BlueCandle
orange flame
Hi everyone! I come with a simple but hopefully promising concept. 
Note that I had to choose a prefix and chose fantasy, but this is supposed to be mainly historical setting. If you're over 21 and think we might mesh well, don't hesitate to shoot me a message!
The plot I envision for him and MC is one where YC finds himself slowly entangled in MC's dangerous world of political maneuvering, where loyalty is tested and power hangs by a thread. As the two grow clover, YC's devotion deepens, while MC begins to rely on YC as his confidant and ally. Against the backdrop of courtly intrigue, looming wars, and forbidden desire, the two fall for each other. As for MC's personality, I'm thinking of a very driven man anywhere from his late 20s to his late 30s. His motivation is idealistic: he wants the throne specifically to achieve some noble goal. His means? Not so noble.
I'd prefer to work out the rest of his personality together with you and your ideas for MC's personality. Some other keywords for their dynamic I'm envisioning, though we need not pick all of them: natural-born leader holding the leash of his loyal attack dogâunexpected right-hand manânavigating the inherent power imbalance of prince vs commonerâa mutual dependency where MC relies on YC for companionship while YC relies on MC for purposeâforbidden affection, where their growing bond challenges societal expectations (homosexuality & class)âpower couple partnership where they're stronger together than aloneâtension, duty, and sacrifice.
- YC becomes far more attached to MC than the king himself, who he is *supposed* to serve. Maybe even with an oath of fealty sworn to him directly in secret. What happens when he has to decide between the two?
- MC's tenuous position requires a betrothal to the daughter of a powerful actor, whether that's a duke of the kingdom or the king of another kingdom.
- A ball! A ball is always great. Ok, this isn't a plot point, just a setting for one, but I love it.
- Court gossip in general. Rumors begin to circulate, putting both characters at risk.
- The court goes hunting and oh no, the two get lost in the forest for 2 days. All alone. Together...
- We can include some low fantasy elements. I'd be
for YC to develop some kind of magic-adjacent ability...?!
- They might be embroiled in an actual war; when an important battle looms, MC joins the troops to rally their spirits. Battlefield fun!
- Eventually along the way, the king dies, and the conflict of the succession that simmered until then breaks out.
RPing is a hobby. It relaxes me; I am a relaxed person. Can do OOC chat and gush with you; can also keep OOC to a minimum of plotting. Will never bother you about replies. And generally ghost-friendly: if you decide to drop our story, donât worry, I have more than enough hobbies to make up for it.
Past or present tense, 3rd person. Post length tends to mirror my partnerâs. Can go anywhere from 150 words to 1500+. Usually around 300. Post frequency ranges from every day to 1-3 days a week depending on my RL duties.
Love delving into charactersâ emotions and outlook on the world. NSFW-friendly but itâs not the focus. Love when itâs used as a natural extension of character dynamics/developments. As such, I suppose my attitude would best be described as âswitchâ.
MC followed the other towards the low wall, unwilling to allow too much space between them. TC tried to dismiss his fears; but if that was his attempt, it was only marginally better than the attempt to send MC away. He'd live; but that didn't change a thing about the pain he was likely experiencing right now. And worse, the pain when he had taken his injuries. The work of his opponent âopponents?â was evident everywhere on the skin revealed, and likely moreso on the skin that remained hidden under his tunic.
Even if it did look worse than it was, that only meant that it was quite bad. Just not as bad as it could be. TC evaded his gaze, talked of the fight itself, and his voice took on a melancholy note he hadn't heard from him before. Oh. For all his experience, all the hundreds of battles this warrior likely had behind himself, all the scars that told of innumerable slashes he had survived â was it his soul that bore the brunt of it?
MC had ever disliked the spectacle in the colosseum. Even now, remembering it nearly brought bile to his throat. The noise had been constant, deafening. The audiences there did not cheer for men; they cheered for death, as if the waste of blood could sate their empty lives. The master had wasted fortunes there, throwing gold at wages with less wit than a drunkard with dice. And always the stench. It was not just the blood or the sweat or the filth filling the air. They called it glory, but MC had only ever known it as rot.
