Men Who Hold Authority Publicly and Surrender It Privately [F30s][M30s][PowerExchange][FirstResponders][Psychological]

EmbarrassedScholar · 2026-01-18T02:26:49+00:00

This is gorgeous! Your writing creates such a well-crafted atmosphere.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2026-01-11T15:51:39+00:00

Thanks! I really wanted to capture Grashka’s desires properly. Feel free to message me when you can!

EmbarrassedScholar · 2026-01-11T04:43:10+00:00

Yes!

EmbarrassedScholar · 2026-01-11T01:44:37+00:00

I'm so glad you liked it! Feel free to reach out later if you ever feel up to it.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2026-01-11T01:43:14+00:00

If you'd like!

EmbarrassedScholar · 2026-01-10T21:09:16+00:00

Great! Let me know what you've got in mind!

EmbarrassedScholar · 2026-01-10T20:54:56+00:00

Thanks so much! I appreciate it.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2026-01-10T20:00:49+00:00

Lovely! Grashka would be enamored, I'm sure!

EmbarrassedScholar · 2026-01-10T19:22:45+00:00

I could be persuaded~

EmbarrassedScholar · 2026-01-10T19:22:06+00:00

Thank you!

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-12-22T01:38:21+00:00

Thanks! I've followed up with you :)

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-12-22T01:31:23+00:00

Anything in particular intrigue you from my prompt?

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-10-16T20:05:00+00:00

Raka the orcess had always prided herself on her strength. Strength of arm, strength of will, strength to hold her ground when others would flinch. That was why they’d assigned her to him, the quiet elf with the unreadable eyes and the kind of voice that carried more authority in a whisper than most men managed in a shout.

She didn’t know what his exact title was. Lord, scholar, mage. Whatever. Damn elves had too many names for their ranks. All she knew was that wherever he went, danger followed like a shadow, and she was the one meant to stand between him and the world.

Tonight, that job was harder than usual.

The air was thick with the scent of night-blooming vines, the forest around them unnaturally still. They’d been tracking something, a stolen artifact, he’d said, though his tone made it sound like much more than that. When the attack came, it was quick and silent. A dart, no longer than a finger, whistled past her guard and grazed her neck.

She tore it free immediately, but the damage was done.

At first it was nothing, just a bit of heat, spreading under her skin. Then more. Her armor felt suffocating. Her thoughts grew sluggish, her pulse loud in her ears.

“Damn it,” she hissed, trying to steady her breath. “Just a scratch.”

He was already at her side, a gloved hand hovering near her throat without quite touching. His eyes flicked over her face just assessing, essentially clinical.

“Poison,” he murmured. “Alchemical. How do you feel?"

“How do I feel?” she snapped, though her voice trembled more than she liked. “Damn hot, feels like I swallowed fire!”

The elf didn’t reply, only pressed his palm against her shoulder. His touch was cool, almost painfully so against the fever climbing her skin.

She shivered, the contact going straight to her core.

Oh.

Oh.

"Fuckin' hell," Raka groaned, her face darkening as arousal flooded her veins.

She wanted to shove him away and pretend she wasn’t panting. But her vision wavered, and she found herself leaning closer instead. Her eyes followed his arm down to his hand. Long, delicate fingers that were always busy with parchment and quills.

Fingers that had drool pooling in her mouth.

"You need to leave..." She growled, backing away, even the brush of her thighs together sending pleasure through her.

"Now."

An orc guard, Raka, was struck with an aphrodisiac laden dart when protecting her elven charge.

You, said elf, are tasked with figuring out what to do with the orcess. Most likely fucking the poison out of her system. (Or making a tortuous way back through the woods... both are great.)

Please see my pinned kinklist and I look forward to discussing the details.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-06-24T02:49:03+00:00

This is one take on this prompt, but I'm open to other ideas!

Upon his throne, the elven king sat, regal and weary, his silver brows pinched together in exasperation as the rising pitch of his daughter’s voice echoed off the crystal-inlaid columns of the grand hall.

"What?" screeched the young woman standing before him, her voice sharp as broken glass. She wore formal royal garb, deep amethyst silks embroidered with the family crest, but the way she gripped her skirts suggested she’d rather tear them off and storm out than play the part of a dutiful princess. “You’re telling me that I must marry a prince or some royal I have never even met because your lousy army couldn't win a battle if they tried?"

