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May 11 2018, 02:19 PM
Putting it simply, I’d like to rp using a poetic verse format (structured or free-style).
If you have examples of your poetry, I would love to see them. If not, no worries.
If you're unsure but curious or interested, hit me up and ask; I promise I won't reply in verse and will instead send examples of replies upon request.
If you want to do both poetry and prose, still send me a note. I'm open to including both.
The quick version of my My Website
- 18+ partners only, 20s preferred
- Any pairings, any gender identities (F//, MxF, M// in order of preference)
- 200-700 word range (but very flexible on this)
- Fantasy, Modern, Historical, Sci-Fi (in that order)
- NO: fandoms, animals, superheros/mutants, uncomfortably close family members, fetishized age gaps (I don't mind age gaps between characters but I don't make it a romantic or sexual component generally speaking.)
- Very few limits, but also believes in moderation of explicit content and balancing plot v smut
- Quality over Quantity
- Anywhere from daily replies to once a week ideally
- Contact Info on Website (Discord or Email)
Additional Notes on Preference:
I’ll be honest I highly prefer strong and confident writers who can plot twist on their own. I don’t mind plotting but I’d like to write with someone adaptable to surprises. In addition, I look for well-written characterization. My favorite partners are ones who write more poetically and evocatively in general. I like description and emotional backdrop.
Rapid fire IM sessions or slower-paced email is fine.
I don’t have strong plot cravings at the moment; more so, I want to write collaborative poetry and that’s about it.
Please tell me if you're no longer interested instead of disappearing. It's fine; I think the nature of rping is such that most partnerships don't work out-- and few last a long time. I will extend the same courtesy to you.
Thanks for reading!
ps - don't freak out if I don't reply immediately. I will be checking my discord and email for messages and will get back to you.
Added:Popcorn Plot Starters
Angels and Demons fighting a moral war
Cultist Witches targeting a nearby village
Assorted fairy tales (beauty and the beast)
Detectives discovering a slew of dead bodies
Bounty hunters fighting over the same bounty
Film Noir 40s
... and so much more!
Jul 11 2017, 11:35 AM
New Plots and Current Cravings Posted.Who I Am Looking For
Ideally, you are someone who is able to consistently reply 2-3 times a week (daily is perfectly acceptable, and so is once a week). I really caution against contacting me if you are a once a month replier. All that being said, if for any reason you want to stop, please let me know. It’s simply a common courtesy. I really don’t enjoy messaging someone new two weeks later to see if they are still planning on replying or not. :'c And by all means message me if I've gone quiet, that's perfectly acceptable!The Limits
As for my limits: I will only role play with individuals 18+, 21+ preferred. I’m in my mid 20s.
Language: You can swear all you like.
Violence: I’m sure there are scenes I’d rather not read/write out but for the most part this never seems to be an issue. Somehow my stories aren't rampant with gore.
Sexual Content: In terms of content, I prefer to keep it realistic and in tone with the rest of the story. As a rule of thumb, the general NOs you see around here more often than not apply here as well. You can ask me about specific kinks should they arise and be relevant.The Cravings
I’m looking for a story of a more romantic and sensual nature in general but it is by no means required. I've got a few plot teasers in a google doc I'll share with you if you ask for them.
My plot teasers are for: A Pirate Captain Treasure Adventure, Pre-French Revolution "Arranged" Marriage, and A Sci-Fi Bounty Hunter Romp.
Otherwise, check out my current cravings page.Current Genre CravingsExamples of my Writing
Here are some examples of my writing if you want to take a look.Example 1Example 2Example 3Contact InfoHere
I prefer to rp via email but am willing to converse through discord or google chat. I'm not on discord constantly as a heads up, but I'll check it when I'm expecting messages.
May 11 2017, 09:37 PM
To put it simply, I am craving an enjoyable story. Something that, with relative ease and mutual effort, is a story with a decent pace and a more or less clear trajectory. I work with bare bones plots and am flexible to adapting the storyline as we choose. While my role plays may or may not include mature topics, I will only role play with individuals who are 18 or older as a rule.
I am in my mid-20s and while I'd ideally like to reply daily, I will at least try to make the effort to reply 2-3 times a week. I find it is helpful to keep the story going at a consistent pace to avoid atrophy.
