Helloooooooooooo!
Super Helldiver, beer lover and broken romance enjoyer here o/ I love character driven, dramatic stories with loads of angst and pain. I reply every other day, sometimes multiple times a day—but I don't expect you to do the same
Looking for:
Gritty fantasy, magic and playing as elves! Mostly a lowish fantasy world, but the magic can go as high as we want.
I love high intensity moments, shit that makes your heart pound. Stakes, combat, survival... I also love gloomier and mentally heavier settings and themes. Like a war-torn kingdom, corrupt leadership, or if you don't do X or Y, you are punished with a fate worse than death type of deals. Things where happiness seems just out of reach, if not unreachable.
For romance (if our chars mesh, which I hope they do lol), slowburn on the side (I play F). The buildup is way more exciting than the final product to me. The tension is just chef's kiss!
Anyway! That said, I'm looking for actual character development and a partner who isn't afraid to let their char have flaws and make mistakes.
Triggers:
Random ideas/blurbs | My search is NOT limited to these!
Examples of what types of themes I'm looking for.
Vague ideas -- All adjustable
More solid ideas/plots (GPT generated based off my vague ideas -- most are "problematic to possible lovers") -- Also totally adjustable
Original ideas
Wordspew
Elves. Magic. Opposites. Artifacts. Knight. Royalty. Tension. Forced proximity. Mental illness. Enemies to X. Back to enemies. Brutal choices. Battle. Dark magic. Wicked intentions. Regret. Longing. I want it but I can't let myself. Hate-love. Haunted by the past. Unable to let go. Substance/alcohol abuse. Self harm. Troubling coping mechanisms. Beloved character death. Military. Survival. I never asked for this. Mermaids. Sirens.
Preferences
Writing samples
I would love to see a writing sample of yours too, to see if our styles mesh!
Feel free to message me (please)!
100% up for brainstorming! I'll definitely be able to throw out ideas, and I love love love story and char building (I'm a lil terrible with world building though lol) <3
Super Helldiver, beer lover and broken romance enjoyer here o/ I love character driven, dramatic stories with loads of angst and pain. I reply every other day, sometimes multiple times a day—but I don't expect you to do the same
Looking for:
Gritty fantasy, magic and playing as elves! Mostly a lowish fantasy world, but the magic can go as high as we want.
I love high intensity moments, shit that makes your heart pound. Stakes, combat, survival... I also love gloomier and mentally heavier settings and themes. Like a war-torn kingdom, corrupt leadership, or if you don't do X or Y, you are punished with a fate worse than death type of deals. Things where happiness seems just out of reach, if not unreachable.
For romance (if our chars mesh, which I hope they do lol), slowburn on the side (I play F). The buildup is way more exciting than the final product to me. The tension is just chef's kiss!
Anyway! That said, I'm looking for actual character development and a partner who isn't afraid to let their char have flaws and make mistakes.
Triggers:
—Bad things involving kids (unless it needs mention for lore or char's backstory).
—Excessive details of gore (I'm good with it generally, but several paragraphs make me too squeamish).
—Excessive details of gore (I'm good with it generally, but several paragraphs make me too squeamish).
Random ideas/blurbs | My search is NOT limited to these!
Examples of what types of themes I'm looking for.
Vague ideas -- All adjustable
X has a violent past and is currently struggling with PTSD (or other issues).
Y is just starting an violent rampage.
They meet, and Y is about to do unleash hell, but X offers to be their... companion? Either way, boom we have problems. X struggles through their trauma? Convinces Y to lay down their weapon? Maybe the revelation is that X actually caused Y's intense drive for vengeance due to what they did in the past? Who knows.
Y is just starting an violent rampage.
They meet, and Y is about to do unleash hell, but X offers to be their... companion? Either way, boom we have problems. X struggles through their trauma? Convinces Y to lay down their weapon? Maybe the revelation is that X actually caused Y's intense drive for vengeance due to what they did in the past? Who knows.
Two opposing factions. One very sudden war. And one real threat looming in the shadows.