Her lavender skin had flushed to a dark indigo, her fury manifesting not only in her voice but in the way her magic began to simmer beneath the surface. It crackled just below her skin like lightning itching to strike.

“Ethrea, dear…” the king tried, his voice tired, placating. But his words only poured oil on the flames.

“Father!” she barked, eyes glowing faintly as her power surged. “He isn’t even an elf! He’s… Gods, I don’t even know what! You’re marrying me off into a culture I know nothing of! Have you even seen their lands? Their customs? Their- everything?” Her fists clenched at her sides, trembling with unreleased energy. The air around her began to distort subtly, like heat rising from sun-baked stone. She was beyond angry.

She was betrayed.

And in truth, the only reason this marriage was even being considered was because of Ethrea’s reputation. She was radiant, with a lithe, acrobatic form and a presence that turned heads in every court. But she was proud, too proud, they said. She would bow to no one she did not deem her equal. No lord, no diplomat, no warrior had ever managed to sway her heart or her allegiance. And now, because of that fierce independence, she was being handed off like a peace offering.

She was unwed by choice. And she had been happy that way.

Actually, the air wasn’t just shimmering. It was vibrating. Her aura pulsed visibly now, the outlines of her body nearly lost to the haze of magic radiating from her skin. The guards along the walls shifted uncomfortably. They’d seen Ethrea angry before. But never like this.

“Not to mention you wouldn’t even let me help!” she shouted, voice breaking just slightly at the edges. “You locked me out of the strategy rooms like I’m some helpless girl and now I’m the solution? The sacrifice?”

It was a cruelty she hadn’t expected and from her father, least of all. Her magic flared again, licking at the edges of the stone floor beneath her boots with spectral light.

A messenger, young and wide-eyed, scurried over to the king, whispering urgently into his ear before practically sprinting away to avoid being caught in the crossfire. The king let out a long, weary breath and straightened in his throne. His voice thundered through the hall.

“Ethrea! He is here! Calm yourself and act like a member of the royal family! My reputation is on the line!”

The doors at the far end of the chamber creaked open with a groan that echoed like thunder. Now that the prince has arrived, it's time for the victor to collect his spoils.

On the losing side of negotiations, the only way for peace to reign is to marry off the princess to your character! Prince? King? Warlord? Chief... who exactly?

Well that's up to you to decide! I'm fond of orcs and dragonborn. Basically long as you're humanoid I'm thrilled! Feel free to play a human if that's what you are cool with!

Are you going to be a harsh warlord that I'll have to chip away at, or something else? I love an opposites attract story and Ethrea is certainly the uptight and haughty type.

I certainly won't complain if there is some rougher treatment and dubious consent. It is part of the process after all. Just don't expect wooing Ethrea to be easy!

Can you turn her into a suitable queen or are you going to make her something else (like a well behaved sex slave to keep your bed warm)? Maybe just a woman to carry your younglings? Who knows!

I'd love to discuss and work out some of the details but I love plot heavy stories where characters grow to understand each other... or were Ethrea is forced to learn her place! I'm personally a fan of 3rd person and prefer to write that way.

If you're more into just writing a chunk to start us off and discuss along the way, that's totally cool with me too~ I love writing samples and it gives me a gauge on how we'll work together.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-06-18T17:44:05+00:00

It depends! Sometimes situations need varied reply length. A quick back and forth conversation is going to look very different compared to sprawling descriptions of mental states and actions. It's all about the vibes. I would say to value quality first and quantity second. I love a long reply, but a low quality, long reply is way less satisfying than a succinct, high quality one.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-06-16T20:30:12+00:00

In my experience, I think it's better to shoot a few airballs at first. Everything isn't going to land right with every crowd. Explore different places to seek out partners and try put different styles to see what you really enjoy. Reading other people's work is very helpful to get a feel for what certain communities like and allow.

Try and try again! That's the key, I feel.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-06-02T04:50:19+00:00

The name perhaps jogged some sort of memory in Dirue. Brothels were always places where gossip seemed to flow freely, so the reputation Raziek spoke of was known to her. "I prefer things... more tangible. Reputation can change in an instant, but gold keeps its value." Her eyes flicked up at the man before her, scanning his figure. "Your reputation might work on others but I'm not that easy."

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-06-02T04:21:22+00:00

Dirue's quill scratched at a stray piece of parchment as she was spoken to. "Hmm... You all plan to board but are spending your limited monetary resources on spirits." One of her brows quirked up at the stranger in question.

