife fights, and this was certainly one of them.
Longer arms meant that his opponent had the advantage. Conrad would have to slip into dangerously close territory to be able to hit him anywhere vital. Without taking his eyes off of the man, he imagined every different way this tall man could attack. Then, he shifted his stance so that his right shoulder was unprotected. It was a rookie mistake, one that any practiced knife fighter would notice, and faster than Conrad expected, the man pounced on his opportunity, too desperate to think.
The tip of the blade touched his shoulder, drawing blood, but Conrad had known the blow would come and he stepped back out of range, slicing his small blade across the thug's wrist with a flick. Metal clattered on stone and Conrad lunged forward, burying his larger knife into the gut of the other man. Cruelly, he twisted it, opening the wound further so it wouldn't close easily, against his opponent's cries of pain. Conrad's ears closed to his plea for mercy, and he pulled out his knife, giving the man a savage kick.
His strong arms locked her in their embrace, but to Evelyn, he wasn't a prison. "Oh, no, you don't, love," he chided, his mischievous joy rekindling a sense of unexplainable warmth within her soul. She could feel his deep, rumbling laugh seep into her bones, and she smiled, overjoyed that he was happy. This man of the shadows was glad to know that a silly, disobedient princess had fallen for his quick wit and roguish personality.
Her heart leapt into her throat as he pulled her into the chilly water, and she lost her breath, but it wasn't all because of the river. He was so close, and yet, Evelyn yearned to be closer still. Deven obliged, pulling her through the water until they were right up against each other, but she found that deep inside, she didn't mind the indecency.
"You know... I..." He tried, adoringly, and Evelyn beamed when he had trouble forming his thoughts. She played with a strand of his curly hair, her arms securely anchored around his shoulders, waiting to hear what he had to say. But nothing came. Instead, he sighed softly, as if words couldn't even express the depths of his heart, and then he kissed her.
Evelyn's heart soared! Deven tasted like the promise of adventure, of something new and wonderful. It was altogether too soon when he tugged their lips apart, and for a moment, she searched his eyes, wondering if she'd done something wrong. She found devotion in those earthy browns, and still, though brief and fairly chaste, their kiss had been enough to make her head swim and heart swell. With that one kiss, he'd stolen the very air from her lungs.
Deven seemed to reconsider pulling away, and he swooped back in for another. Evelyn closed her eyes, waiting for him, but he didn't come. He stayed there, his teasing breath tangling with what remained of her sanity. An involuntary whine of complaint escaped her, but Deven wouldn't give in. Instead, he brushed the lightest kiss on her forehead, much like she'd done to invite him into her heart.
He smoothed her hair, and Evelyn did her best to regain her breath and consciousness, slipping a little further down around his neck as he pulled her into deeper water. "You know, Evie," Deven began again, and Evelyn smiled up at him from her position, cradled in his arms, "I love you."
Her heart leapt into her throat as he pulled her into the chilly water, and she lost her breath, but it wasn't all because of the river. He was so close, and yet, Evelyn yearned to be closer still. Deven obliged, pulling her through the water until they were right up against each other, but she found that deep inside, she didn't mind the indecency.
"You know... I..." He tried, adoringly, and Evelyn beamed when he had trouble forming his thoughts. She played with a strand of his curly hair, her arms securely anchored around his shoulders, waiting to hear what he had to say. But nothing came. Instead, he sighed softly, as if words couldn't even express the depths of his heart, and then he kissed her.
Evelyn's heart soared! Deven tasted like the promise of adventure, of something new and wonderful. It was altogether too soon when he tugged their lips apart, and for a moment, she searched his eyes, wondering if she'd done something wrong. She found devotion in those earthy browns, and still, though brief and fairly chaste, their kiss had been enough to make her head swim and heart swell. With that one kiss, he'd stolen the very air from her lungs.
