Stem
Resistance is futile.
I am Stem. Hello! I'm looking for partners (18+ only please, sorry) to do some long-term role-plays with.
+ I roleplay via PM or discord.
+ I only do romance role-plays, but I love a good deal of plot as well!
+ Slow burn is great, quick burn is great, so long as it happens naturally in the story.
+ I don't do established relationship rps.
+ I enjoy chatting ooc
+ Spelling and grammar are a must
+ Multiple paragraphs (min: 2 // my average: 5 // my starters: usually over ten)
+ Ditch friendly! But I will usually let you know if I'm not feeling it anymore.
+ I will try to reply at least once per day, I don't mind if you're slower.
Please PM me or reply here with your name, and what plots or genres caught your fancy and who you'd prefer to play. Can't wait to hear from you!
Current plot craving:
The Queen has finally been wed, but not everything is bliss. Her new husband is cold, distant, and refuses to be alone with her. She begs her advisor to perhaps speak to him and see if he might find out what is wrong, and what she could do to earn his affections. When the advisor tries, he finds himself accidentally earning his affections, instead. Oops.
I don't really have any limits that I can think of off the top of my head. Please let me know if you do! That being said, I will not accept permanent mutilation/killing of my character.
If you have a specific question about my limits, please feel free to ask, I won't be offended.
Italics means a current craving.
Genres I love
Fantasy
Horror
Psychological
Sci-fi
Post-apocalyptic
Medieval-fantasy
Supernatural
Modern (ONLY if the plot is something very interesting to me or unusual)
Genres I hate
Slice of life
ABO dynamics
Full/nonshapshifter animals
My Fandoms
Bold is the character I'd prefer
Harry Potter
Harry/Draco
Severus/Male OC
Sherlock Holmes (A Conan Doyle, RDJ Verse, or BBC)
Sherlock/Watson
Hannibal (TV show)
Hannibal/Will
Batman (Arkham, Nolanverse, or comics)
Batman/Joker
Joker/OC
Joker/Riddler
Star Trek
OC/OC (TOS, next gen, DS9, or Voyager universe)
TOS
Kirk/Spock
Next Gen
Data/Geordi
Data/Ryker
Deep Space Nine
Julian Bashir/Miles O'brien
Julian Bashir/Garak
Julian Bashir/male OC
Nerys/Gul Dukat
Weyoun/anyone really
Voyager
Tom Paris/Harry Kim
Harry Kim/Seven of Nine
Harry Kim/OC
Janeway/Tuvok
Janeway/Devore Inspector Kashyk
Janeway/Chakotay
Tuvok/OC captain (male or female)
Tuvok/OC (male or female)
Tuvok/Seven of Nine
Vorik/anyone tbh
B’Elanna/Chakotay
B'Elanna/Paris
MCU
Thor/Bucky
Captain America/Loki
Captain America/Bucky
Captain America/ Tony Stark
Tony Stark/Dr. Strange
Other
I would also like an AU in the Saw universe with OCs trapped in a game. That they ultimately survive!
(Number of * is how much I'm feeling them)
****
The Queen has finally been wed, but not everything is bliss. Her new husband is cold, distant, and refuses to be alone with her. She begs her advisor to perhaps speak to him and if he might find out what is wrong, and what she could do to earn his affections. When the advisor tries, he finds himself accidentally earning his affections, instead. Oops.
I had a character for this rp, but can definitely do something else if fantasy isn't your thing:
SELKENAppearance
Skin tones: ■■■■Selken are sturdy creatures that live in multi-leveled homes built into the mountains. The angle of their brows make them appear perpetually angry, and this is how the world sees them. They are recognized by horns that jut up toward the sky, dark, flat noses, and sharp fangs their ancestors used to strip the meat from bone.
Eye colors: ■■■■
Features: Horns, fangs
Height: 5'8 - 6'4
CultureValues: Physical strength//loyalty//honesty//dutyThe Selken language is very literal and straightforward in its intent. They are a very blunt people who say what they mean and mean what they say. Flattery or lying to spare one's feelings is an altogether foreign concept. The hunt is greatly celebrated and everyone is expected to contribute, from the children, to the king. Feasts are common and any party is bound to have a huge spread of food, and you are expected to eat your fill. Holidays are an excuse to eat or get drunk together.
PoliticsThey are generally a 'fight first, ask questions later' people. Their past is filled with bloodshed and the conquering of kingdoms. In recent years, their monarchy has turned towards forming alliances and making peace, but it is still a concept that settles awkwardly with them, like ill-fitting shoes.
DietHeavily meat based. They hunt mountain lions, goats, rabbits, and other animals they find in the mountains and forests surrounding their home. They grow grains and vegetables as well, but these are not as prioritized.