Whenever he had gone there, he had always returned with a hollow ache in his soul. And he had ever only been a spectator. What decay did its stones cause in those who fought for their lives within?
TC pushed himself off of the wall, but his body betrayed him, the strain of his wounds pulling taut like reins held by cruel hands. The sight compelled MC forward before he could think to stop himself, closing the distance between them with quick steps. It was a fault he could never seem to mend, this inability to turn away from suffering when it was so plain. Whether it was the cook who had severed his thumb, a frightened squirrel hunted by strays, or the lies he had told the master and mistress to ease the shame of Marcusâ death. Whatever fault in him drove this impulse, it could not be silenced.
His hand was on TC's flank before he could restrain himself. It was a light touch, yet even so, the wounded flesh burned against MC's fingertips. Don't fret, TC had asked of him. Had the man demanded he ascend Olympus itself, it would have been a more reasonable task. Fear for TC's life had gnawed at MC the entire day; now that it had been replaced with gut-churning relief at his survival, only the sharp teeth of its little brother remainedâworry, relentless and unyielding. Smaller but no less maddening, whispering that survival alone was not all. His other hand found TC's chest, fingers spread lightly across the coarse weave of his tunic as if to hold him in place.
"Having suffered worse does not strip this of meaning," he chided quietly, staring at TC's eyes as though willing him to concede. "Spare the vultures their feast a little while longer, sit down, watch the stars rise. I'll fetch some water. It will be cool and provide relief, though not a cure. And if not for your own sake, then for mine." I cannot stand to see you in pain. "So I am spared the torment of watching you stumble about like a half-slain ox."
Note that I had to choose a prefix and chose fantasy, but this is supposed to be mainly historical setting. If you're over 21 and think we might mesh well, don't hesitate to shoot me a message!Story & Characters
In a late medieval kingdomâwhether real or imaginedâMC is the ambitious firstborn son of the king and the kingdom's primary heir. Yet his succession is fraught with danger: challenged by a conniving uncle, scheming political factions, rival kingdoms, and even whispers of revolution from those who dream of abolishing the monarchy itself. YC, on the other hand, is a member of the king's guard. Perhaps he is but a mere commoner risen through the military ranks. Perhaps he is secretly undercover in the name of another kingdom, sent to survey the inner workings in the palace. One day, their fates collide. When something happens that makes MC pay attention to YC (perhaps in a truly daring act of rescue?)âand he is immediately intrigued.The plot I envision for him and MC is one where YC finds himself slowly entangled in MC's dangerous world of political maneuvering, where loyalty is tested and power hangs by a thread. As the two grow clover, YC's devotion deepens, while MC begins to rely on YC as his confidant and ally. Against the backdrop of courtly intrigue, looming wars, and forbidden desire, the two fall for each other. As for MC's personality, I'm thinking of a very driven man anywhere from his late 20s to his late 30s. His motivation is idealistic: he wants the throne specifically to achieve some noble goal. His means? Not so noble.
I'd prefer to work out the rest of his personality together with you and your ideas for MC's personality. Some other keywords for their dynamic I'm envisioning, though we need not pick all of them: natural-born leader holding the leash of his loyal attack dogâunexpected right-hand manânavigating the inherent power imbalance of prince vs commonerâa mutual dependency where MC relies on YC for companionship while YC relies on MC for purposeâforbidden affection, where their growing bond challenges societal expectations (homosexuality & class)âpower couple partnership where they're stronger together than aloneâtension, duty, and sacrifice.
Possible Plot Points
- YC saves MC in a high-stakes moment. Ambush in the woods, thwarted assassination in court, ...?- YC becomes far more attached to MC than the king himself, who he is *supposed* to serve. Maybe even with an oath of fealty sworn to him directly in secret. What happens when he has to decide between the two?
- MC's tenuous position requires a betrothal to the daughter of a powerful actor, whether that's a duke of the kingdom or the king of another kingdom.
- A ball! A ball is always great. Ok, this isn't a plot point, just a setting for one, but I love it.
- Court gossip in general. Rumors begin to circulate, putting both characters at risk.