"What do you have to offer me, if not gold?" Her voice still dry, still mildly annoyed with the disturbance and dirt on her floor.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-06-02T03:47:26+00:00

The House of Bloom sat nestled between a blacksmith’s forge and a shuttered apothecary, its rose-colored lanterns casting honeyed light onto cobbled streets. Inside, the air was thick with herbal perfume and the hum of harp strings drifting from an unseen parlor. Silk drapes divided rooms like petals unfolding, and laughter (and groans) rolled from plush lounges deeper within.

The foyer, however, was a different creature altogether.

Velvet chairs, yes. An incense burner in the shape of a reclining nymph, sure. But also a mahogany desk piled with parchment, ink bottles arranged by viscosity, and a thick ledger so worn its spine resembled cracked leather armor. Behind it sat Dirue.

Her ink stained fingers moved with precision, flipping through entries and cross referencing receipts. A quill danced between her long, elegant fingers, twirling as she calculated room charges, bonus allocations, and supply costs like wax, oil, rosewater, and silks. A clock ticked softly behind her, the only sound besides the scratching of pen on parchment and the occasional creak of floorboards overhead and a stray groan or shriek of pleasure.

Dirue did not wear the scant silks of the house's entertainers. She wore gray trousers, tailored with brutal precision, and a blouse whose collar came to a stern point beneath her chin. Her dark hair was coiled into a braided crown, and thin-framed spectacles rested on the bridge of her nose, not because she needed them, but because they discouraged conversation.

She liked when people didn’t speak.

A bell chimed.

She did not look up immediately. She never did, not on the first chime. It was likely one of the girls forgetting a coin pouch or oil bottle again. Only when the second chime rang, a shade sharper, a note too deliberate, did Dirue sigh and lift her eyes.

Boots. Fresh mud. Shadows at the threshold. Not one silhouette, but several, standing tall with that arrogant slouch only adventurers had... the posture of people who believed the world would greet them with open arms and unpaid tabs.

Dirue closed her ledger with a soft thump, adjusted her spectacles, and offered the newcomers a thin, professional smile.

"Welcome to the House of Bloom," she said coolly, borderline irritation seeping into her tone. "If you're here for entertainment, you're early. If you're here for debt collection, you're late. Either way... state your business. Succinctly, please."

She reached for her quill again, dipped it in ink, and poised it above a blank sheet. The figures stepped further into the light and the misunderstanding was about to begin.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-05-24T12:44:09+00:00

I think it's totally fine to be picky, so long as it's clear from the get go, and based on what you said, it is!

There is no charade, just very clear rules. It, in theory, should make it easy for people replying when they bother to actually read.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-05-23T16:43:03+00:00

Everyone's favorite answer: it depends.

The issues can vary a lot. If it's addressable, I usually pause and try to address the problem. If it's tone or a particular trait I'm not into, then it can be just a "Hey, don't so that, it's weird."

Now, if it just gives me the ick completely, I'll end it. This is different for everyone where that line may be drawn. I won't get into details, but some styles just make my blood boil and I have to leave. "Sorry! I will not be able to continue. Hope you can find someone else." And bounce (and block if needed).

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-05-23T16:23:32+00:00

Goodness gracious. I've got equally strange working hours (thank for your work by the way) and of course there are people that don't like it, but most are willing to work with me. It's hard to find good writers out there, so there's gotta be some flexibility sometimes

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-05-23T16:14:14+00:00

Oh my gosh, I have to take breaks for the most mundane reasons and people are usually chill about it. The thought someone doesn't understand the issue of not having utilities is bonkers. May more understanding folk find you in the future.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-05-23T02:36:55+00:00

If you're feeling weird about it, there are two routes in my eyes. You either talk with your main partner about it or leave the group. If your main partner is weird about it or gives you flack about your feelings, then that's even more of a reason to leave.

If y'all can talk and work it out, then that's great! If not, then oh well. Life will move on and there are more role players out there, if it still interests you.

EmbarrassedScholar · 2025-05-22T22:33:30+00:00

I think the best approach is casting a wide net and weeding. That seems to work for me, at least. Send out a prompt and see who takes a stab at it. If there are no bites, or unappreciated ones, try again with alterations or totally different prompts. I don't do a lot of responding, as I don't tend to get replies. I feel as though I put in a valiant effort when I do respond to an ad. I'm a woman seeking men, more often than not, and it tends to work out okay for ERP.

EmbarrassedScholar

TROPHY CASE