WeatherThey generally prefer cooler temperatures.
ClothingThink Asgard
TechnologySteampunky. Healing is herb and crystal based.
Prince Gale has never liked the Prince of the neighboring kingdom. As children they'd get into horrible fights, both physical and shouting matches. There was just always something about him that rubbed him the wrong way. So of course, their parents arrange for him and his sister to be married. Upon seeing the Prince for the first time in years, however, he has a crisis on his hands:
Oh no. He's hot.
Keywords: slow-burn // soft // misunderstandings // mxm
Dear Muse A,
I trust this letter finds you well. have seen your advertisement and am interested in putting forth an application. My name is Muse B, I am twenty-five years old and come from the rolling plains of (place). Circumstances have found me looking to move to (place), and it would be quite fortuitous for me to have someone waiting when I arrive.
I am a skilled tailor, and am quite capable of providing you with any manner of clothing you might need or want. I’ve only dabbled in cobbling but I’m confident enough that my skills as an amateur would keep your boots ready to wear years past their prime. I will admit I do not have much experience cooking, but I am a fast and eager learner.
I’m sure I could accommodate you in any other ways you might require. I’ve sent with this letter a locket with my portrait, which I’m sure you’ll find quite agreeable.
I hope to hear from you soon,
Yours,
Muse B
Muse A and Muse Bdecide to get married after exchanging a few letters. However, upon meeting each other, they’re shocked to discover that they’re both… men. Both of them were under the impression that the other was a woman. Muse A owns a farm and can provide food, and shelter, and Muse B has nowhere else to go, so he’s not inclined to dissolve the marriage. Can they work things out…?
While the original universe is sort of late 19th century or early 20th century, this can be adapted for medieval, fantasy, or sci-fi. The letter doesn't have to be canon, it's just to give you a general idea of the plot. I'm fine playing Muse A or Muse B. This idea is based off of an Adoribull fic I read.
Our characters wake up on a dead starship with nothing but their suits and wits for protection. The rest of the crew seems to have died in their cryo pods. The worst part? Something else is on the ship with them. - We could play multiple characters for this or just have the two, it could be a mission gone wrong and they're trying to get back on track, or the accident took their memories and they're trying to figure out what they were doing in the first place. Or anything else you come up with!
A human finds someone half-drowned on the beach and takes them in to help. They certainly weren't expecting this person to insist that they were a fallen god, and that the human was obligated to help restore their divinity.
Keywords: drama // mistaken identity // lies
Loki has figured out how to take down the Avengers, once and for all. He's going to do it from the inside out. He lures several S.H.I.E.L.D agents to a location, posing as a member of Hydra, and kills all but one, framing the long active group. He takes the identity of a female agent, intent on playing survivor and working his way up through the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D under the cover of vengeance against those who killed his companions.
Unfortunately, he didn't realize that the identity he stole belonged to none other than Captain America's girlfriend.
Basically Loki kills Shannon and takes her identity, not realizing who she is. He decides to use her relationship with Steve to his advantage, but along the way starts to fall for him
General
Please don't take these as gospel, I'm open to suggestions! If it's bold, that means that's the part I'd prefer to play. If you like one of these, we can flesh them out together. Underlined means a current craving
Monster x Human*
Prince x Princess' Brother***
Alien x Human
Fallen god x human
Mythological god x human
Nature nymph/spirit x human
sci-fi OC /sci-fi OC*
Captain of the Guard x Prince
Android x Human
New King x Queen's Adviser
Boss x Subordinate
Pirate Captain x Noble
Bully x Bullied
Groom x Best Man
Bad boy x oblivious
Stalker
Kidnapped
Enemies to lovers
Hitchhiking gone wrong
Master x Nobility turned slave
This couldn’t be happening.
Zander leaned more firmly against the door when he felt it pulse against him, accompanied by a harsh THUMP. His heart was racing so fast it was hard to think beyond the rapid pounding in his ears.
He still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. He’d woken up late for work—like usual—he’d gone to make breakfast, Tyler was still sick, so he’d made some extra eggs in an effort to help his roommate towards a speedy recovery. When he’d been lifting the frying pan from the stove, he’d turned around just in time to narrowly avoid his roommate lurching towards him.
Zander considered himself someone with a pretty strong stomach. He could watch all eight Saw movies in a row without even flinching. Horror had always been his thing, the gorier the better, really.
But Zander would admit when he’d seen his roommate, sallow-skinned, eyes red and bulging out of his skull, grotesque, dark red lines trailing from the other’s mouth and down his straining throat, he’d screamed like a little girl.
And then continued to scream when Tyler, after landing with his elbow on their gas stove, had risen while the sleeve of his batman pajamas rapidly caught fire, looking entirely unconcerned.
