Hello everyone.

Today I’m looking for something a bit… different. Still long term, but more so focused on story rather than smut (with perhaps a helping of the latter here and there). I wanted to post this here for the potentially dark places this story could go, as well, hoping to find the right partner to breathe life into one or more of the following characters:

• General Kol (Atlas) Pearce
• Sophia Hale

I want this story to be about magic, darkness, power, the struggle to find your place in the world and also… a touch of spicy romance. Obviously.

I’ve written the first little threads of an idea I had which was the starter for a novella I was considering - it’s not that I’ve given up on it, but I’d love to get someone’s take on it, and maybe take the bones of it in a direction I might never have thought of just for funsies.

Here’s a sample: if any of it speaks to you, please send me a chat message. I will not accept “hey, I liked your prompt” messages — instead, what did you like about it? What did you not like? What are your own kinks and/or limits? Effort is always appreciated! What do you think the missing context might be? Who would you like to build up — Sophia or Atlas? I would play the role of Willow in this case.

EXCERPT #1 *The raw magic in the air always stole her breath. It was something she had never thought she’d be able to get used to even if the touch of it had always been feather light against her skin. Now, as it trickled through her and burst like a dam outwards, screaming to get out, she still didn’t truly feel like she had earned the right to curl her fingers around it and use it like the weapon it was. It was hard to reconcile the girl she’d been before to the woman who stood on bare, bloodied feet and her arm raised to strike with all the force of an Ember.

It felt… Magical.

Still, she wasn’t stupid. Even with the power coursing through her veins and warming her blood, she was no match for the man who strode towards her, eyes as dark as a thundering sky with the hint of silver lightning streaks cracking across the dark pupil and a ring of bright red to signify the flames growing within. He was beautiful, but he was a Harbinger of her death, and she had no illusions to what would happen if she struggled against her destiny now.

She took one step backwards. One step, and then another. She kept moving until her heels curled over the cold edge of the steel ground support that held up a city of glass.

The man, General Atlas Pearce, paused in his steady approach, ebony pupils glancing down at the woman’s feet balanced precariously on the edge of a drop that was over a thousand feet; one that would surely kill her.

“Don’t be silly,” he murmured. “Even Embers can’t survive a fall like that.” He raised one hand and turned up his palm in a placating gesture for her to take it.

“Let’s talk about this, little Wisp. I’m not what you think I am. There’s no reason to throw yourself from the plate to get away from me — I just want to have a civilized conversation. Is that too much to ask?”

She swallowed down the lump in her throat, chestnut eyes never leaving his face.

When she finally spoke, it was musical and soft, slightly breathy, like the touch of unchurned mana, hesitant but confident all at once.

“You can’t have me. If the alternative is death… so be it.”

And with a deep breath and the feeling of thousands of tiny bubbles rising to the surface in her belly, all aching to be set free, she threw herself from the edge.

As Willow woke, she found it wasn’t her own scream ringing in her ears but the General’s.*

EXCERPT #2

*Her footsteps picked up in pace the closer she got to her destination. It was a quiet little storefront almost hidden inside the shell of an old, crumbled building. The wooden planks it was built from were painted a sunny yellow, something unheard of in the slums below the glass sky. To this day, Sophia was uncertain where the pigment had come from, because there was no such thing as paint in Chasm — if it wasn’t a survival necessity, it did not exist down here. This was easy enough to put out of her mind the first time she’d ventured inside the little shop of oddities and wonders, however; it seemed well within the range of possibility when one realized exactly what the storefront had inside its guts. The colour had always made her smile, and even in the dark it pulled in the gaze of many curious passers-by. Behind clouded glass, hundreds of small candles bathed the inside of the shop in a burnt orange glow, shadows passing dancing past the edges of her vision but calling her towards the front door. Someone had painted the words on the window in looping, whimsical letters: Willow’s Wilds in the same yellow paint, cracking and splitting in places where it was clear the colour had not been made for glass.

