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Howdy!
My name is Edmond/Jeans! I use he/they pronouns
I've been roleplaying around ~6 years and have been using this site a couple years, though I had to make a new account. Nevertheless! I'm back and more ready than ever, looking for some long term writing partners
For context, I am 20 years old, transmasculine, and queer. I like to consider myself pretty literate, but I'm an undergrad in college as well as balancing a part time job and other excursions. My goal is to respond OOC everyday and give regular updates about the story as need, and have legit story replies a couple times a week to daily, depending on a whole slew of factors. I love to plan stories and become friends with my writing partners, so if you want to chat be sure to hit me up! I roleplay original characters pretty exclusively due to the fact that I'm pretty out of the loop on media, but other than that I'm pretty open.
Some personal information:
-I am an artist and I specialize in character design, portraiture, and painting. If I'm invested enough there's a good chance I will draw our characters.
-I'm a full time college studying visualization (character design, storyboard art, environmental design, etc.)
-I have a part-time job as a barista
-I've been running Dungeons and Dragons Campaigns for the last three years and have fallen in love with the fantasy vibes.
-Tetris. I am a maniac for Tetris. If you're on tetr.io we should battle each other.
Writing Style:
-Semi-Lit to Literate (300-700 word average, but if appropriate I can also average from 500-1500 words)
-Daily to Weekly responses depending on circumstances
-Avid OOC chatter (PM accessible!)
-Heavy on plotting!
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What I'm Looking For:
-18+ for anything romance related!!
-Good writing vibes! Provide me with a writing sample if you can. Quality over quantity ALWAYS, but I still need to have something to work with
-Friendly OOC chat, and will plot with me. I'd love to make friends, sure, but I am also the type of writer who wants to know the plot, the next two scenes, and where the ending is (the ending thing might not happen immediately, that's fine).
-Will fangirl over our characters and stories with me. Let's get excited! I'm here to have fun, so let's have fun!
-Good grammar
-Let me know any triggers you may have so we can discuss
-A respectful portrayal of any mental illnesses, and maybe stray away from any you don't personally experience or know much about.
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No, This Was a Mistake (MxM/NB, Slow burn, Modern) (18+)
Set in a college town, M/C is dragged with his friends to the local queer club to celebrate the end of the year. Feeling reckless and a little self destructive, M/C goes home with Y/C for a one night stand. Y/C wakes up, and M/C has been long gone. Without getting any contacts, all Y/C remembers is M/C's name, appearance, and who he was with at the club.
This is meant to be set somewhere between 1998 and 2007!! I love flip phones!!
John "Chance" Doe
Overview
Chance is a college student studying accounting, heavily considering dropping out. He has a few friends that love him dearly, but he tries his damnedest to isolate himself. He works himself to the bone at a gas station not far from school, and when he isn't working or in classes he is probably rotting in his room.
Basic Information
- 5'7
- Transguy
- Slim, lean build
- Scar over his right eye
- Aromantic, but hasn't realized that yet
- Queer
- Solitude does not benefit him, in fact, being in community with others is the only way he will survive.
- Getting close to those around him won't hurt the other people, and it will benefit him and his peers.
- Even if there is something strange and unfixable inside of him, it doesn't make him evil, and there is growth and love and development regardless
- Reckless x Reserved
- Orange cat x Black Cat
- Autism x ADHD
- Introverted x Extroverted
- Self-Destructive Silly x Self-Destructive Emo
Final Thoughts
If you are interested, comment below or send me a PM! This doesn't have to end in a romance, but if it did that would be cool. I just have the starting idea, so I'm open to any ideas you may have for where we want to take this.
My favorite themes include war, running away, politics, drama, but let me hear yours too!
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His name was John, but he kept that to himself. Favoring his childhood nickname, Chance, he gave himself ample opportunities to forget as much of his unnecessary past as possible. However, a tradition was a tradition, so every morning he woke with a start and in a cold sweat, wiped the disgust from his brow, and added a tally to his tattered journal.
The sun was lazy compared to Chance, but only because he rose before the flaming orb had woken and before the bats had gone to rest. Another tradition, he supposed, born from years of unrest and submission to the whims of consistency. Also, adding to his overworked nature, he began his indentured day by meeting the innkeep, whose name he didn't know, but was told to refer to her only as The First Sonar, or simply Sonar. She kept his pockets heavy, full of coin or instructions but always full, and made sure Chance always had a place he could come back to. Quick interactions, nothing more than business, made up their relationship.
