Coward
A marshmallow.
Hi all! After a break and writing on my own for a while I'm coming back to RP, and sadly I am addicted again. Looking for more enablers, I guess.
I've got some material below, but also feel free to pitch your own ideas. I like both scifi and fantasy, and I'm also happy to do modern settings if there's a strong plot. The only thing I really don't like is modern fluff where the characters like, sit and eat cake together.
Please PM with a writing sample if something catches your eye! My samples are at the bottom of the post.
About Me:
Pairings
These can be platonic or romantic. An antagonistic start is always fun, too. * = extra desire
Plots
[Scifi][Thriller/Horror/Hard Scifi]
Open ended.
A billionaire biotech magnate commissions an interstellar vessel to take him beyond the shipping lanes, deep into the dark between stars. He seems to know what he's looking for, but won't explain to anyone. The crew is restless. Especially the captain.
Things only get worse as strange shadows blot out parts of the sensor readings, and parts of the ship start to break down.
Themes
I've got some material below, but also feel free to pitch your own ideas. I like both scifi and fantasy, and I'm also happy to do modern settings if there's a strong plot. The only thing I really don't like is modern fluff where the characters like, sit and eat cake together.
Please PM with a writing sample if something catches your eye! My samples are at the bottom of the post.
About Me:
- GMT +10 Timezone
- 31 year old ancient woman, RPing since the dawn of the second age of man
- Concept artist by trade, if you're interested you can check out my personal project here.
- Quality over quantity philosophy on posts, whether that's 1 paragraph or 10. I will usually match your post length in order to respond to everything, but I'm not going to pad out my writing to hit some arbitrary word count.
- Happy to play any gender including NB ones.
- I make lots of NPCs to fill up the background, and like them to believable.
- I like dark themes and very bad events, but not wallowing in depression and torture. Stories should have low and high points.
- Please be over 20. Sorry young people, I'm sure you're cool. I don't RP explicit sex, but I still feel uncomfortable playing with very young people.
- Please be willing and able to help drive the plot.
- If either of us wants to drop we tell each other, even if it's just that we're not feeling it. Knowing is better than fading!
- Platonic RP is cool.
- Romance is also cool, so long as it develops gradually and naturally.
- Caveat to above: while I like writing male characters in romance, I hate it when they end up babysitting a passive damsel or 'uke'. This happens way too often. Please just don't.
Pairings
These can be platonic or romantic. An antagonistic start is always fun, too. * = extra desire
- Bodyguard + Prince/King/Warlord etc.
- Mage + Demon/Monster Servant *
- Sailor/spacer + mysterious passenger who has hired the ship **
- Banished heir + someone ‘sympathetic’ who wants to install them as a puppet king *
- Mage + Hired Guard
- Android + Human
- Alien + Human
- Mortal enemies of any sort
- Deserter + loyal soldier
- Sheriff of one horse town + bounty hunter chasing a big time outlaw (western/space western?)
Plots
[Scifi][Thriller/Horror/Hard Scifi]
Open ended.
A billionaire biotech magnate commissions an interstellar vessel to take him beyond the shipping lanes, deep into the dark between stars. He seems to know what he's looking for, but won't explain to anyone. The crew is restless. Especially the captain.
Things only get worse as strange shadows blot out parts of the sensor readings, and parts of the ship start to break down.
Themes
- Weird/fucked up power dynamic between characters
- Fully automated gay luxury space communism
- Betrayal
- Redemption
- Bad Things Happen to Good People
- Moral ambiguity, no-win scenarios
- Totalitarianism, Dystopias
The burst of music and screaming announced the door opening. The sound snapped off quickly as Abello drew it closed behind him. The older man pushed his fractal blue-green trifle up on his forehead, rubbed the sweat out of his eyes. Poor bastard hated this place even more than Colm, not that he would complain. "Your guy's out there at the bar, looking like a cop."
The bao's carved-slab face was blank, though Colm knew him well enough to tell he was itching to say something more.
