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hey yous! I have some rough ideas with a whole lot of love to pour into them. I love gritty, action packed stories with gut wrenching quiet moments, magic, and romantic tension that makes my blood boil (slow burn). Fantasy with elves has always been my fave, but I've got some mixed ideas in the bag rn, and super excited for someone to hopefully latch on (unless you wanna pitch your own idea).
I usually play a female main, but am absolutely down to hear ideas where I play the male.
In a writing partner, I'm looking for:
-someone older than 25 preferably
-realistic ish faceclaims if any (AI is okay by me). Written descriptions are fine.
-somewhat similar writing style
-chill with word count. I typically write between 200-700 words per post depending on what's going on.
-is okay with getting posts around once a week (sometimes more often)
-just a kind, communicative person, really. I love planning and OOC chatting, and I want you to feel alright with telling me if something is wrong. We could change things, or just end the rp. We'll be alright.
aight, letting it rip below
PM if interested <3
I usually play a female main, but am absolutely down to hear ideas where I play the male.
In a writing partner, I'm looking for:
-someone older than 25 preferably
-realistic ish faceclaims if any (AI is okay by me). Written descriptions are fine.
-somewhat similar writing style
-chill with word count. I typically write between 200-700 words per post depending on what's going on.
-is okay with getting posts around once a week (sometimes more often)
-just a kind, communicative person, really. I love planning and OOC chatting, and I want you to feel alright with telling me if something is wrong. We could change things, or just end the rp. We'll be alright.
Io vanished out the door not long after Callahan had disappeared beyond the slope. Aryn had stared after them, feeling the cabin air thickening in their absence as she was left with Aorelia inside. Her bag kept rustling as she sorted her things; sharp accessories chinking, her breaths louder, a constant stream of noise that now more than anything made Aryn wish she wasn’t there. So she headed for the door.
But it wasn’t just the sounds, was it? Leaving Carval had felt more unsettling than arriving, the extra weight just enough to tip the scale slightly. Aryn’s head pounded just thinking about it–Aorelia’s kindness around the others, the keenness she displayed toward Callahan, how they both gravitated toward him. It felt awfully familiar–and she hated how similar they seemed, too, at times.
“Don’t you get tired?”
Aorelia’s voice stopped her cold with one hand on the doorframe.
“Of what?”
“Of pretending you like me.”
“I could ask you the same.”
A brief pause.
“Is that an accusation?”
“Does it feel like one?” Aryn pivoted then, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“You have it.”
“I never have it.”
In Aorelia’s mind, truth was thousands of threads barely held together. If she reached for one, another would break, and before long, a new one would be spun to replace it. All ideas she could never believe, and memories not worth holding on to, for she didn’t know if they were real. Aryn wasn’t responsible for her predicament, but sometimes, it felt like she was.
“Why’d you come, Aorelia?”
Hazel irises rolled up and dropped again, a slow search for intent or emotion. It was something she’d learned that the Arbiter often refused to show, if it wasn’t meant to control the narrative. One could come a long way with a set of disapproving eyebrows–but Aryn’s constant defiance wouldn’t work on her.
“I told you, I wanted to help.”
Aryn’s heart beat upwards, toward her throat to block it, even though she tried to stop it from showing. She turned back outside, her gaze set straight and arms locked tight around herself.
“Then help,” she stated coldly. “And nothing else.”
But it wasn’t just the sounds, was it? Leaving Carval had felt more unsettling than arriving, the extra weight just enough to tip the scale slightly. Aryn’s head pounded just thinking about it–Aorelia’s kindness around the others, the keenness she displayed toward Callahan, how they both gravitated toward him. It felt awfully familiar–and she hated how similar they seemed, too, at times.
“Don’t you get tired?”
Aorelia’s voice stopped her cold with one hand on the doorframe.
“Of what?”
“Of pretending you like me.”
“I could ask you the same.”
A brief pause.
“Is that an accusation?”
“Does it feel like one?” Aryn pivoted then, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“You have it.”
“I never have it.”
In Aorelia’s mind, truth was thousands of threads barely held together. If she reached for one, another would break, and before long, a new one would be spun to replace it. All ideas she could never believe, and memories not worth holding on to, for she didn’t know if they were real. Aryn wasn’t responsible for her predicament, but sometimes, it felt like she was.