Zander would have asked if he was all right, or run for the fire extinguisher, or—any number of things, really—but then Tyler had snarled, and jerked towards him again, and self preservation instincts won out over loyalty to this stranger he’d met on Craig’s list four months ago.
He should have ran for the door, but instead he’d just scrambled back as far as he could, ending up tripping over the back of the couch.
Whatever the fuck was wrong with Tyler, he didn’t seem to be as clumsy, unfortunately. Before Zander could get his bearings he was pinned down by the six foot tall jock, putrid breath heaving onto his face. Zander wasn’t scrawny, but he didn’t spend all his time lifting, either. For the first time in his life he regretted pouring his focus into marketing instead of baseball, in college.
Using all the luck he’d probably ever have in his life, he managed to fight his way out from under the deranged lunatic using nothing but a throw pillow and a lot of determination.
Then, he’d promptly locked himself in the bathroom, and started to cry. He hadn’t cried since the seventh grade, but he thought after a near-death experience, tears could be allowed.
Tyler pounded on the door again, letting out a roar that didn’t even sound human, and Zander looked around the bathroom for anything that could be used as a weapon.
The plunger? The shower curtain rod? Maybe if he caught the other off guard he could just spray windex in his face and hope for the best…
“Hey, Tyler? Bud? It’s me, your old buddy Zander? The guy who covered your rent last month?”
The only response was more snarling.
“Yeah, okay. Gotcha.” Zander heaved a big breath, and decided to take thecowardssmart way out. “HELP! MY CRAZY ROOMMATE IS TRYING TO KILL ME!” The walls were thin, someone had to hear him, right? The lock on their front door had been broken for ages (neither of them were too eager to pay to get it fixed), and for once he was glad that the both of them were so god damn cheap.
A splintering noise from behind him had Zander whipping around, alarmed to see that one of Tyler’s meaty fists were starting to break through the flimsy wooden door.
“Oh, holy shit.”
This couldn’t be happening. What even was happening? He’d heard some reports in the news lately, of people getting attacked on the streets by crazy people, of hospitals starting to fill up with patients, but…it all seemed so far removed. Tyler had just had like…a cold, it hadn’t even looked that bad. Just yesterday he’d texted him about grabbing a six pack from the corner store. Just yesterday.Paris Martin looked over himself in the mirror once more, straightening his bowtie, and dusting a strand of long, black hair off his shoulder. His shoes were polished, his hair was tied neatly back with his favorite silk ribbon, his shirt sleeves were crisply ironed, and his pants had not a wrinkle in sight.
After deeming himself worthy of his own morning inspection, he turned away, sliding on a pair of clean, white gloves and exiting his room in the basement to begin the day.
The Clarke household was run like the tightest of ships, and had been ever since Paris was taken in to Sir Edward’s employ three years ago. He and Missus Matilda ensured meals were promptly on time, that no appointment was missed, and that the stately home shined with the gleam of proper use and cleanliness. He adored his work, almost as much as he adored his master.
It had taken him a mere one year to fall hopelessly in love with the Master of the house. Of course, Paris was aware that nothing would come of it, and he had no intentions to say anything. The very idea of Sir Edward discovering his shameful emotions made his cheeks flush with color.
Even with no intention to act on any of the desires he held in his heart, watching Edward court and eventually marry the new Mistress of the house had been a painful process. He had been certain his heart would snap clean in two when he attended their wedding on a beautiful summer morn, forced to clap politely and smile while it felt like he was slowly dying inside.
Shaking his head free of distressing thoughts, Paris set about seeing the full breakfast was ready and waiting for the Master and Mistress at promptly half past nine, a strong coffee and the morning paper available for the former. Provisional breakfast had already been given. Typically, he would serve it himself, but knowing it was the Master and Mistress’ anniversary had him too flustered to manage such a simple task. He’d instructed Matilda to do it in his stead. He could only hope Sir Edward would not find anything strange about the Housekeeper providing his early morning breakfast tray.
He was drawn out of his thoughts by quick, familiar footsteps down the hall, and Paris hurried towards them. “Missus Matilda,” he addressed, voice coming out as crisp as his cuffs despite the addled state of his thoughts, “Did you provide the Master and Mistress with their trays?”
The Housekeeper of the Clarke household was a woman several years Paris’ senior, with dark hair she kept pulled back in a bun so tight it made her seem more alert for how wide her eyes were pulled. In the beginning she had been quite upset at the Master’s decision to hire Paris to help run the household, rather than a more experienced butler. While he did have some years under his belt, it was certainly not as impressive as some others who had interviewed. However, as the years passed, they’d formed a certain camaraderie between them. “Yes, I did. I was plainly shocked by the request, though. You’re not feeling under the weather, are you dear?”