Deven seemed to reconsider pulling away, and he swooped back in for another. Evelyn closed her eyes, waiting for him, but he didn't come. He stayed there, his teasing breath tangling with what remained of her sanity. An involuntary whine of complaint escaped her, but Deven wouldn't give in. Instead, he brushed the lightest kiss on her forehead, much like she'd done to invite him into her heart.
He smoothed her hair, and Evelyn did her best to regain her breath and consciousness, slipping a little further down around his neck as he pulled her into deeper water. "You know, Evie," Deven began again, and Evelyn smiled up at him from her position, cradled in his arms, "I love you."
Plots & Pairings:
Muse A’s mission is simple: deliver Muse B, the kingdom’s princess, safely across the sea to her intended’s kingdom. Like Muse A, Muse B’s dismal situation isn’t within her power to change. While Muse A struggles to submit under the abysmal leadership of the captain, Muse B grapples with the uncertainty of her future with the foreign king, doing her best to mentally prepare her free spirit for a suffocating marriage.
One night, a storm approaches, and because of the captain's poor decisions, the ship is blown terribly off course and smashes against the rocks of an unmapped shoal. Can the survivors make it back alive, or are they doomed to die on an island where no one will ever think to find them?
Note: I would prefer to play Muse A, unless you have experience with sailing.
The Key Master (Loosely inspired by Attack on Titan and Kanaberi of the Iron Fortress)
In apocalyptic Europe or Asia, most of humanity has banded together in hopes of survival. The railroads are now more important than ever, linking heavily defended safe havens together for the benefits of trade and commerce.
Muse A was born into one of the frontier havens, and he has grown up with the threat of the beasties riding on his shoulders. As an engineer and soldier, he had a promising future, until his life was turned upside down. His haven was overrun, and in the panic of the day, he lost a limb. He and the remnants of his community escaped on the heavily-armored train, and now, homeless, are at the mercy of the other havens, who, according to The Pact, a standard agreement signed by the founders, can choose to admit citizens as they see fit.
Muse A, although he's lost everything, is determined to keep the remainder of his broken, battered people alive for as long as possible. He is the only certified engineer left, and he is his haven's last hope because once he is chosen or dies, the train belongs to the nearest haven, and any unwanted inhabitants are abandoned to the outside.
One day, his train enters a spire for Pact-issued courtesy maintenance. As his first time standing in the conductor's position, he is surprised to find that the governor, Muse B, is young as well, and inexperienced with the unexpected visit. Her position has also been newly-inherited, and she, too, has a big heart, against her advisors' judgements.
Note: Muse B's is pretty open-ended. Alternatively, she could be the daughter of the governor, struggling with anything from an arranged marriage to fulfilling her dreams. It would be neat to incorporate an existing culture into her haven.
In apocalyptic Europe or Asia, most of humanity has banded together in hopes of survival. The railroads are now more important than ever, linking heavily defended safe havens together for the benefits of trade and commerce.
Muse A was born into one of the frontier havens, and he has grown up with the threat of the beasties riding on his shoulders. As an engineer and soldier, he had a promising future, until his life was turned upside down. His haven was overrun, and in the panic of the day, he lost a limb. He and the remnants of his community escaped on the heavily-armored train, and now, homeless, are at the mercy of the other havens, who, according to The Pact, a standard agreement signed by the founders, can choose to admit citizens as they see fit.
Muse A, although he's lost everything, is determined to keep the remainder of his broken, battered people alive for as long as possible. He is the only certified engineer left, and he is his haven's last hope because once he is chosen or dies, the train belongs to the nearest haven, and any unwanted inhabitants are abandoned to the outside.
One day, his train enters a spire for Pact-issued courtesy maintenance. As his first time standing in the conductor's position, he is surprised to find that the governor, Muse B, is young as well, and inexperienced with the unexpected visit. Her position has also been newly-inherited, and she, too, has a big heart, against her advisors' judgements.
Note: Muse B's is pretty open-ended. Alternatively, she could be the daughter of the governor, struggling with anything from an arranged marriage to fulfilling her dreams. It would be neat to incorporate an existing culture into her haven.