“Why’d you come, Aorelia?”
Hazel irises rolled up and dropped again, a slow search for intent or emotion. It was something she’d learned that the Arbiter often refused to show, if it wasn’t meant to control the narrative. One could come a long way with a set of disapproving eyebrows–but Aryn’s constant defiance wouldn’t work on her.
“I told you, I wanted to help.”
Aryn’s heart beat upwards, toward her throat to block it, even though she tried to stop it from showing. She turned back outside, her gaze set straight and arms locked tight around herself.
“Then help,” she stated coldly. “And nothing else.”
The first breath as the hellpod unfolded around him was like no other. It wasn’t fresh — mostly just scorched air filtered through the hellsuit system — but it was the best one after seconds that’d felt like days. He adjusted his footing, shifting the weight between his feet.
As he looked up, the sullen trees of Case-1 rose around him: a place where fog clung to crater ridges, and where giant mechanical feet served as landmarks. Only one squad had dropped here since the bombardment.
And that meant Aiden’s team only had one chance to find them.
Beyond their own hellpods hissing in the dull morning gloom, the black frames of old ones still lingered around the drop zone. Aiden activated his threat scan, turning it up fully before dulling it down again to avoid becoming a walking relay tower.
”Clear to move,” he concluded after his pause. “Lena, take–”
Before he could finish, she was already in front of him.
“...point.”
His gaze fell over her mute green armor and the bulky machine gun swinging against her hip as she moved. It wobbled in its old straps, and the body sported a half torn insignia that still looked like it’d been melted off by a damn napalm shower. But she'd nursed it, kept it clean and battle ready like it was her prize.
She’d never told him what happened that day. All he remembered was the dead look in her eyes after she'd come back.
A grayscale map flashed at the corner of his visor at half opacity: terrain, Automaton structures, extraction zones, and points of interest all marked with respective symbols. Even with the fog looming in the atmosphere, command had said the map should be reliable.
When Aiden looked up now, the sky was nothing but a thick, brownish bruise.
Should, huh.
As he looked up, the sullen trees of Case-1 rose around him: a place where fog clung to crater ridges, and where giant mechanical feet served as landmarks. Only one squad had dropped here since the bombardment.
And that meant Aiden’s team only had one chance to find them.
Beyond their own hellpods hissing in the dull morning gloom, the black frames of old ones still lingered around the drop zone. Aiden activated his threat scan, turning it up fully before dulling it down again to avoid becoming a walking relay tower.
”Clear to move,” he concluded after his pause. “Lena, take–”
Before he could finish, she was already in front of him.
“...point.”
His gaze fell over her mute green armor and the bulky machine gun swinging against her hip as she moved. It wobbled in its old straps, and the body sported a half torn insignia that still looked like it’d been melted off by a damn napalm shower. But she'd nursed it, kept it clean and battle ready like it was her prize.
She’d never told him what happened that day. All he remembered was the dead look in her eyes after she'd come back.
A grayscale map flashed at the corner of his visor at half opacity: terrain, Automaton structures, extraction zones, and points of interest all marked with respective symbols. Even with the fog looming in the atmosphere, command had said the map should be reliable.
When Aiden looked up now, the sky was nothing but a thick, brownish bruise.
Should, huh.
aight, letting it rip below
- People surviving under leaderships that betrayed them or the rebellions that overtook them.
- Stories during active war (inspired by WWI+II)
- A company overtakes a small island in the pacific(or a made-up place) and has to manage the islanders.
Alternatively: A platoon or recon team gets ambushed by islanders. - A pilot gets shot down in enemy territory. The other main character could be anyone from the opposing side.
- A group of soldiers end up lost behind enemy lines. Soldier x civilian, soldier x enemy soldier.
- Classic royal x knight or similar pairings.
- Rulers and leaders that don’t want to lead.
- Assassin x target and similar.
- Doctors x scientists x their rat x someone who works with them x someone who is out to get them.
- Spies n stuff. Lowkey wanna write a spy babe getting tangled with a contractor. Can be made historical.
- Criminal organizations and their pitfalls.
- Something in the Helldivers universe/AU, not picky with canon.
- Enemies/rivals to lovers and variations.
- Just bleak shit and love where nobody thought love could be.
PM if interested <3
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