From his seat on a low, leather couch Colm reached to stab out his cigarette. He let out a low breath, turning his own mask over in his hands. Colours like the inside of a gas flare played up and down the geometric surface. Stupid-looking, but it was the only one that completely covered his scar. "Looking like how?"
"Cop aura. And he's wearing sunglasses."
Colm's smile at that was real, a jagged-tooth grin that quickly flickered out. He lurched up, snapped his own mask back on as he went to the door. In a dumb way he was actually less recognizable than beef-side Abello in this place - he'd pick up their guest himself. And then sign his own death warrant.
His lip tugged, turning the thought over with black amusement. If only he had trusted someone else to do this; someone he could sever cleanly if it went wrong. Colm didn't exactly have allies to burn at the moment, though. Besides, he'd figured this well enough to be safe. Even the club had been a careful choice. It was outside of his brother's haunts, but somewhere Colm could reasonably be seen himself if anyone spotted him. Masks. The fact that it belonged to a loyal lieutenant was icing - Kitchener owned the Tim, and Colm owned Kitchener.
Dark and sour heat closed around him, the skull-rattling throb of music. He shouldered through the glimmering crowd, at the same time mildly pleased at having to push. If these people knew who he was they'd be getting out of the way. For now, though, he looked like another cashed-up bao or pimp - black t-shirt, overpriced high-tops, gold port-studs on his wrist.
Nick Piatra was wearing sunglasses as promised. That satisfied Colm in some indefinite way - this guy did not give a fuck. He slid up alongside him, drummed his fingers on the damp countertop while he ordered a drink. While he was waiting he watched the cop from the corner of his eye, taking in the boots on his club's bar, the jacket despite the sweaty heat.
Eventually he caught the wary gaze, just by staring. He almost smiled before leaning closer, enough to yell over the music. "Nice blending, polcica." Another second and he tipped his head towards the back, like; follow. Without waiting he turned, started to force his way through the crowd again.
The bao's carved-slab face was blank, though Colm knew him well enough to tell he was itching to say something more.
From his seat on a low, leather couch Colm reached to stab out his cigarette. He let out a low breath, turning his own mask over in his hands. Colours like the inside of a gas flare played up and down the geometric surface. Stupid-looking, but it was the only one that completely covered his scar. "Looking like how?"
"Cop aura. And he's wearing sunglasses."
Colm's smile at that was real, a jagged-tooth grin that quickly flickered out. He lurched up, snapped his own mask back on as he went to the door. In a dumb way he was actually less recognizable than beef-side Abello in this place - he'd pick up their guest himself. And then sign his own death warrant.
His lip tugged, turning the thought over with black amusement. If only he had trusted someone else to do this; someone he could sever cleanly if it went wrong. Colm didn't exactly have allies to burn at the moment, though. Besides, he'd figured this well enough to be safe. Even the club had been a careful choice. It was outside of his brother's haunts, but somewhere Colm could reasonably be seen himself if anyone spotted him. Masks. The fact that it belonged to a loyal lieutenant was icing - Kitchener owned the Tim, and Colm owned Kitchener.
Dark and sour heat closed around him, the skull-rattling throb of music. He shouldered through the glimmering crowd, at the same time mildly pleased at having to push. If these people knew who he was they'd be getting out of the way. For now, though, he looked like another cashed-up bao or pimp - black t-shirt, overpriced high-tops, gold port-studs on his wrist.
Nick Piatra was wearing sunglasses as promised. That satisfied Colm in some indefinite way - this guy did not give a fuck. He slid up alongside him, drummed his fingers on the damp countertop while he ordered a drink. While he was waiting he watched the cop from the corner of his eye, taking in the boots on his club's bar, the jacket despite the sweaty heat.
Eventually he caught the wary gaze, just by staring. He almost smiled before leaning closer, enough to yell over the music. "Nice blending, polcica." Another second and he tipped his head towards the back, like; follow. Without waiting he turned, started to force his way through the crowd again.
Last edited:
