moonrise
☕️ status: Wɪʟʟ Bᴇ AFK Tɪʟʟ Mᴏɴ~
Hi! Thanks for stopping by. I've been on a semi-hiatus for a couple of months now and am finally ready to take on some new partners!
Right now, I'd really love some more casual romance plots! Bonus points for slow-burn and angst
- I go by Mona/Moon. I'm 21+, use she/her pronouns, and am perpetually exhausted.
- PST timezone. Activity varies, though I spend a lot of time on the internet so you'll typically get to hear from me daily.
- On that note, stuff does come up sometimes. I have hobbies as well as a life outside of the internet (shocking, I know) and the chemicals in my brain often conspire to be my worst enemy. That being said, I will try to be good about giving a heads-up regarding any prolonged absences, but please understand that some days I just need to shut down for a bit to recharge.
- I've been writing on-and-off for almost a decade now but that should in no way intimidate any newer writers, or just anyone, really. Honestly? I'm still feeling out this writing thing and am working to develop my voice and writing through RPing/working on my own personal projects. So as long as you don't mind my writing being a bit inconsistent while I experiment, I'd be more than happy to craft a story and world together!
- In terms of actual writing preferences: I typically write in 3rd person, past tense, multi-paragraph format. I can do present tense as well. Post lengths can vary between 200-2000+ words, but right now I'd be most comfortable averaging around 300-600 words per reply. Sometimes more depending on muse/inspiration, but overall I'd prefer a partner that won't fuss too much over quantity.
- I'm comfortable writing as either male or female characters and am very LGBT+ friendly. I'm happy to double, but don't require it. I would, however, appreciate someone that's willing to juggle side characters with me.
- I absolutely love OOC chatting, plotting, and world-building. If you get intimidated by long walls of OOC text, feel free to hit that back button now. I'd really love someone who can match my energy here. Sharing playlists, memes, tiktoks, character art, pinterest boards, and general gushing are all a big YES in my book.
- I can promise a reply at least every other day or two. Sometimes I'm able to churn out multiple replies a day if the stars align (translation: similar timezones/availabilities, shorter replies, good story flow, amazing ooc rapport).
- I'm willing to write on-site through DMs or threads but am also open to writing/ooc on discord (despite the annoying character limit).
- And here are my no-go's:
- Harassing me for replies. You are totally free to ping me if it's been a hot minute (see: at least over two days) and you haven't heard from me.
- Referring to characters as "Me" and "You". I'm totally here for the escapism, but I draw a hard line between my sad life and fiction.
- One-liners. They're uninspiring and will completely deflate my inspiration. I'm not asking you to match lengths, but please give me something to work with.
- Not contributing to plotting. If I wanted to write the whole story by myself I probably wouldn't be here blabbing to random people on the internet.
- This is honestly just a pet peeve, but...I really dislike when a character doesn't progress a scene (i.e. they react without actually putting anything forward for my character(s) to respond to)
- Furries/Omegaverse
So I don't typically come to the RP table with premade characters for original plots. I usually prefer to make new characters I can tailor to fit the needs of a story. However, a certain character concept —spawned into being by my 3am brain one winter's eve— has been living in my head rent-free for the past few months, and he's begging to be a part of something grand. Thus, I figured I'd cast a line and see if anyone bites!
"To love oneself is the beginning of a life long romance." – Oscar Wilde
(Trigger Warning: Loud, flashing images)
♠ He owes all his friends money.
♠ He owns a dozen copies of the same outfit he wears every day (that also happens to be the nicest thing he owns).
♠ Do I need to clarify that he's broke?
♠ He cannot cook a decent meal to save his life.
♠ He has a terrible sense of spatial awareness and at a height of 6'2 is constantly bumping into things.
♠ He has a huge sweet tooth and an irrational fear of rabbits.
♠ His moral alignment is chaotic neutral.
♠ He owns a dozen copies of the same outfit he wears every day (that also happens to be the nicest thing he owns).