Paris shook his head, clasping his hands behind his back and affecting the smallest of smiles. “No, no, nothing like that. Do not trouble yourself worrying about it.”
Matilda looked like she would question further, but at that moment a clang rang out from somewhere in the house, and she scowled. “Genevieve! Have you broken another plate?” With a shout, Matilda gathered her skirts and hurried off.
Paris winced, deciding to check the dining room to make sure Genevieve’s legendary clumsiness hadn’t made a mess of breakfast already.Fellipaun Merek Abraxas the Third tossed back the last dregs of wine at the bottom of his cup, a long sigh leaving him after he’d swallowed. He was so accustomed to a state of intoxication that alcohol rarely fazed him, but today he’d drank to excess, even for him. He knew he should go upstairs and fall into bed, like the other, few patrons that chose to grace this little hole in the wall had already, but something kept him up.
Probably melodrama.
During the day, he gave off an air of someone who had no cares in the world, despite the fact that the only room he could afford to rent in Gallan was one with a hole in the wall covered by a sheet in lieu of a window. He did magic tricks for coins and charmed his way into lower prices at the market, then inevitably spent the rest of his night drinking himself into a stupor until he woke up the next day to do it all over again.
Sometimes, he’d manage to worm himself into a group of already sloshed people, and excite them with (mostly fake) stories of far off lands until they could be persuaded to pay his tab.
Other times, like tonight, he made the poor decision to spend his last gold coin on a fine elven wine. Times like this, when he was sitting alone, so very alone, with no one to annoy or entertain, he wondered just what he was doing with himself.
He had little choice (or so he liked to think). He had a very particular set of skills. He’d been kicked out of nearly every guild he’d entered into for one reason or another—scandal, inability to pay fees, getting too creative with his problem solving (they said they’d wanted the Jewel of Rodanzia, they never said a very excellent fake wouldn’t do)—and what was an adventurer without their guild?
The advertisement he’d put up had been his last hope. He hadn’t really been in the right state of mind when he’d posted it, but he certainly had hoped for a response, nonetheless.
But, it had been more than a week, and he was beginning to doubt anyone was interested in his grand ideas.
Well, he supposed they weren’t really all that grand. A guild of two was practically unheard of, but it wasn’t illegal. He might have his flaws, but he was still a powerful mage. He’d be a great asset to any guild. Surely. Obviously.
“Another?” the barkeep called, and Fellipaun waved a hand, turning around to face her and leaning his elbows back on the table.
“No, my dear, I do believe I’ve had my fill.”
“Aw, not even one more round?” She gave a rather fetching pout, batting her eyelashes. She was quite a lovely thing, red curls bouncing around her face with every slight movement, freckles spattered around her cheeks.
If he weren’t feeling quite so sorry for himself, he might have attempted to see if she was interested in spending the night together. As it was, he was well aware she was simply trying to squeeze more coin out of him.
He gave her a smile, running his hand down his neatly trimmed black beard. “Another time, perhaps.”
She let out a put-upon sigh, before coming to collect his glass.
“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you back in here soon,” she said with a playful wink.
Fellipaun’s smile twitched up a little higher as he watched her retreat. Maybe that was his problem. He just needed to find a bit of…companionship. Even if it was only for a night.
The door opened, and Fellipaun turned back towards the table, gathering his bag and pulling it over one shoulder.
Before he could rise and make his exit, however, the stranger who’d entered slid a flyer in front of him.
Fellipaun was surprised to see it was his own, looking up to meet the stranger’s eyes.
He was an elf, and quite attractive—though, he’d be hard pressed to find one who wasn’t—with a few, narrow scars on his face.
Upon hearing the question, Fellipaun’s features lit up as realization struck. “Indeed, my friend!” He rose, leaving his bag forgotten on the bench.
Hmm, he was certainly not at his best. If he’d realized he’d be meeting someone important he might not have drank so much. Thankfully, he always dressed to impress, wanting to give off the impression of being more well off than he was. He wore a long, blue-green vest, trimmed with gold, of a material that, on first glance, looked far more expensive than it was. Underneath he had on a white shirt with billowing sleeves, and his belts and pouches were embroidered with a fine, golden thread. They were some of the cheapest you could buy, but with the added touches, done by himself, they gave an impression of quality.
He smoothed back a few, black curls that had escaped from his ponytail, and took the stranger’s hand to shake.
“I take it you were interested in my offer, then? What luck! I was just about to head out, it must be fate you caught me.” He gave a roguish grin, feeling all the sorrow and pity he’d been feeling for himself evaporate into thin air. “Ah—where are my manners. My name is Fellipaun, but my friends call me Fell.” Or at least, they would, if he still had any.
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