Most people are mind controlled. The mages are not. A finds B on the verge of death (or gets them there), but the words that B spills are not threats, they are warnings.
A too has suspected something strange lately, but hasn't been able to put a finger on it. The attacks were so sudden, so strange, and yet, it's like nobody questioned where it came from.
It is revealed that both parties believe the opposite clan was the attacker.
Magic is rare, and most mages are easy targets to wicked intentions, so they hide. A and B are willing combatants in the raging war, but they aren't there to mercilessly kill. They end up in a duel, both believing the other is just another mindless attacker. Surprisingly durable both of them, but as B falls, they take their shot at expressing their worry. Dazed by the words, A tries to save them.
Most people are mind controlled. The mages are not. A finds B on the verge of death (or gets them there), but the words that B spills are not threats, they are warnings.
A too has suspected something strange lately, but hasn't been able to put a finger on it. The attacks were so sudden, so strange, and yet, it's like nobody questioned where it came from.
It is revealed that both parties believe the opposite clan was the attacker.
Magic is rare, and most mages are easy targets to wicked intentions, so they hide. A and B are willing combatants in the raging war, but they aren't there to mercilessly kill. They end up in a duel, both believing the other is just another mindless attacker. Surprisingly durable both of them, but as B falls, they take their shot at expressing their worry. Dazed by the words, A tries to save them.
A is the reason B is there. A did it for a reason, one that they cannot outwardly admit. B escapes and hunts A down to reap their revenge. An agreement is made to keep both their lives intact.
Knight helps royal out of a dangerous situation and is "promoted" to be their personal knight. Truth is, the knight set it all up to get closer to the royal estate.
Betrayal vibes!
Betrayal vibes!
As a result of an old cataclysmic event, all healthy creatures now live in sky islands. The planet "down below" is uninhabitable--racked by unstable magic and polluted air... or so people believe. When sentenced to death, criminals are pushed of the edge and sent to plummet to their death. X, a criminal, somehow manages to survive this fall (probably by some magic means). Y comes across them there.
(Or perhaps Y saves X, which would make it interesting. What crime punishable by death could possibly be justified in Y's eyes?)
(Or perhaps Y saves X, which would make it interesting. What crime punishable by death could possibly be justified in Y's eyes?)
More solid ideas/plots (GPT generated based off my vague ideas -- most are "problematic to possible lovers") -- Also totally adjustable
A warlord (X) carves a bloody empire from the ashes of fallen kingdoms, ruling through fear and steel. A captured rebel leader (Y) is dragged before them in chains, expected to be executed as an example. But X, curious about Y's defiance, offers a different choice: swear loyalty and serve—or die.
Y, burning with vengeance, accepts, biding their time to strike. But the warlord is not the mindless brute Y expected; they are tired, haunted by the ghosts of their conquest, and they respect Y's fire. Forced to fight alongside each other, the lines between captor and captive blur. But as betrayals mount and the empire teeters on the brink of collapse, Y must decide: destroy X and risk plunging the world into further chaos, or stand beside them and become something monstrous together.
Y, burning with vengeance, accepts, biding their time to strike. But the warlord is not the mindless brute Y expected; they are tired, haunted by the ghosts of their conquest, and they respect Y's fire. Forced to fight alongside each other, the lines between captor and captive blur. But as betrayals mount and the empire teeters on the brink of collapse, Y must decide: destroy X and risk plunging the world into further chaos, or stand beside them and become something monstrous together.
The underworld of a crumbling city runs on blood and whispers. X is an enforcer for a dying syndicate, trying to keep their head above water as rival gangs tear the streets apart. Y is an assassin sent to kill X (or X's boss) but ends up botching the job—now hunted by both sides.
X and Y form an uneasy partnership to survive, dodging bounty hunters, corrupt guards, and the very people they once worked for. The city is a maze of dead ends and broken dreams, and every ally is a potential backstabber. As they fight to carve out a future—or at least live to see another sunrise—the question remains: when the blood stops flowing, will they still trust each other enough to stay?
