Hello everyone!
I am a long term writer looking for a new person to write with!
I enjoy anything creative. Historical, medieval with some magic, fantasy, archaeology, spooky, creatures, vampires, cowboys, etc.
I always make up a bunch of plot for the other writer to discover, and all my characters come with their own plot.
I generally play men, but I can play women too, and always play multiple characters to keep things fresh. My absolute favorite is mxm, but not too much smut.
I like drama and angst, but also humor and whimsy.
I can send you some character/plot ideas if you tell me what you’re into!
Example Idea
Overview: Fantasy, literate to novella, third person past tense, preferably mxm but that’s flexible. 21+, romance but not overly smutty.
The world is largely undefined so there isn’t a ton of lore you’d have to learn and obey, just this:
Hundreds of years ago, so long that the stories have faded into myth, and largely been forgotten, some unknown event caused a loss of the world’s fae. While personifications of natural elements and concepts were once worshipped and walked amongst men, now they are barely remembered stories, or unknown entirely.
The world is dominated by a monotheistic church that disallows magic, captures non-human creatures, and strictly polices heresy.
The inciting event takes place in one of the last Druid strongholds against the church, which was built around a special tree with unique healing properties. Unbeknownst to them, a fae was bound against his will in that tree, thus surviving the mass extinction or exile of the fae.
When the holy army comes and cuts down the tree, the bond keeping the fae within it passes to the nearest living thing: your character.
Your character could be anyone; a Druid, a soldier in the holy army, a captured faun forced to fight, a random bystander, etc.
The Fae has been a tree so long he barely remembers what he is, has no memory of his prior life, and very little power. The plot centers around avoiding the holy army, figuring out how the bond between them works, and trying to uncover the mystery of what happened to the Fae.
I have a few characters made in the world and would love someone who also likes to plot, chat about lore, and make multiple characters! Let me know if you’re interested. You can reply, like, or message me.
—— Sample Starter——
Faun -
The morning the Holy Army attacked the final Druid stronghold, a faun was outfitted for battle. Despite how clear it was that he could not fight he was given a rudimentary helmet that fit over his sawed off antlers. The poor thing’s face was bruised, his back bloodied, and his muscles ached so severely he hobbled when he walked. There was a hollowness in his expression, a vacancy that had settled in about two hours after his recapture following a foolish escape attempt. Two of the fingers on his left hand were broken. He did not need them to hold a sword, and they’d never intended to give him a shield. There was blood in his now matted hair, and his skin had become a tapestry of bruises. He was not a soldier, but a sacrifice, sent to be purified by honorable death.
He and three other fauns were placed together, with the idea that they would protect each other and fight harder for their own kin. The great walled city of the Druids was surrounded with difficult forests, then a vast open plain, then what appeared to be shrubs with only narrow, winding paths through. It could take a full day to march an army single file, and the entire time they would be within range of the unnaturally skilled archers the Druids possessed. The Faun, who was called Fionn but had not heard the name in months, felt like a traitor. He did not know the Druids, but he knew the Holy Army, and knew that the Druids were the last remaining stronghold against their monotheistic inspired cruelty. Helping topple their final city felt like a sin against nature, but Fionn’s mind felt distant. He did not have the strength to plot.
The brambles surrounding the city were as tall as a man and had woody stalks with flexible, fibrous bark, making them hard to cut through. The thorns on them were as long as a man’s thumb, and those who were pricked reported severe itching even days after.
The Holy Army decided, therefore, to burn it. Unfortunately, the brambles were alive, and grew over rocks. They did not light well, and were not closely packed enough for the fire to spread on its own. Instead the Army had to go forth tossing lamp oil and throwing sticks and dried grasses in, waiting for the brambles to burn, then advancing forward. It was a slow march, and when they were halfway through, they became in reach of the arrows.
Fionn was mystified. No bow should have been able to reach so far, and yet men fell. The army switched from ordinary soldiers to creatures, and sent them out in front to push the fire forward. Fionn was among them, given a bucket of lamp oil and a ladle. Arrows landed around them, even reaching back to strike at the officers. He knew any moment one would hit him. The flames in front of him singed the fur on his legs, and the hot bramble ash burned between his hooves. Arrows fell again, and he waited with eyes squeezed shut. None of them hit him, or any of the other creatures for that matter. He realized, awestruck, that the Druids weren’t shooting at them, despite their efforts with the fire. Again, he felt like a traitor. He dropped his bucket. Memories of the beating he had received the night before made him want to pick it back up and obey, but he turned his back on the fire and started to walk.
“Get back to work!” An officer shouted. He bore a red sash at his waist, marking him as one who handled the unsavory creatures. A short cane was in his hand, and Fionn cringed away from it, but did not turn back.
“No,” he cried. “They do not shoot us. They do not want harm. How does your God condone this? How can you claim to be good, if they are unwilling to shoot those attacking out of compassion for our enslavement?”
The officer struck him hard on the side of the head. Fionn went down, but his skull was designed to support antlers and was far stronger than a human. On hands and knees in the ash he breathed hard.
“Either your God is wicked, or he does not condone your actions,” he insisted. “A benevolent God would not attack these people. A-“
“Blasphemy,” the officer shouted, and kicked Fionn onto his whipped back in the hot ash. Fionn cried out in pain, but did not rise.
“Get back up! Get to work or I will have you beaten again!”
The fight was gone from Fionn, and he looked up dispassionately just in time to see an arrow shoot clean through the officer’s neck. Fionn looked back to the wall. Archers stood, shooting at the Army but sparing the creatures who pushed the fire forward. Their compassion would lose them the city.
Fionn lay in the ashes, ignoring the burns. He closed his eyes. Some time later a soldier came and dragged him back to be returned to training.
The assault on the wall took days. The siege engine, a colossal wooden structure painted with layers of lime to prevent it from catching fire, provided a structure within which soldiers could safely climb over the wall. At its base it also contained a massive log, reinforced with iron and set on a pendulum. The battering ram was brought to the door, and despite the valiant fight by the Druids, it got through.
Inside, they were met with an army, but not a city. They’d expected the central city of the Druids to be packed with buildings like their own, but instead they found a forest. Dense, tall trees bursting with fruit formed organic but cultivated shapes on terraced plots. Irrigation canals led to little pools that were alive with fish and ducks, and the homes were tucked halfway into the ground with thatch roof and brightly painted walls.
There were no wide streets, which made maneuvering the Army difficult, but they burned and cut their way through berry hedges and fruit tree groves.
At the top of the hill in the center of town, lovely white buildings surrounded an ancient tree. Its limbs were thick and the lower ones drooped so low they touched the ground before again reaching skyward. Within it there were signs of love and life, countless birdhouses, wind chimes, sun catchers and tied cloth. It was big enough that it could have held several houses within its branches, but it did not. Instead it was adorned, given gifts, and treated with reverence. Rarely was anything taken from it. Fallen sticks and leaves were collected to make tools and tinctures, and only in the most special occasions was anything living cut from the tree. Each person was allowed one cut when they reached adulthood, which afforded the Druids the bows that had reached such unnatural distances. Nothing from the tree was wasted, and the Druids enjoyed their panacea.
It was here that the townspeople gathered, holding farming equipment and kitchen knives. They huddled around the tree not for it to protect them, but for them to protect it. Like mothers guarding children, every citizen took up arms to defend the tree, but it was not enough.
The tree fell.
Something within it shifted, roused, twisted and changed.
— Fae —
It was not that it was strange for the world to change shape; it did so constantly, naturally, in gentle swells like the rise and fall of a creature’s breath. Temperatures and cultures, plants and animals, they all morphed, and the Fae morphed with them. It was not therefore odd for a Fae to come to consciousness in the physical realm and find it altered, but previously there had always been a consistency underlying the change, like the curvature of the DNA, the laws of nature, the green in plants leaves. It was a low song that his kind heard in the material world, and it was the only thing he had expected to find when he was suddenly, inexorably, awake.
Coming alive felt like a bubble bursting. All at once, his previous existence shattered and began to disappear like a dream fading at the moment of waking. His magnificent roots, of which each tendril he had memorized and knew his growth plans for, were suddenly lost to him. Each leaf, which he turned precisely to bathe in the sun, each branch he reinforced against the western wind, each insect under his bark and bird in their nests were all suddenly gone.
He began to fade. It had been so long since he’d needed to manifest in the physical world on his own, he’d forgotten how. There was a bond, unseen magic chains that held him to the tree. With it dead, they reached out for the nearest living thing.
The Fae did not necessarily want to bond to [Your Character], did not intentionally latch on, but the magic that wrapped around his throat still commanded him. The Fae, confused and lost in a world he no longer understood, could barely take physical form. He manifested not as a man, but as a long, black cloak that draped itself around the shoulders of someone nearby. Into the person’s mind, he whispered;
”New.”
He found himself suddenly able to see in a way the tree had not, and marveled at the vast sky.
“Odd,” he remarked into their mind. Adequate speech had left him centuries ago, and he remembered nothing of who he had been, but he had a sense that something was wrong.
I am a long term writer looking for a new person to write with!
I enjoy anything creative. Historical, medieval with some magic, fantasy, archaeology, spooky, creatures, vampires, cowboys, etc.
I always make up a bunch of plot for the other writer to discover, and all my characters come with their own plot.
I generally play men, but I can play women too, and always play multiple characters to keep things fresh. My absolute favorite is mxm, but not too much smut.
I like drama and angst, but also humor and whimsy.
I can send you some character/plot ideas if you tell me what you’re into!
Example Idea
Overview: Fantasy, literate to novella, third person past tense, preferably mxm but that’s flexible. 21+, romance but not overly smutty.
The world is largely undefined so there isn’t a ton of lore you’d have to learn and obey, just this:
Hundreds of years ago, so long that the stories have faded into myth, and largely been forgotten, some unknown event caused a loss of the world’s fae. While personifications of natural elements and concepts were once worshipped and walked amongst men, now they are barely remembered stories, or unknown entirely.
The world is dominated by a monotheistic church that disallows magic, captures non-human creatures, and strictly polices heresy.
The inciting event takes place in one of the last Druid strongholds against the church, which was built around a special tree with unique healing properties. Unbeknownst to them, a fae was bound against his will in that tree, thus surviving the mass extinction or exile of the fae.
When the holy army comes and cuts down the tree, the bond keeping the fae within it passes to the nearest living thing: your character.
Your character could be anyone; a Druid, a soldier in the holy army, a captured faun forced to fight, a random bystander, etc.
The Fae has been a tree so long he barely remembers what he is, has no memory of his prior life, and very little power. The plot centers around avoiding the holy army, figuring out how the bond between them works, and trying to uncover the mystery of what happened to the Fae.
I have a few characters made in the world and would love someone who also likes to plot, chat about lore, and make multiple characters! Let me know if you’re interested. You can reply, like, or message me.
—— Sample Starter——
Faun -
The morning the Holy Army attacked the final Druid stronghold, a faun was outfitted for battle. Despite how clear it was that he could not fight he was given a rudimentary helmet that fit over his sawed off antlers. The poor thing’s face was bruised, his back bloodied, and his muscles ached so severely he hobbled when he walked. There was a hollowness in his expression, a vacancy that had settled in about two hours after his recapture following a foolish escape attempt. Two of the fingers on his left hand were broken. He did not need them to hold a sword, and they’d never intended to give him a shield. There was blood in his now matted hair, and his skin had become a tapestry of bruises. He was not a soldier, but a sacrifice, sent to be purified by honorable death.
He and three other fauns were placed together, with the idea that they would protect each other and fight harder for their own kin. The great walled city of the Druids was surrounded with difficult forests, then a vast open plain, then what appeared to be shrubs with only narrow, winding paths through. It could take a full day to march an army single file, and the entire time they would be within range of the unnaturally skilled archers the Druids possessed. The Faun, who was called Fionn but had not heard the name in months, felt like a traitor. He did not know the Druids, but he knew the Holy Army, and knew that the Druids were the last remaining stronghold against their monotheistic inspired cruelty. Helping topple their final city felt like a sin against nature, but Fionn’s mind felt distant. He did not have the strength to plot.
The brambles surrounding the city were as tall as a man and had woody stalks with flexible, fibrous bark, making them hard to cut through. The thorns on them were as long as a man’s thumb, and those who were pricked reported severe itching even days after.
The Holy Army decided, therefore, to burn it. Unfortunately, the brambles were alive, and grew over rocks. They did not light well, and were not closely packed enough for the fire to spread on its own. Instead the Army had to go forth tossing lamp oil and throwing sticks and dried grasses in, waiting for the brambles to burn, then advancing forward. It was a slow march, and when they were halfway through, they became in reach of the arrows.
Fionn was mystified. No bow should have been able to reach so far, and yet men fell. The army switched from ordinary soldiers to creatures, and sent them out in front to push the fire forward. Fionn was among them, given a bucket of lamp oil and a ladle. Arrows landed around them, even reaching back to strike at the officers. He knew any moment one would hit him. The flames in front of him singed the fur on his legs, and the hot bramble ash burned between his hooves. Arrows fell again, and he waited with eyes squeezed shut. None of them hit him, or any of the other creatures for that matter. He realized, awestruck, that the Druids weren’t shooting at them, despite their efforts with the fire. Again, he felt like a traitor. He dropped his bucket. Memories of the beating he had received the night before made him want to pick it back up and obey, but he turned his back on the fire and started to walk.