♠ He cannot cook a decent meal to save his life.
♠ He has a terrible sense of spatial awareness and at a height of 6'2 is constantly bumping into things.
♠ He has a huge sweet tooth and an irrational fear of rabbits.
♠ His moral alignment is chaotic neutral.
I have a couple of different approaches in mind, but am also open to suggestions! c:
- YC is also on the run from something/someone and decide to work as Evan's assistant
- YC encounters Evan while investigating the appearances of the monster. Maybe they're former friends/lovers/associates.
- Could take this further into enemies-to-lovers territory by having YC be hired to kill the monster
- YC confronts Evan about an outstanding debt but somehow ends up getting swept into his hijinks
- YC crosses the threshold into a magical world
- YC is a rival in the "helpful magic business"
- Your ideas(s)?
“I’m sorry I left without telling you.” Evan sighed and removed his black top hat. He stood in the doorway, thoroughly soaked from head to boots. His free hand ran through his hair, untangling tiny coffee-colored knots stuck to his tired wet face. “It was wrong of me. Very, very wrong. I’m ashamed of myself, I admit it. We both know you deserve better.”
Guilt puddled at his feet and still she would not look at him. His eyes pleaded with her as they blinked away droplets of rain that may have been helping him enhance the delivery of an apology that he could, unfortunately, recite from memory. No, this was not the first time he’d messed up like this.
Without a sound, she turned away from him. And then he turned away, too. His cold, wet fingers wrapped around the rustic knob of the door and pulled it closed before the stormy gales could slam it shut and further damage the rusty hinges. It shut with a gentle and reluctant creak, muffled by the steady downpour of the night.
A dangling lamp hung a little too low from the ceiling and blinked in matching intervals, creating an illusion of indoor lightning when its bright beams bounced off the vines trailing across the stained carpet and along the faded walls from where they spilled out of pots of varying shapes and colors. But still no thunder.
Evan breathed in slowly and took a moment to recompose himself. He slipped out of his drenched longcoat and settled on the rickety wooden chair beside the dining table. Plates from two days ago laid there dirty and forgotten. He’d promised to clean them before his next job. Before that, he had also promised no more all-nighters.
“I was thinking about you the whole time, you know?” He spoke softly and smiled at the look of disbelief that was shot at him. Oh, she was always so difficult. But she was also pretty, so he could live with that. “It’s the truth. I even brought a gift for you.”
There it was. A subtle glimmer of interest briefly flashed in those big, round sapphire eyes before it was quickly replaced by terribly feigned disinterest.
Evan stuck a hand into one of the pockets of his coat, eliciting a cacophony of wrinkled wrappers, jingling keys, a disembodied groan from something he misplaced, and a reverberating echo of clanging pots and pans. Brow furrowed in perplexion, he pulled his pocket inside-out and a stream of miniature objects spilled onto the carpet. “How odd. I’m certain I had it with me,” he mumbled to himself, hunching over in a crouch to pinch at various fingernail-sized articles to inspect more closely.
Finally, he cried out in triumph. “A-ha! Here it is.” Rising to his full height he laid the tiny object on his open palm and whispered the incantation under his breath, “res dilata.”
With a normal sized can of cat food in hand now, Evan’s feline companion became more amicable to his presence, purring out a pleased mewl in its approach, dark twin tails dancing in the air.
Then she came to a halt and glared. She swiped out with her claw, smacking the offered can onto the ground where it rolled a few feet away before falling with a soft thud.
“What is it, darling?” He blinked in surprise, sucking the skin of his thumb where she’d accidentally —or maybe not— scratched him. The taste of iron tingled on his tongue, salty and metallic. A hiss was the only response he received before the feline disappeared into the hallway.
Evan took another look at the can, the bright pink brand wrapper showing — oh.
He bought the wrong can. She hated sardines.
“Fair enough.” He chuckled and shook his head. But then his gaze lingered a little too long on that abandoned can of sardines in some sort of gravy, the gears in his head turning and then freezing when he realized it was a terrible idea.