This one could be a "meet cute turns deadly", where they don't even realize the problem at first.
X and Y form an uneasy partnership to survive, dodging bounty hunters, corrupt guards, and the very people they once worked for. The city is a maze of dead ends and broken dreams, and every ally is a potential backstabber. As they fight to carve out a future—or at least live to see another sunrise—the question remains: when the blood stops flowing, will they still trust each other enough to stay?
This one could be a "meet cute turns deadly", where they don't even realize the problem at first.
The world is lawless, ruled by warlords and corporations that feast on the desperate. X is a smuggler running guns and stolen goods, never staying in one place long enough to care. Y is an escaped test subject from a secret lab, hunted for the unnatural abilities they never asked for.
X doesn't do charity work. But when Y offers them something valuable—knowledge of a hidden stash of pre-war tech—X agrees to help them escape. As they move across wastelands and shattered cities, dodging bounty hunters and corporate assassins, X realizes that Y is more than just a job. And Y, struggling to control their powers, wonders if maybe this cynical, world-weary smuggler is the only person who's ever seen them as more than a weapon.
X doesn't do charity work. But when Y offers them something valuable—knowledge of a hidden stash of pre-war tech—X agrees to help them escape. As they move across wastelands and shattered cities, dodging bounty hunters and corporate assassins, X realizes that Y is more than just a job. And Y, struggling to control their powers, wonders if maybe this cynical, world-weary smuggler is the only person who's ever seen them as more than a weapon.
Original ideas
A search & rescue mission on a less known planet goes wrong when all communications suddenly vanquish. Between scouring for supplies and dodging enemy patrols, our characters work on establishing a signal, meanwhile discovering clues on what actually happened to the previous team.
I imagined a planet of Automatons. I just love playing against them and how eerie their presence is.
I imagined a planet of Automatons. I just love playing against them and how eerie their presence is.
Wordspew
Elves. Magic. Opposites. Artifacts. Knight. Royalty. Tension. Forced proximity. Mental illness. Enemies to X. Back to enemies. Brutal choices. Battle. Dark magic. Wicked intentions. Regret. Longing. I want it but I can't let myself. Hate-love. Haunted by the past. Unable to let go. Substance/alcohol abuse. Self harm. Troubling coping mechanisms. Beloved character death. Military. Survival. I never asked for this. Mermaids. Sirens.
Preferences
- Age pref 25+ (I'm 28)
- 3rd person, past tense
- A couple paragraphs, with obvious adjustments depending on what the rp needs of course! I won't limit or force anything. On average I believe I write around 200-600 words per post, fluctuating depending on what's going on.
- MxF (I'm most comfortable writing female mains. For sides I love both!)
- I don't care about character sheets. I care more about the back and forth between us! I absolutely love the creation process, and I always create a new character for an rp to fit the setting.
- If we want character pictures(not neccessary), I prefer painted/AI style if that makes sense? Pencil drawn and IRL pics don't immerse me, idk why. But no pic works equally fine. I don't even need a description before the RP really.
- OOC chatter is peak, big yaps, build the story with me! (can OOC in discord). I am HUGE on reacting to the chars and the story as it goes on, LOL.
- if you lose inspiration, want to change anything, or simply want out, please let me know!! It happens to me too, and I know it's terrifying to say it outright. I promise I'll understand whatever you want to do. We are humans after all, even though I'd prefer to be an elf…
Writing samples
Water trickled down Aryn's arms and legs, causing her to shiver. The fire still burned in her peripheral vision, but its warmth had vanished. Io's icy arguments chilled the air in her throat.
"Where have you been the last 100 years, Aryn."
Old burn marks from the sun bloomed across her shoulders. She'd worked hard to hide away and forget her name. To bury the Arbiter legacy she never fulfilled. To find nothing in strangers' beds, reinforcing the idea that her heart was neatly sealed up like she needed it to be.
To be alone, like she'd convinced herself was the only way anyone could be safe.
"Do you even care?" She spat back, her anger dripping from her tongue. But at the sound of Callahan's voice echoing through the door, she clenched her jaw. Her throat tightened.
She reached for her face, as if rubbing it would take back the words, or undo the relentless feelings crashing over her every damned second. The rapid beating of her own heart pounded in her ears.
"It doesn't matter," she declared, locking her gaze to the floor. The rage began melting into ache, her lips quivering as she turned to leave the room.
With each step, a low, broken whisper slipped from her, betraying the anguish she tried to keep to herself.
"I wouldn't choose me either."
Aryn escaped to her bag with her feet dragging heavy under her. After hanging the towel off on a lone spike, she slipped into a loose tunic. The beige cotton fell lazily over her thighs, and without bothering to tighten any straps to neither collar nor boots, she threw a long robe over her shoulders.
The ache still loomed around her heart even after a moment's silence. She rounded the corner to the shed with arms folded over her stomach, and her gaze downcast. Ashe's ears flicked forward as she shuffled past him to pick up his brush, his big, dark eyes moving as if sensing something was off. He snorted and tossed his head.
She blinked a couple times before dragging her eyes to meet him.
"What is it?"
The horse turned away, but made no effort to walk away. Aryn let out a shaky breath and started brushing.
"He saved you, you know."
With each flick, images of the past few months passed through her mind. Things he'd laughed about, times he'd opened his heart to her, and times he'd closed it. Each memory–warm or cold–carried heaviness that struck her like hammers.
Her vision blurred. Only the silhouette of her hand movements remained. She clenched her teeth, but a silent cascade of tears broke past her eyes. The speeding thumps of her heart pounded in her ears, and the steady brushing was the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.
"I don't want to be here either." Words tumbled out of her mouth, low and broken but unstoppable.
"I don't want to be anywhere, I— It should've been me… All of them, at least it… At least it wouldn't have been my fault."
"Where have you been the last 100 years, Aryn."
Old burn marks from the sun bloomed across her shoulders. She'd worked hard to hide away and forget her name. To bury the Arbiter legacy she never fulfilled. To find nothing in strangers' beds, reinforcing the idea that her heart was neatly sealed up like she needed it to be.
To be alone, like she'd convinced herself was the only way anyone could be safe.
"Do you even care?" She spat back, her anger dripping from her tongue. But at the sound of Callahan's voice echoing through the door, she clenched her jaw. Her throat tightened.
She reached for her face, as if rubbing it would take back the words, or undo the relentless feelings crashing over her every damned second. The rapid beating of her own heart pounded in her ears.
"It doesn't matter," she declared, locking her gaze to the floor. The rage began melting into ache, her lips quivering as she turned to leave the room.
With each step, a low, broken whisper slipped from her, betraying the anguish she tried to keep to herself.
"I wouldn't choose me either."
Aryn escaped to her bag with her feet dragging heavy under her. After hanging the towel off on a lone spike, she slipped into a loose tunic. The beige cotton fell lazily over her thighs, and without bothering to tighten any straps to neither collar nor boots, she threw a long robe over her shoulders.
The ache still loomed around her heart even after a moment's silence. She rounded the corner to the shed with arms folded over her stomach, and her gaze downcast. Ashe's ears flicked forward as she shuffled past him to pick up his brush, his big, dark eyes moving as if sensing something was off. He snorted and tossed his head.
She blinked a couple times before dragging her eyes to meet him.
"What is it?"
The horse turned away, but made no effort to walk away. Aryn let out a shaky breath and started brushing.
"He saved you, you know."
With each flick, images of the past few months passed through her mind. Things he'd laughed about, times he'd opened his heart to her, and times he'd closed it. Each memory–warm or cold–carried heaviness that struck her like hammers.
Her vision blurred. Only the silhouette of her hand movements remained. She clenched her teeth, but a silent cascade of tears broke past her eyes. The speeding thumps of her heart pounded in her ears, and the steady brushing was the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.
"I don't want to be here either." Words tumbled out of her mouth, low and broken but unstoppable.
