Hello hello! I’m looking for a budding penpal to join me on a grand tale centred around the betrothal between two heirs to their respective kingdoms.

The catch?

This union is of the utmost importance to the livelihood of both nations involved, and yet, their people are deeply unfamiliar to one another. What makes a traditionally high-stakes arrangement all the more fraught is the fact that our characters are privately – or not so privately – opposed to their impending marriage.

Or in other words, if a story of budding romance amidst an arranged royal marriage with plenty of worldbuilding and delicious smut strikes your fancy, then read on!

What I’m most excited to write with you is an erotic tale of a clash of cultures. Difference and contrast is always interesting and when done well, incredibly hot. Who decides what custom takes precedent? How does one navigate between inherent mistrust and the need for a newly forged relationship with the Other? Can duty ever be aligned with the desires of the heart?

And most importantly… how do our headstrong couple decide to rip each other’s clothes off to make a slick, panting mess of the royal bed?

As far as ‘the catch’ is concerned, there are a few elements I’m keen for us to discuss; most notably why our nations were previously on unfriendly terms, their differences and the personal reservations our characters might hold against each other.

For instance, do our peoples share an antagonistic history, only forging an alliance out of necessity to stave off a greater power? Are your people more akin to great sorcerers of the forest with gentler ways unlike my militant conquerors of the northern realms, or even another species entirely? Do our characters already have lovers and are simply resentful of having to leave behind the life to which they were accustomed to?

Kink-wise, I’m open to at least trying whatever my partner enjoys and am averse to little, save anything illegal and that which I’ve listed in my limits towards the bottom of this OOC section. The overarching plot and the relationship dynamic between our characters is what makes the smut so gripping but naturally, I enjoy writing the dirty stuff too. Let me know what makes your character a blushing mess and we can comfortably refine what we’d like to include.

As the ‘A’ tag suggests, I’m equally open to your character being written as a man or a woman. In fact, I reckon an M/M or a F/F pairing presents a unique dynamic which could be just as fun to write as an M/F coupling, especially given the medieval-style setting and all the sensibilities we associate with the period. So if you wish to play against a Princess or match up a pair of Princes, feel free to state your preference.

Below I’ve included a couple in-character samples for your reading pleasure: A portrait of my Prince as the Crown wishes him to be known, and an exchange between his sisters and himself as he actually is.

Please A; treat it as a flavourful bit of worldbuilding containing some of the themes I’m looking to touch upon rather than writing you must respond to and B; don’t feel obliged to send me an in-character sample back to catch my attention. I’m positively brimming with ideas for my martial, equal-opportunity-when-it-comes-to-glorious-warfare, Northern/High Western kingdom but I also don’t want us to spend too long lavishly painting out the corners of our world. No need for us to pull a G.R.R.M and fail to get round to the plot itself, eh?

What I want from you is a description of your OC, a brief sense of their homeland and any thoughts you have on how we’d like to play our characters starting relationship dynamic. Tell me what appeals, what excites you! What’s most important to me is us sharing ideas and crafting together a narrative once we’ve established we’re looking for the same thing, so once again– please don’t feel a need to send me an essay.

Last but not least, cheers for reading! Take your time when conjuring up your response, speed is really not the name of the game when it comes to me. A well-written, thoughtful pitch will always stand head and shoulders above a hastily composed message dashed out a few minutes after the prompt has been first posted. As long as the flair isn’t set to ‘Closed’, consider my inbox open. I await your orange missive patiently, my betrothed.

Yay: Passion, interesting power dynamics, non-stereotypical maledom/femdom, interracial contrast delighting in differences, bi/queer sex, enemies to lovers, hatefucking, aftercare, all things ‘vanilla’, light anal play, rimming (giving and receiving), semi-clothed sex and illicit frolicking amongst the royal hunting grounds.

Nay: Scat, snuff, gore in a sexual context, outright noncon, vore and a general lack of hygiene.

And without further adieu –trumpets blaring– let me now present you to Crown Prince Leofwuld II, heir apparent to the boreal kingdom of proud Calamire!

Portrait of Crown Prince Leofwuld II, presented in a diplomatic visit by Princess Eldire of Calamire as one of several gifts prior to the Royal Wedding.

The likeliness is that of an imperious young man who looks to be in his early twenties. The finely dressed figure is standing by a balcony, facing away from the picturesque sight behind him; the boreal city of Myrne appears to be in the midst of light snowfall, a thousand flickers of great torch flames illuminating the myriad of battlements and great stone towers in the background below. The Crown Prince seems poised as if in the midst of welcoming one to the mountainous capital, left side half turned towards the city with one hand resting on the balcony rail.

As if to remind the onlooker of the young man’s prowess, his right hand is loosely curled about the pommel of a sword tucked into an ornate scabbard. An especially observant viewer would notice the slight unevenness of the layering brush strokes around the hand and cross guard… almost like the original intention was to depict the heir apparent clutching the pommel tightly with blade partially drawn, before someone must have realised how such a militant gesture would have made for poor diplomacy.

The Crown Prince casts an impressive figure. He stands tall with statuesque shoulders set back with all the cocksure confidence of youth, lithe but plainly not without strength. Draped over the back of the fine wintery garb flutters a great cloak the colour of Calamire’s ruling House: a crimson so richly hued it has been painted to appear almost purple in the frosty, tranquil light. Piercing eyes, faintly arched eyebrows and a generous mouth that looks perfect for bestowing pretty bite marks with paints a severe, yet curiously inviting countenance any true friend of Leofwuld would know to be more inclined to a sharp grin than a half-smile. The exquisitely carved jawline and faint indentation of cheekbones are devoid of hair, although this is perhaps simply a sign of youth rather than cultural habit.

The handsome locks of hair atop his head are a deep chestnut hue, bordering on dark at the roots. The hairstyle is at once recognisable to anyone who’s ever encountered a Calamerian warrior: hair kept up and off the forehead to be tied into a martial bun, errant locks artfully spilling out at the sides over a well-shorn undercut. Partially obscured by said locks rests a simple gold circlet, adorned about the crest with the royal sigil.

“My brother shall make a fitting match to your daughter’s beauty”, Princess Eldire had declared to your father’s court proudly. Such comfort as that may be…

The Prince’s private chambers, one week before his betrothed’s arrival in Calamire.

The Crown Prince sighed, signet ring hovering over the freshly poured wax.

What even was the point of this letter? The words were barely his, the matter was already foregone and he wouldn’t even know how it would be received till the lady in question had arrived, which rendered the missive moot in his mind. But no matter how superfluous, how ridiculous the arrangement was conducted in his eyes, all his complaints would go unheeded.

And yet, duty wills it, Leofwuld reluctantly conceded.

stamp

He drove his signet down into the wax, holding it still till the mould was formed. No doubt the royal seal would be broken a dozen times before it arrived in the hands of the intended recipient, he reckoned bitterly.

What had become a habit over the last few months of nightly pouting was interrupted by the presence of two crimson cloaks. Specifically, those attached to his sisters.

Princess Wyn and Princess Eldire entered the chambers, garbed in full royal travel-wear as if they were off to war. The doors behind them closed shut and with a brusque nod and a smile, they greeted their brother.

“Is it writ?” Wyn, the eldest and most martially inclined of the siblings stomped towards the centre desk in her full plate. Eldire, the youngest and considerably more diplomatic mind compared to her fiery sister, followed softly after with decorative canister tucked under one arm.

“I’m well, thank you for asking. And yes though for the Gods I don’t know why I bother, yes– it’s here.” Leofwuld huffed, pushing forwards the letter.

“You bother because your lord and King demands it.” Wyn snapped back, making no effort to hide her annoyance with her younger brother’s griping. Months of whining and incessant complaints had long evaporated what reserves of sympathy she could usually spare for her someday future king’s difficulties.

“But–”

Eldire cut in, sensing yet another tired argument brewing. Even her patience had been tested by Leofwuld’s reluctance to wholeheartedly embrace the Ivory Throne’s will.

“But we leave at first light to join our escort with your betrothed’s and we need your promise to do your part. All of it.” She added seriously. The silver-circleted sisters shared a knowing look which Leofwuld could not help but bite at.

“But they lay with their horses!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation to his sisters’ collective groan.

“Better that than their squires!” Wyn snarled back, stepping round to the back of her brother’s chair to clamp her hands in a vice-like grip around his shoulders. She for one, had had enough. Leaning down to his ear, she lowered her voice to an angry whisper as Eldire silently stood in front of them, lips pursed. There was much she could argue with her older sister about but on this, she agreed.

“Your whole life you take to your destiny keenly but what, because they are not to your liking you threaten to undo everything our King, our House even, has worked centuries towards? Where was this ire when I was promised for that soft Duke? You disgrace yourself with this, this–” For a moment the Crown’s Champion was so incensed she forgot how to articulate herself, “–this childish lust which you feel so entitled to. You will treat her as your Queen and that is the end of it or I swear, I will personally plough your seed into her myself if that is what it takes for you to do your damned duty.”

“I think he gets the point, sister.” Eldire coughed, cheeks blossoming to a faint pink. Leofwuld for his part weathered the conflagration and covered his eyes with his palm over his brow, refusing to give Wyn the satisfaction of asking her to get her hands off him. Ever the eldest sister.

Quick to anger, quicker to forgive, the First Princess relinquished her iron grip and straightened. It was a matter of the keenest principle in her mind, and it only infuriated her all the more that her brother could not bend himself to what was so obviously clear. With a hasty, apologetic kiss to the top of his head she left quickly.

“Make him understand.” She implored Eldire before almost bowling the guards on the other side of the door over on her way out.

Waiting for the doors to shut firmly before speaking, the Second Princess opted instead first to smooth down her brother’s tunic where Wyn had crumpled it in her frustration. She took his hand from his brow to give it a gentle squeeze.

“Would that she saved the energy for her husband.” She spoke at last with a conspiratorial smile, earning a chuckle despite himself from Leofwuld. He reclined in his chair, eyebrows arched obligingly. It didn’t help that he knew in his heart of hearts they were right.

“This is good, Leof.” Eldire said encouragingly, delicately placing the scrolled letter inside the container she had bought. “You may not see it now but this is for the best. Even this little thing,” She patted the missive now safely tucked inside its casing. “Plays it’s part in the great game. Get it in that proud skull of yours and all will go well, I promise. I’ll see what I can do to dispatch a rider ahead of us to tell you of your lady before we come back.”

With the faintest brush of her lips against his knuckles she moved to leave, neatly deciding enough has been said. Just before reaching the doors Eldire turned round, an uncharacteristically sly smile playing on the corners of her lips.

“They don’t bed their horses. I think. If I may offer you but one suggestion, I would find a shield-maid to practice with rather than a stable boy. From what I recall of my last visit to the capital, their womenfolk like their quim tongued as well as any lady I know.”

And with that, Leofwuld was left to return to his nightly pouting. He shook his head and chuckled ruefully, then was ponderous for a moment more. If it was for the good of the realm as he knew it was, he supposed he could at least try. At last to an empty room, he made a quiet vow.

“Alright then. I promise.”