A sweet chime sounded in the relative silence of the slums (it was late, almost ten PM) when she twisted open the knob to the shop that never seemed to sleep. There was nobody inside the small atrium of the store but Sophia stepped fully inside and glanced around. She’d been in here a couple of times before, curious and amazed by all the weird and wonderful things lining the shelves, covering every single inch of available real estate. She didn’t know how it was possible for a little place in the slums to have acquired so much considering how rare tokens were under the plate but somehow… Somehow Willow’s Wilds was bursting at the seams with things that Sophia had never imagined. Where did it all come from?

The owner of the store was a friendly middle-aged woman with curling, honey hair greying at the edges and the brightest blue eyes Sophia had ever seen. Sophia didn’t know her name, only knew that the people down here called her Mama T and revered her for everything she’d done for them along with her kind heart and the easy way she always seemed to be able to solve their problems with ease. She had no set prices, either - only donations, and if you couldn’t afford to spare any tokens at all, she was happy to barter for good or labour. Sophia knew she’d named the store after her daughter, Willow, who was a shy, sweet thing about Sophia’s own age, still untouched by the wickedness of the slum and more than a bit strange. This place was special, these women were special, and Sophia had heard whispers long and far about the magic that was weaved into the wood here. She could feel it, could hear it singing to her in a soulful whisper, but she could never touch it.

No.

Nobody but Atlas could reach into the magic and pull back raw power. He used it to maintain order. He used it to keep back mutations twisted from the sour remnants of what had been left after the War, to keep their nation safe. Atlas was the only one alive now who could bend the mana to his will. The others, six Embers, had been forcibly put down in order to secure the future of Alithea without the fear of being on the losing end of a struggle for power. Atlas had been the only one left standing and now he was the one holding the weight of the Gild on his shoulders. Her father had tossed her aside as an offering to Atlas when he’d realized he could reach with grubby hands for a taste of the power the Ember commanded. Sophia knew that her fiancé was not stupid so much as he liked to play oblivious at times, at least to her. He might act complacent and selfless, but Sophia was more than aware of how dangerous he could be if he decided he was not getting a return on his investment — and so it suited her just fine that he not only cared little about her independence but encouraged it. She had no desire to spend more time under that crushing stare than she had to.

All that power, but Atlas could not stem the blight seeping into her mother’s bones.

That was what had brought Sophia down to the slums in the first place. Even with all the magic in the Gild, nobody but Atlas could weave it into something useful, but even Atlas couldn’t pull on the thread of restorative mana and use it to cure the sickness that had beset Lady Lucinda over the last two moons; it was too pure for him to touch. The healers could do little but watch their Queen wither, golden hair becoming dull and thin, blue sky eyes fading and skin hanging a bit more loosely from her bones day by day.

Sophia could not bear it. There had to be something that could be done.

It had been her own handmaiden who had unknowingly given her the idea to try the slums, for even though the land was barren of life down there now in the canyon where the earth had been scorched and cracked open for a fifty mile radius, magic still echoed like a haunting melody in the air. If anyone could find a way, it had to be one resilient enough to live in the shell of the wasteland. Finding Willow’s Wilds not only getting by, but somehow thriving, and the two women within? Well, that had been the sign she needed. Still, she had visited thrice now and answers were no closer at hand than they had been before — Sophia’s worldview was not so narrow as it once was, but her mother was no closer to good health. She was beginning to lose hope. Honestly, she had no clue what kept bringing her back here but it did have a certain pull over her.

Mama T had given her one faraway glance, eyes hazy like she was seeing straight through Sophia, and proclaimed, “we have nothing for you, child. I’m sorry,” before turning her back and wandering around the counter to arrange a display of rabbit’s feet. She had not explained any further and Sophia, at a loss, wondered how on earth this woman knew what she had come here for — because it was clear that she did, somehow. The words didn’t need to be spoken out loud.

She brushed her fingers along the dusty shelf to her left, eyes lingering on a particularly full jar of what looked like little green pickled eyes but was labelled gushberries. Sophia shivered, certain she didn’t want to know.