Wulfrith Keep
Muse A has never let her status as a noble lady stop her from hunting in the woods with her brothers and learning the sword. Because of her tendency to generally detest more suitable hobbies, she hasn't married and she's determined not to, figuring that no man would want to anyways. However, when an enemy King conquers their castle, he demands that she marry one of his barons, a drunkard with a quick hand. With escape as her only option, Muse A flees in the night, accompanied by one of her brothers to the Wulfrith stronghold, a place used to train boys into knights-- somewhere where she can more readily hone her skills and also hide where the enemy won't expect.
Muse B, the Wulfrith heir, has never let a woman enter his keep and he certainly doesn't intend to, but when one of his most trusted friends rides in with what he declares to be the last of his brothers (Muse A, disguised) for training, he suspects something is amiss. But what?
Note: Muse A is my preference, but I'm open to playing Muse B.
Muse A has never let her status as a noble lady stop her from hunting in the woods with her brothers and learning the sword. Because of her tendency to generally detest more suitable hobbies, she hasn't married and she's determined not to, figuring that no man would want to anyways. However, when an enemy King conquers their castle, he demands that she marry one of his barons, a drunkard with a quick hand. With escape as her only option, Muse A flees in the night, accompanied by one of her brothers to the Wulfrith stronghold, a place used to train boys into knights-- somewhere where she can more readily hone her skills and also hide where the enemy won't expect.
Muse B, the Wulfrith heir, has never let a woman enter his keep and he certainly doesn't intend to, but when one of his most trusted friends rides in with what he declares to be the last of his brothers (Muse A, disguised) for training, he suspects something is amiss. But what?
Note: Muse A is my preference, but I'm open to playing Muse B.
Back in Time
Muse A was just a normal girl when she stumbled across a magic do-thingy. After a mishap, she is whisked away in a flurry of sparkles right into the middle of a medieval border skirmish! How will she face the reality of the middle ages, and most importantly, how will she ever get back home?
Note: I'm thinking Muse B will be one of the knights, heir to a Lord's title. We could also set this into a futuristic setting or any historical one. Let me know what tickles your fancy.
Muse A was just a normal girl when she stumbled across a magic do-thingy. After a mishap, she is whisked away in a flurry of sparkles right into the middle of a medieval border skirmish! How will she face the reality of the middle ages, and most importantly, how will she ever get back home?
Note: I'm thinking Muse B will be one of the knights, heir to a Lord's title. We could also set this into a futuristic setting or any historical one. Let me know what tickles your fancy.
The Gold Rush
The daughter of a Chinese merchant decides to flee her home country to pursue the promise and freedoms of America's old west in the mid 1800s, only to find out that it's not quite as easy.
The daughter of a Chinese merchant decides to flee her home country to pursue the promise and freedoms of America's old west in the mid 1800s, only to find out that it's not quite as easy.
Muses A and B are hurtled headlong into the games, pre-Katniss and Peeta era. OCs only.
Divergent
Muses A and B, on choosing day, select the same faction, pre-Tris and Four era. OCs only.
Muses A and B, on choosing day, select the same faction, pre-Tris and Four era. OCs only.
Ender's Game
Muse A and B are battle-school students pre-Ender era. OCs only.
Note: Ender's Game and all of the companion novels (Notably Ender's Shadow) are favorites of mine. I'd love to explore the dynamics between armies and commanders, and I'd love to expand on the possibilities of the battle room and strategy. This rp would be platonic, since the age ranges would be similar to the ones in the books, so any gender paring is fine.
Muse A and B are battle-school students pre-Ender era. OCs only.
Note: Ender's Game and all of the companion novels (Notably Ender's Shadow) are favorites of mine. I'd love to explore the dynamics between armies and commanders, and I'd love to expand on the possibilities of the battle room and strategy. This rp would be platonic, since the age ranges would be similar to the ones in the books, so any gender paring is fine.
If none of these interest you, don't hesitate to suggest to me a plot or paring of your own! Feel free to expand on my ideas as well.
Please send a writing sample.
Thanks!
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