"I don't want to be anywhere, I— It should've been me… All of them, at least it… At least it wouldn't have been my fault."
The colors that fell over the forest grayed, and the light that danced across the river died. No sound left Aryn's mouth, and nothing flashed in the glassy blues of her eyes. They latched onto the limp body in her arms, almost as if staring at her would somehow wake her up. Something pressed against Aryn's ribs, begging to be let out–but her feet were stuck in the void that enclosed her now.
Her head pounded with the ghosts of the past haunting this moment. Dead. Their screams thundered in her ears. She's dead. She's dead. She's–
An otherworldly light fell over her. It breached through her consciousness, lighting up every crevice of her existence. She fell back and hit her head against the wall. Blinking against the blinding light, she caught the familiar colors of four Arbiters, and the absence of the one they lost. Ethereal voices echoed all around her, too muted to be comprehensible–and yet, she understood every single thing.
The Five watched their fire crest–gleaming like a sky full of suns–drift off to a new host. And it burned a day East of Carval.
"Why Pli… Why…"
Aryn's fingers twitched. Her blood ran cold beneath her skin, and she lifted her gaze slowly. Callahan sat inches away, sharing the weight of the moment. But still, she felt alone. He cried at the weight of his fate, and a part of her refused to admit who it had chosen.
A crippling urge to scream pushed noise past her lips, catching herself off guard.
"Wake up."
It was a disgruntled plea at best, but Aryn had nothing to stop it from coming. A hand flew up to pat the dead woman's cheek, pushing strands of hair off her face. Terror washed over her like waves of spikes. She wasn't dead. Of course she wasn't dead.
"Get up!" Aryn demanded, closing in on Plisalia's face with her own. Shaky fingers searched for pulse over the drying, cold skin. She gazed past the lashes, into those half opened, amber eyes. And the words slipped out, pouring breath over her face, as if it would make her listen.
"No… Come on, dammit." She gave Plisalia's shoulder a nudge. Her breaths cracked, but her voice loudened. "This wasn't the plan."
She was an inch away from Plisalia's unresponsive face, flicking her wide eyes between the other's. A thunderstorm built in her chest, rumbling and groaning as it grew.
"You hear me? This was not. The plan!"
Her head pounded with the ghosts of the past haunting this moment. Dead. Their screams thundered in her ears. She's dead. She's dead. She's–
An otherworldly light fell over her. It breached through her consciousness, lighting up every crevice of her existence. She fell back and hit her head against the wall. Blinking against the blinding light, she caught the familiar colors of four Arbiters, and the absence of the one they lost. Ethereal voices echoed all around her, too muted to be comprehensible–and yet, she understood every single thing.
The Five watched their fire crest–gleaming like a sky full of suns–drift off to a new host. And it burned a day East of Carval.
"Why Pli… Why…"
Aryn's fingers twitched. Her blood ran cold beneath her skin, and she lifted her gaze slowly. Callahan sat inches away, sharing the weight of the moment. But still, she felt alone. He cried at the weight of his fate, and a part of her refused to admit who it had chosen.
A crippling urge to scream pushed noise past her lips, catching herself off guard.
"Wake up."
It was a disgruntled plea at best, but Aryn had nothing to stop it from coming. A hand flew up to pat the dead woman's cheek, pushing strands of hair off her face. Terror washed over her like waves of spikes. She wasn't dead. Of course she wasn't dead.
"Get up!" Aryn demanded, closing in on Plisalia's face with her own. Shaky fingers searched for pulse over the drying, cold skin. She gazed past the lashes, into those half opened, amber eyes. And the words slipped out, pouring breath over her face, as if it would make her listen.
"No… Come on, dammit." She gave Plisalia's shoulder a nudge. Her breaths cracked, but her voice loudened. "This wasn't the plan."
She was an inch away from Plisalia's unresponsive face, flicking her wide eyes between the other's. A thunderstorm built in her chest, rumbling and groaning as it grew.
"You hear me? This was not. The plan!"
"I think it might be best for you to lay down for the night."