The last job only covered enough for the train fare back to town. Evan didn’t need to be home to know that the only food he had laying around was stale bread.
No. He wasn’t so poor and desperate that he’d lower himself to consuming cat food, of all things.
He really wasn't. Right?
Guilt puddled at his feet and still she would not look at him. His eyes pleaded with her as they blinked away droplets of rain that may have been helping him enhance the delivery of an apology that he could, unfortunately, recite from memory. No, this was not the first time he’d messed up like this.
Without a sound, she turned away from him. And then he turned away, too. His cold, wet fingers wrapped around the rustic knob of the door and pulled it closed before the stormy gales could slam it shut and further damage the rusty hinges. It shut with a gentle and reluctant creak, muffled by the steady downpour of the night.
A dangling lamp hung a little too low from the ceiling and blinked in matching intervals, creating an illusion of indoor lightning when its bright beams bounced off the vines trailing across the stained carpet and along the faded walls from where they spilled out of pots of varying shapes and colors. But still no thunder.
Evan breathed in slowly and took a moment to recompose himself. He slipped out of his drenched longcoat and settled on the rickety wooden chair beside the dining table. Plates from two days ago laid there dirty and forgotten. He’d promised to clean them before his next job. Before that, he had also promised no more all-nighters.
“I was thinking about you the whole time, you know?” He spoke softly and smiled at the look of disbelief that was shot at him. Oh, she was always so difficult. But she was also pretty, so he could live with that. “It’s the truth. I even brought a gift for you.”
There it was. A subtle glimmer of interest briefly flashed in those big, round sapphire eyes before it was quickly replaced by terribly feigned disinterest.
Evan stuck a hand into one of the pockets of his coat, eliciting a cacophony of wrinkled wrappers, jingling keys, a disembodied groan from something he misplaced, and a reverberating echo of clanging pots and pans. Brow furrowed in perplexion, he pulled his pocket inside-out and a stream of miniature objects spilled onto the carpet. “How odd. I’m certain I had it with me,” he mumbled to himself, hunching over in a crouch to pinch at various fingernail-sized articles to inspect more closely.
Finally, he cried out in triumph. “A-ha! Here it is.” Rising to his full height he laid the tiny object on his open palm and whispered the incantation under his breath, “res dilata.”
With a normal sized can of cat food in hand now, Evan’s feline companion became more amicable to his presence, purring out a pleased mewl in its approach, dark twin tails dancing in the air.
Then she came to a halt and glared. She swiped out with her claw, smacking the offered can onto the ground where it rolled a few feet away before falling with a soft thud.
“What is it, darling?” He blinked in surprise, sucking the skin of his thumb where she’d accidentally —or maybe not— scratched him. The taste of iron tingled on his tongue, salty and metallic. A hiss was the only response he received before the feline disappeared into the hallway.
Evan took another look at the can, the bright pink brand wrapper showing — oh.
He bought the wrong can. She hated sardines.
“Fair enough.” He chuckled and shook his head. But then his gaze lingered a little too long on that abandoned can of sardines in some sort of gravy, the gears in his head turning and then freezing when he realized it was a terrible idea.
The last job only covered enough for the train fare back to town. Evan didn’t need to be home to know that the only food he had laying around was stale bread.
No. He wasn’t so poor and desperate that he’d lower himself to consuming cat food, of all things.
He really wasn't. Right?
EDIT: None of these ideas need to include the aforementioned character! I am totally capable of, and more than willing to, create new OCs for new stories!
Just wanted to clear that up! c:
Something based off this post (genders can be altered):Just wanted to clear that up! c:
- Arranged Marriage (modern or medieval)
- Feudal Japan
- Greek Mythology (either historical or modern retellings!)
- Academic Rivals to Lovers
- Fake Dating
- Friends to Lovers
- Childhood Friends to Enemies to Lovers
- Star-Crossed Lovers
- Opposites Attract
- Grumpy x Sunshine
Happy hunting, y'all!
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