From beyond a curtain of animal bones and beads, taken from the skeletal remains of mice, foxes and some birds, a shadow passed the doorway. Sophia took a step forward, calling out. “Excuse me?”

For a moment, there was no answer.

But then, one delicate hand pulled aside the long curtain and stepped into the main room, the sound of the colourful beads and bones clacking together as they settled.

To Sophia’s surprise, it was not Mama T but Willow who greeted her tonight. This was rarely ever the case.

Willow did not smile but her face was pretty enough that it softened any insult Sophia might have felt at a chilly reception; not quite angular but not overly round either, small button nose, deep, dark brown chestnut eyes and a thick head full of hair to match her eyes that fell just underneath her breasts. Sophia had likened Willow’s hair to a rich chocolate in shade, and imagined it felt just as smooth to the touch as it did to sink your teeth into a gooey brownie made from the highest quality dark chocolate available. It was nothing like her own unruly blonde strands that clung to her face no matter how many times she tried to push it out of her eyes.

The other girl was reed thin, likely from eating only as much as she needed to survive, but was definitely capable and resilient, and Sophia didn’t doubt that the girl was stronger than she looked. Willow had lots of secrets up her sleeve, she imagined. They’d met a few times and though Sophia wouldn’t call them friends, she felt like Willow understood Sophia better than she let on.

Willow leaned against the counter, one hip pressed into the wood.

“Sophia,” she said.

That was another thing — neither of them bothered to treat her any differently despite the fact that she was technically Alithea’s Princess, whether she’d announced that to them or not (because even slum folk knew the royal family) — and it felt comfortable. It wasn’t strange, or irritating, or even disrespectful. It actually made her feel more at home than she ever had above the plate. She kind of loved it, actually.

“Willow,” she returned, finding herself pausing when she realized that she didn't have the words to describe why she was here. Why was she here?

Willow shook her head and offered her a considering glance, before answering. “I’ve told you, we can’t he-”

Sophia grinned sunnily even if the denial always made her stomach flop uncomfortably. “I know! I just needed some fresh air.”

Willow’s snort was anything but ladylike. “And you chose the slums?” She deadpanned, one dark eyebrow raised. “Really?”

The blonde shifted one both feet, moving around to the far side of the room to look over what was on the shelves there. Was all of this stuff supposed to be potion ingredients? Novelties? Whatever the heck it was, Sophia always enjoyed the way the hair on the back of her neck raised every time she discovered something new and more disgusting than the last thing to tickle her fancy.

“Yep! Believe it or not, the air is lighter down here. Stinkier, but lighter,” she laughed, wrinkling her nose. “It’s… oppressive on the plate. I like it here.”

Willow didn’t really understand, but the ease in the other woman’s shoulders told her that she was probably telling the truth. “Hmm,” she hummed, thinking about that, imagining how it must feel to be living under the crackling electricity of raw Ember power but having none of it for yourself. Oppressive might just be a good word, she thought, remembering the dream. Even spending five minutes in a dream with him makes my head feel fuzzy. Willow said nothing about that, eyeing the jar Sophia was currently investigating. The contents were white and fluffy, unassuming and definitely less threatening than some of the other ingredients in this place, almost resembling the floaties on a dandelion. The entire left side of the shop was comprised of soaps, tinctures and ingredients that promised healing, relaxation and the soothing of a wounded soul or body. On the right, things slightly more sinister in nature found a home.

“Suit yourself then,” Willow said at last, teeth worrying her plush lower lip.

When Sophia turned around, Willow was gone as though she’d never been there at all.

Sophia placed the jar down — Allegora, for burns — and headed back to the column to ride the elevator up. The entire time, she thought of the strange girl in the strange shop who kept calling her back, for if not Willow, why did she keep returning to a place that had nothing to give her?*

As far as kinky bits go, I’m thinking size and power differentials, exhibitionism, submission, anal, giving head/rimjobs, orgasm disparity etc. Anything you don’t see here? Ask! I’m very open.

Limits: futa, lactation, body or weight shaming terms, a focus on outfit play, humiliation/degradation.