It took a few moments for the mage to process what he'd said, but when his words sank in, her smile vanished. She glanced up at him, her eyes an ocean of creeping despair. Though she was half stumbling, half clinging to him–and still struggling to comprehend thresholds and barrels–his words resonated like a thousand bells. A clarity that struck her like a sharp, obsidian wind, carrying the weight of the world again.
While still outside, Aryn pulled them to a halt, searching his eyes for answers she knew he didn't have.
"Don't take this away from me."
Her voice quavered with barely suppressed emotion. Though she struggled to produce much else from her lips, her forlorn expression hinted at countless unspoken stories. Of things she didn't want to think about, and was desperate to flee from.
She wasn't ready to let this night go. It offered her warmth that her sober mind would never begin to wrap her head around. A discontented sigh escaped the drunken woman as she swirled around Callahan and snaked her arms around his waist from behind. The other direction was better, she decided, as she began dragging and pushing him with her measly bodyweight, back towards what she thought was their old table.
On the way, the darling swell of a long, blond braid fell into her field of vision. Before Aryn knew it, a dark smirk tugged at her lips. She offered no look of recognition and no word, but simply turned her head to rest her other cheek against the Moon Prince's back.
She didn't know why she felt so possessive over him–and quite frankly, it didn't matter. Not here, and not now. Hiding in the shadows of his shoulders, she found quiet comfort in the misty scent of his hair and the cedar aroma of his robe. The fabrics of his sleeves folded over her arms slightly, creasing under the movements as she pressed herself against him until she–or he–decided they'd found a spot to sit.
When she plopped down on the bench–with a surprisingly loud thud–breathy laughter spilled from her lips. The crown ended up falling halfway down her face, prompting wispy raven strands to assemble over her cheeks and eyes.
"Now that I wear a crown…" she said, lifting her chin to peek at Callahan from underneath the crown's shadowy rim. "How come you aren't calling me princess?"
It took a few moments for the mage to process what he'd said, but when his words sank in, her smile vanished. She glanced up at him, her eyes an ocean of creeping despair. Though she was half stumbling, half clinging to him–and still struggling to comprehend thresholds and barrels–his words resonated like a thousand bells. A clarity that struck her like a sharp, obsidian wind, carrying the weight of the world again.
While still outside, Aryn pulled them to a halt, searching his eyes for answers she knew he didn't have.
"Don't take this away from me."
Her voice quavered with barely suppressed emotion. Though she struggled to produce much else from her lips, her forlorn expression hinted at countless unspoken stories. Of things she didn't want to think about, and was desperate to flee from.
She wasn't ready to let this night go. It offered her warmth that her sober mind would never begin to wrap her head around. A discontented sigh escaped the drunken woman as she swirled around Callahan and snaked her arms around his waist from behind. The other direction was better, she decided, as she began dragging and pushing him with her measly bodyweight, back towards what she thought was their old table.
On the way, the darling swell of a long, blond braid fell into her field of vision. Before Aryn knew it, a dark smirk tugged at her lips. She offered no look of recognition and no word, but simply turned her head to rest her other cheek against the Moon Prince's back.
She didn't know why she felt so possessive over him–and quite frankly, it didn't matter. Not here, and not now. Hiding in the shadows of his shoulders, she found quiet comfort in the misty scent of his hair and the cedar aroma of his robe. The fabrics of his sleeves folded over her arms slightly, creasing under the movements as she pressed herself against him until she–or he–decided they'd found a spot to sit.
When she plopped down on the bench–with a surprisingly loud thud–breathy laughter spilled from her lips. The crown ended up falling halfway down her face, prompting wispy raven strands to assemble over her cheeks and eyes.
"Now that I wear a crown…" she said, lifting her chin to peek at Callahan from underneath the crown's shadowy rim. "How come you aren't calling me princess?"
I would love to see a writing sample of yours too, to see if our styles mesh!
Feel free to message me (please)!
100% up for brainstorming! I'll definitely be able to throw out ideas, and I love love love story and char building (I'm a lil terrible with world building though lol) <3
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