“Get back to work!” An officer shouted. He bore a red sash at his waist, marking him as one who handled the unsavory creatures. A short cane was in his hand, and Fionn cringed away from it, but did not turn back.
“No,” he cried. “They do not shoot us. They do not want harm. How does your God condone this? How can you claim to be good, if they are unwilling to shoot those attacking out of compassion for our enslavement?”
The officer struck him hard on the side of the head. Fionn went down, but his skull was designed to support antlers and was far stronger than a human. On hands and knees in the ash he breathed hard.
“Either your God is wicked, or he does not condone your actions,” he insisted. “A benevolent God would not attack these people. A-“
“Blasphemy,” the officer shouted, and kicked Fionn onto his whipped back in the hot ash. Fionn cried out in pain, but did not rise.
“Get back up! Get to work or I will have you beaten again!”
The fight was gone from Fionn, and he looked up dispassionately just in time to see an arrow shoot clean through the officer’s neck. Fionn looked back to the wall. Archers stood, shooting at the Army but sparing the creatures who pushed the fire forward. Their compassion would lose them the city.
Fionn lay in the ashes, ignoring the burns. He closed his eyes. Some time later a soldier came and dragged him back to be returned to training.
The assault on the wall took days. The siege engine, a colossal wooden structure painted with layers of lime to prevent it from catching fire, provided a structure within which soldiers could safely climb over the wall. At its base it also contained a massive log, reinforced with iron and set on a pendulum. The battering ram was brought to the door, and despite the valiant fight by the Druids, it got through.
Inside, they were met with an army, but not a city. They’d expected the central city of the Druids to be packed with buildings like their own, but instead they found a forest. Dense, tall trees bursting with fruit formed organic but cultivated shapes on terraced plots. Irrigation canals led to little pools that were alive with fish and ducks, and the homes were tucked halfway into the ground with thatch roof and brightly painted walls.
There were no wide streets, which made maneuvering the Army difficult, but they burned and cut their way through berry hedges and fruit tree groves.
At the top of the hill in the center of town, lovely white buildings surrounded an ancient tree. Its limbs were thick and the lower ones drooped so low they touched the ground before again reaching skyward. Within it there were signs of love and life, countless birdhouses, wind chimes, sun catchers and tied cloth. It was big enough that it could have held several houses within its branches, but it did not. Instead it was adorned, given gifts, and treated with reverence. Rarely was anything taken from it. Fallen sticks and leaves were collected to make tools and tinctures, and only in the most special occasions was anything living cut from the tree. Each person was allowed one cut when they reached adulthood, which afforded the Druids the bows that had reached such unnatural distances. Nothing from the tree was wasted, and the Druids enjoyed their panacea.
It was here that the townspeople gathered, holding farming equipment and kitchen knives. They huddled around the tree not for it to protect them, but for them to protect it. Like mothers guarding children, every citizen took up arms to defend the tree, but it was not enough.
The tree fell.
Something within it shifted, roused, twisted and changed.
— Fae —
It was not that it was strange for the world to change shape; it did so constantly, naturally, in gentle swells like the rise and fall of a creature’s breath. Temperatures and cultures, plants and animals, they all morphed, and the Fae morphed with them. It was not therefore odd for a Fae to come to consciousness in the physical realm and find it altered, but previously there had always been a consistency underlying the change, like the curvature of the DNA, the laws of nature, the green in plants leaves. It was a low song that his kind heard in the material world, and it was the only thing he had expected to find when he was suddenly, inexorably, awake.
Coming alive felt like a bubble bursting. All at once, his previous existence shattered and began to disappear like a dream fading at the moment of waking. His magnificent roots, of which each tendril he had memorized and knew his growth plans for, were suddenly lost to him. Each leaf, which he turned precisely to bathe in the sun, each branch he reinforced against the western wind, each insect under his bark and bird in their nests were all suddenly gone.
He began to fade. It had been so long since he’d needed to manifest in the physical world on his own, he’d forgotten how. There was a bond, unseen magic chains that held him to the tree. With it dead, they reached out for the nearest living thing.
The Fae did not necessarily want to bond to [Your Character], did not intentionally latch on, but the magic that wrapped around his throat still commanded him. The Fae, confused and lost in a world he no longer understood, could barely take physical form. He manifested not as a man, but as a long, black cloak that draped itself around the shoulders of someone nearby. Into the person’s mind, he whispered;
”New.”
He found himself suddenly able to see in a way the tree had not, and marveled at the vast sky.
“Odd,” he remarked into their mind. Adequate speech had left him centuries ago, and he remembered nothing of who he had been, but he had a sense that something was wrong.