I've role played for over a decade but I think the quality of writing is more important to the chemistry of the partnership than the quantity of years, so please check out my writing samples at the bottom to determine if you'd like writing with me. I'd like to find a partner who appreciates the finer subtleties in writing as an art form in addition to a form of communication. The concept of painting with words, if you will, applies to my philosophy of writing. I hope to find a partner similarly engaged in the craft. Current Cravings (these are by no means detailed plots but vague outlines of themes or pairings or ideas within each subgroup. Feel free to suggest something else, but know I may say no.):ModernSupernatural Creatures:
vampires, witches, werewolves, ghosts. Curses, erotic horror, haunted houses. Deal with the Devil (No longer looking):
I will play the most handsome and alluring devil to your unknowing victim, the creepiest and soul-devouring of monsters to your criminal, or the embodiment of evil seeking redemption from God. Conversely, I can offer you a character to destroy with a contract with evil in human form. It needn't align with any particular religious association or cultural tales, but if you wish, it can. Nor does the devil need to have a particular gender if it has one at all.Historical1920s US:
I love contrasting the excess of the roaring twenties with the ensuing crash to come. Gothic Horror:
A lone manor, an isolated village, a governess, a cursed family and its secrets. Salem Witch Trial:
How does an individual or a pair of people exact revenge on a town that justifies the murder of innocents? I'd love to play the plot of a suspected witch who was put to death by drowning but survived (in secret) and is now pretending to be a ghost seeking revenge on the town's judge and society at large. // Conversely, I wouldn't mind mixing up the Salem Witch Trials time period with werewolves and actual ghosts and things that go bump in the night.French Revolution:
I've got a thing for wanting to write a story involving a good-hearted nun and an aristocrat who is in hiding from the cold hard blade of the guillotine. I think it could be heart-wrenching and graphic and tragic.Science FictionSpace Detectives:
sent out to check on a ship that's gone silent and its missing crew and stolen cargo. Maybe it's because of an alien attack, scavengers, mystical effects of a strange planet? Who else can be hired but the A-team of space investigators? Space Pirates:
Maybe they break out of a penal colony planet, maybe they're born evil, but whatever it is, they're bad to the bone and they're hellbent on getting the big score.Additional Information
I have very few limits with regards to violence/language/substance use. I am purist at asking 'does this forward the plot or story or character development in some way?' and if it doesn't, am liable to exclude it. I'm not against romance (in fact, I rather enjoy longing and attraction and slow build ups) but it's not my focus with writing necessarily.
I prefer email, though I have discord/skype/google chat for chatting purposes and you're welcome to inquire but I won't offer it up front.
If you happen to have a gender or romantic/platonic pairing you prefer, do let me know. Examples of my WritingExample 1Example 2Example 3
Hope to hear from some of you!Contact Info
Nov 15 2016, 09:56 PM
I started rping on Neopets a long time ago during a very influential time for my writing. As an active and fast-moving community, it made it easy to jump in and contribute or to sit back and observe and learn. Recognizing which writing achieved commendations versus the writing that was condemned gave me a personal guide on how to correct or improve my writing. Finding people within my same range of skill (and age) and interests was far more accessible.
Although as that community aged, the internet expanded, the website did more strict policing, and eventually the community left and disseminated, a lot of role playing shifted and adapted. We all know how that story ends...
Anyways I'm kind of curious to hear how you guys improved/are improving in your rping/writing. I don't belong to other rp communities besides barbermonger and I don't rp on tumblr. In the past few years my improvements have been predominately just working with my partners one on one. Which I enjoy very much, but sometimes I miss the aspect of getting feedback from a public community.
Do you guys find public communities helpful?
If so, what aspects? The rp forums about rping, reading other people's threads, writing threads, critiques, chat logs?
How did you learn to rp?
edit: more questions
Oct 31 2016, 10:08 PM
((I am very unaccustomed to writing horror... Sorry if it is just awful.))((Happy Halloween, BM))
The house shrieks of neglect early in the morning when the windows shudder with the disparity in temperature. As the insides war with the outsides, she nurses a hot tea and spots a mouse resting its tail through broken glass. She bets whether it would cut itself if she scared it on its way through, but figures the mess isn't worth the hassle. When the mouse peeks through, though, she rises and snaps at it to cower back and leave. It only peers back with blacker eyes than she remembers any rodent having, and chitters something incoherent to her ears. When it flees, it doesn't catch its tail and for this she mourns. So little excitement, so little sign of life.
What lumbers upstairs wheezes with the doors and clanks with the leaky roof. He stirs in his too small bed complaining it is a coffin for his failing body. When he shifts to stand on bad knees, he coughs out the dust of forty five years of bad luck. The broken mirror in the corner, never quite swept up to completion sneers back at his disfigurements and hunkers over while his spine spasms. In the wall blood leaks through the closet and down the floorboards over self same stains from ten years ago. He never replaced the carpet and wouldn't dare to now. What would be the point?
The metal of her cuff drags across the floor when she hears him descending, as if she could flee from the torrent of dust that is released into the air with every step. There’s a sneeze and a ‘whugh’ as particles are inhaled and expelled. She trips over her prosthetic and is prone to the floor when he opens the door. Without a complaint, he makes a pot of coffee, blood oozing from under his fingertips.
With concern, she pleas, “You’re skinnier than yesterday. Didn’t it satisfy you? When can I see my family?”
The mouse scurries from under the cabinets across her fingertips and she reacts numbly to its paws. It’s not the same one, she realizes, when she sees its stunted tail.