- The court goes hunting and oh no, the two get lost in the forest for 2 days. All alone. Together...
- We can include some low fantasy elements. I'd be
for YC to develop some kind of magic-adjacent ability...?!- They might be embroiled in an actual war; when an important battle looms, MC joins the troops to rally their spirits. Battlefield fun!
- Eventually along the way, the king dies, and the conflict of the succession that simmered until then breaks out.
Me as a writer
I am 25+ years old and non-binary.RPing is a hobby. It relaxes me; I am a relaxed person. Can do OOC chat and gush with you; can also keep OOC to a minimum of plotting. Will never bother you about replies. And generally ghost-friendly: if you decide to drop our story, donât worry, I have more than enough hobbies to make up for it.
Past or present tense, 3rd person. Post length tends to mirror my partnerâs. Can go anywhere from 150 words to 1500+. Usually around 300. Post frequency ranges from every day to 1-3 days a week depending on my RL duties.
Love delving into charactersâ emotions and outlook on the world. NSFW-friendly but itâs not the focus. Love when itâs used as a natural extension of character dynamics/developments. As such, I suppose my attitude would best be described as âswitchâ.
Writing Sample
From a recent RP set in the Roman Empire. Longer than my usual posts because my RP partner falls on the longer side and I tend to mirror. MC = my character, TC = their character.MC followed the other towards the low wall, unwilling to allow too much space between them. TC tried to dismiss his fears; but if that was his attempt, it was only marginally better than the attempt to send MC away. He'd live; but that didn't change a thing about the pain he was likely experiencing right now. And worse, the pain when he had taken his injuries. The work of his opponent âopponents?â was evident everywhere on the skin revealed, and likely moreso on the skin that remained hidden under his tunic.
Even if it did look worse than it was, that only meant that it was quite bad. Just not as bad as it could be. TC evaded his gaze, talked of the fight itself, and his voice took on a melancholy note he hadn't heard from him before. Oh. For all his experience, all the hundreds of battles this warrior likely had behind himself, all the scars that told of innumerable slashes he had survived â was it his soul that bore the brunt of it?
MC had ever disliked the spectacle in the colosseum. Even now, remembering it nearly brought bile to his throat. The noise had been constant, deafening. The audiences there did not cheer for men; they cheered for death, as if the waste of blood could sate their empty lives. The master had wasted fortunes there, throwing gold at wages with less wit than a drunkard with dice. And always the stench. It was not just the blood or the sweat or the filth filling the air. They called it glory, but MC had only ever known it as rot.
Whenever he had gone there, he had always returned with a hollow ache in his soul. And he had ever only been a spectator. What decay did its stones cause in those who fought for their lives within?
TC pushed himself off of the wall, but his body betrayed him, the strain of his wounds pulling taut like reins held by cruel hands. The sight compelled MC forward before he could think to stop himself, closing the distance between them with quick steps. It was a fault he could never seem to mend, this inability to turn away from suffering when it was so plain. Whether it was the cook who had severed his thumb, a frightened squirrel hunted by strays, or the lies he had told the master and mistress to ease the shame of Marcusâ death. Whatever fault in him drove this impulse, it could not be silenced.
His hand was on TC's flank before he could restrain himself. It was a light touch, yet even so, the wounded flesh burned against MC's fingertips. Don't fret, TC had asked of him. Had the man demanded he ascend Olympus itself, it would have been a more reasonable task. Fear for TC's life had gnawed at MC the entire day; now that it had been replaced with gut-churning relief at his survival, only the sharp teeth of its little brother remainedâworry, relentless and unyielding. Smaller but no less maddening, whispering that survival alone was not all. His other hand found TC's chest, fingers spread lightly across the coarse weave of his tunic as if to hold him in place.
"Having suffered worse does not strip this of meaning," he chided quietly, staring at TC's eyes as though willing him to concede. "Spare the vultures their feast a little while longer, sit down, watch the stars rise. I'll fetch some water. It will be cool and provide relief, though not a cure. And if not for your own sake, then for mine." I cannot stand to see you in pain. "So I am spared the torment of watching you stumble about like a half-slain ox."