His brow was wiped, he clothed himself modestly enough, and he creaked down the decrepit stairs. Every step was salient and a beacon that made him cringe. There was no need for everyone to know he was coming down from his heaven-bound burrow. The First Sonar greeted him with a shout echoed behind the counter and behind a door, one which led to the kitchen. Chance stopped in his tracks, unworried by the crashes.
Crescendos of cicadas buzzed and screeched. It must have been later than he'd thought. He turned on his heels like a ballerina or a tap dancer, with much more grace than he was owed, and stole only a single step. Since it was so late, he'd intended on returning to his cozy hole and pretend to rest until the summer cicadas, nature's backwards alarm clock, quieted. Then, he could make his appearance without disturbing any others. However, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Chance's head whipped around, he reached for a sword that was not present, and came to confront a barely familiar woman.
A reinforced tower stood, adorned with graffiti tattoos and the formal-casual clothes of a lady who cared not what her customers thought of her as long as she could make enough money to keep her inn opened and her favorites taken care. She wouldn't tell him, but Chance was one of her favorites, her personal project that she through jobs at in attempts to make him stronger. Her well-read eyes pierced through him the same way the old librarian's would when he stayed an hour too long.
"Good morning," He croaked out, his voice not yet ready to be heard.
"Almost, yes," She said in a whisper. Chance turned toward her and already mourned the prospect of laying back down. "I have a job for you."
A tornado breath filled his lungs, the swirling rustled his insides and left him anxious. He released his natural disaster in a huffed sigh. "It's always a new job. I just got back a few hours ago. Can I not have a day?"
"I need you to go to the market for me, Chance."
"Oh, well. That's not so bad. I can handle that, probably." He rocked on his heels. "What's the catch?"
The First Sonar dug a note pad from her apron and scrawled a list on it. "No catch. I'll give you some coin. Leave for the market as soon as the sun rises or you'll be left with the dregs. I need high quality, Chance, don't leave with half-assed goods. And don't pocket the rest of the coin for yourself." She pulled out a pouch and handed him the list and the coin. "I know how much I've given you," and don't forget what happened last time you short changed me, her glare finished.
Hours passed as minutes and he was rushed to leave. Dressed like a decaying sunset, he wore oranges and browns and greys that were as cold and dark as the bitter winters. His boots were well worn and in desperate need of replacement, his tunic was stained and battle-torn, his pants were ripped and poorly repaired by hand. However, they kept him properly covered, and that's more than he could ask for. The coin jangled in his pocket as he marched to the center of town. He studied the list in attempt to commit it to memory:
Six Dozen Eggs
10 Pounds of Flour
2 Bolts of Canvas
10 Pounds of Bacon
The Butcher's Best Cut
The Freshest Greens
Her list continued, and he pondered how he would tote it back to the inn.
Before he perused the market stands, he stopped by the bulletin board. It'd become a habit, he could always rely on work from the wanted posters. He'd become a sort of mercenary for monsters, hunting them with trickery and bringing them back. Chance kept no trophies, he had no interest in killing for death, only for the comfort in having enough coin to hold and rub together. More than that, he'd become well-known in the village; he never used his notability to take advantage, but he also never refused the kindness of others. Folks had given him floors and haylofts to sleep on, food to eat, and a community better than any he'd ever been a part of before.
While he examined the board, a middle aged man came with a stack of posters, a handful of nails, and a hammer. "Morning, Chance," He greeted while he positioned the sheet and hammered it in. "The devil's back in town." The Folk Hero of Felton glanced at the viridian monster. "I see that, Mr. Glorn. Figured the guy I brought it to would've made a mantle out of it, or something. He had about 40 deer heads in his house. Guess he'd only wanna display the beast if it'd shapeshifted into a twelve point stag."
No laugh was granted to him, but a smile tugged at him own self-satisfied lips. "I can go back to the search after my errands," Chance said.
"We'd greatly appreciate it. One of our lambs went missing Monday."
He felt he overstayed his interaction and left with a nod and a noncommittal promise to return to his endless work.
Chance followed the path between stands and enjoyed the hunt of his grocery list. It was much more peaceful and fulfilling than murder.
(This is from a fantasy story involving him, so different context entirely, but a good example of my writing)
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