Redness dilutes into the coffee while he sits and waits for her to sit next to him. The scab on his face is starting to fall off and she resents the sight of what is underneath it. He isn’t wearing boots but there is dirt crusted on his feet and in between his toes. It scatters over the kitchen linoleum and she knows she will have to clean it up later. He whistles and the wind screeches back. The house pities her, but there hasn’t been a whiff of warmth between the walls longer than she has been alive, so it remains in quiet disobedience.
Sometimes he brings down his shovel with him. It’s sharp enough to work as an axe, she realized too late. And every time its metal gleams at her, she shudders from the inside along the incision that took her limbs. Even her phantom fingers twitch in anxiety. He snorts into his coffee and ignores her. It’s the same way it has been for a month now. And then he leaves to work.
Hours later, when the sun is diminished into darkness and she befriends a mouse just to harm it later for a snack, he returns with glimmering jewels and forces her to try them on one by one. When she rejects thinking of the dead flesh that touched them before he gave them over, he names the deceased one by one. “Mr. Hodges left a nice watch… Mrs. Delilah didn’t need this ruby pendant anymore.” He fusses with her hair roughly and catches her scalp with a rusty pin. When she pulls away, he licks his lips at the sight and parades her around the room, coyly complimenting the captive.
“Please let me see them,” she pleads to no avail. She disregards the bloodstain that pools over their heads like an atomic halo from hell from the ceiling that drips occasionally over the floor and furniture. When it splatters her cheek, she closes her eyes and prays to the demon that lords over him that God strike him down this instant for not killing her already. He touches her and she flinches away.
When he tells her how beautiful she used to be in school in the leering manner he always does, she backs away instinctively and ushers a mouse toward him with vengeance. It disobeys and finds the hole in the back of the fridge to hunker down in. She can’t remember when the scent of death didn’t pervade the room. He smells stronger of it and the touch of his flesh is inhuman enough to make her skin crawl.
He doesn’t remember when the house loved him. His parents owned it once, and his grandparents before it. The lineage is strong and yet it has been a long time since its renovation. When the ceiling starts to give in with a heavy sag and a soft spot, he moves her out of the room and down the hall into the sitting room. It smells the way old people do and the dead insects that populate the floor in ugly constellations make her stomach churn even while it growls.
“Didn’t I serve you?” She begs on her knees, the battered beetles crunching under them. Her prosthetic wipes clean but her jean leg is smeared with something embedded in the carpet. When she cries, she makes sure not to make the floor any moister. It feels wet without any reason. The mildew makes her vomit later.
She never thought she would survive. At the rate he robbed her of her limbs and of the time he spent rejecting her of permission to see her family, she knew the only way to see them would be in her death and theirs.
And she was right.
He ate her concisely the night he pinned her to the table and took his fork and knife out. While she suffered, it wasn’t unbearable after she fainted. That someone heard her wishes and left her unconscious was an act of a God above, but really, she didn’t know for sure.
When she woke up, robbed of another limb and fitting a sore limb into another socket, she bemoaned the lack of a good fit and stirred in the closet. Heaviness sat on her chest and pinned down her last remaining arm. He snored in the bedroom as she sulked and pushed and moaned. When a rotting hand fell off and a finger tumbled into her mouth, she screamed and choked on her mother’s wedding ring. Blood seeped into her clothes and she chewed down. Her right lung was pierced as she tried to breathe and found that it was no longer necessary.
When he opened the closet door later to get dressed, he saw the remains of her jaw fumbling about awkwardly, eating her father’s brains.
“You’ll always get to be with them.” he guffawed and wiped his mouth. He closed the door.
Later, she wakes up again. Her consciousness frayed by hunger.
He doesn’t come back for a week and when he does, he dumps more bodies in there for her. All that remains around her are bones and her mother’s jewels.
And one day, he doesn’t come back. But the hunger surmounts her weakened limbs as she jostles against the doorframe and stumbles into the sagging room. The retched stench of death hangs around the pools of blood and she follows the trails where they lead.
When she finds him, he’s kneeling over her limbs affixed to another’s torso— another’s head. Frankenstein sits on the table next to the body as he starts up the electrical table.
It’s not the first time by the sight and overwhelming smell of burning, charred flesh. Where he does not look is his fatal crux. She tears at his spinal chord first, rendering him paralyzed to watch her destroy his creation— consuming the flesh of her own limbs senselessly.
He dies a slow death and so does she when she starves through the bodies in the basement and the ones left in the graveyard outside the house in unmarked graves, clearly murdered by his hands. Even his family pet is consumed, the fur matting in her mouth. Her limbs wither away and her neck snaps when the bedroom finally collapses in the kitchen onto her. Her glassy eyes glare at the mouse, which, upon noticing her inability to move, begins to eat her flesh while staring back with its black, black eyes.