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Author Topic: Time is of the essence - why write alone? (M looking for F writing partners)  (Read 6181 times)

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Offline TyrusTopic starter

Hey all. This my request thread, mwahaha.

My O's and O's Thread

A bit about myself

I'm Ty. I'm an avid writer and reader who loves co-operative roleplaying and creative writing. I have written in play-by-post forums for around 13 years or so now, and have been writing on Elliquiy since 2011.

Why write with me? I put character development and world-building above all else, and I love building out fun and complex stories with my partners. Not just smut.

My only weakness? I can be a little too ambitious and overly-detailed in my writing, and I like to take my time with my posts. Or is that a strength?

I also like to put my partners first and ensure every part of the story - characters, themes, motivations, arcs - is ours and we own it in every single way.

Don't believe me? Let my stories do the talking... and have a read.


2019/2020 Stories

For key examples of my narrative style and writing approach, here are some of the many newest (within the last year and a bit) stories of mine.

Macabre (with Yggdrasil) - Modern-day vampire horror: A dark dive into the duality of an unwilling nosferatu maintaining his humanity amidst his primal needs, complete with unreliable narration, underworld grittiness and indulgent sexual manipulation.

The Forgotten Heiress (With RipTide) - Low-fantasy: A slow-burning forbidden love between a proud orc hunter and outcast human who don't quite fit in their respective worlds and are isolated no matter how hard they try - except with each other.

Do You Believe in Fairies? (With Songless Siren) - Urban fantasy, paranormal drama: An emotionally scarred human unknowingly falls for a high-flying fae lawyer who orchestrates the induction of his human sister into the supernatural community.


Long-Term Stories (Circa 2016 onwards)

Here are some of my many long-term (3 + years) RPs I've built out with wonderful partners, fleshing out multiple POVs, character arcs and worlds.

Azure Rising (With Sinfulkarma) - Crime drama: A whirlwind of rough sex, harsh words and harder violence as a stone-cold killer meets his match and gets in too deep with a charismatic gangster as addictive as the product she pushes.

The Capricious Captive (With toosweetforrock) - Military fiction: A war-weary soldier fights his base instincts to preserve the innocence of a courageous woman who represents all the good he's tarnished - and a chance at redemption.

What We Become (With DesertFlower) - Post-apocalyptic/zombie: Two survivors of an undead cataclysm band together to make it through to the next day and find purpose in each other's survival - but not without ever-lasting consequences.

Reaching Out (With Melieli) - High-school drama: A deep dive into the lasting effects of systematic social media bullying on one teen outcast and how one girl reaching out changes their outlook - for better, and worse.


At Rest Stories

Here are five past RPs (absent partners or unfinished stories) of mine that I loved having the opportunity to bring to life.


Story Samples

Vampire/Modern-day Sample
Grim-faced and disciplined, Daemon studied the mass of monsters around him for any hint of trouble as the Blue Club's suffocating music ricocheted through his very bones.

Lights flickered and strobed relentlessly across the concrete cavern, casting shadows and angles that paid no compliments to the demonic faces all around him. Cold-blooded bodies collided and pressed against him in the surrounding crush, while a harsh mixture of acrid, earthy and sweet aromas flooded his senses. Sensual groans, sultry promises, frenzied screams, gravelly growls and the occasional heartbeat assaulted his being. It was almost impossible to tell who was what in such a thick crowd of freaks like that, especially with the tantalising scent of fresh blood also in everyone's noses. But there was nothing like a good old-fashioned mass feeding to bring the undead together.

The incessant noise of the heavy electronic music and the boisterous horde was throbbing, pulsating... palpable. Harsh strobe lights at the top of the domed room cast an eerie, temporary glow over the inebriated and drug-fuelled revellers in the Pit below, before sweeping onto the next group, creating a weird spectacle of jerky, spasmodic puppets on a string, cheering when it was their time in the limelight. The phrenetic energy and cacophonous atmosphere, as anarchic as it was, was undeniably infectious. Even as he stood on the sidelines, watching for any sign of conflict, Daemon could understand how one could get lost in the commotion.

In the middle of the mass were the bone-white faces, glassy gray eyes and regal adornments of Consilium heritage. Even amidst such nocturnal chaos, their otherworldly beauty was unmistakable from the rest of the horde. A handsome man with an inhumanly sculpted jawline opened and closed his mouth playfully as dark-red liquid poured freely from his person, generously coating his rich clothing. His femme fatale partner calmly held out her gloved hands out to catch the flow, licking it off him like a wild animal, to the roaring amusement of the uninhibited party-goers surrounding them. More bodies came piling into the Pit with each passing second, in anticipation for their turn for the sticky stuff.

After all, first blood was for house royalty, but the real feast came after.

Whirling neon-blue lighting now flashed on all sides, illuminating the Pit with a newly amplified, pulsating effulgence that made most of Seattle's other underground nightclubs look like a kid's party. There were no dancers, no "normal" drinks on tap here; just a mob of cursed flesh in their nightclothes, mouths agape and arms held high, as the sprinkler system abruptly spilt the crimson life-force of thousands of human cattle into the crowd below, while loudspeakers on posts and on-lookers leaning against the railings above mouthed incomprehensible cries of excitement and ecstasy.

Daemon's steely-eyed gaze skipped from face to face, doing his best to ignore the pangs of hunger in his belly and keep his mind on the job. An abundance of piercings, powdered skin and blood red lips. Endless tight black numbers, expensive suit jackets, and torn and ripped denim alike. Mouths full of deadly fangs and scarlet vitality, bopping heads rocking cultivated widows peaks, backcombed bouffants and crisp fades. This was where the elite of Macabre's regular clientele gathered for their nightly feed, fuck and ravishment of one another; where the limits of human imagination barely scratched the surface. Where Daemon subconsciously aspired to one day be a part of, despite everything he told himself.

In life, Daemon had always stood out like a sore thumb. His dark skin and troubled upbringing hadn't exactly afforded him the luxury of anonymity. Even here, right among these frenetic, rabid, writhing things, his presence was misplaced and questioned. But it was his stoic demeanour and imposing physique that kept any of those nasty thoughts at bay, aside from the occasional sneer.

The truth was he wanted to hate Macabre and its nocturnal depravities with every undead fibre of his being. But the insatiable bloodlust crazing his body and the loneliness engulfing him emptied his head of all logical thoughts but the hunger.

I came to Seattle to be a better man. Some dream, Daemon. Some dream.

The warm and delicious scent of the very thing he craved hit him in full force as he smartly moved away from the intoxicated crowd and through the heavy velvet drapes sectioning off the VIP Blue Club from the rest of the sprawling underground venue. Daemon had suppressed his primal urges as best he could, but sometimes being in a room full of the red stuff still inevitably led to those blackouts the purebloods loved to punish newly Embraced for. He wasn't going to risk it, not after the last time.

As he climbed the grimy stairs back to the main bar above, a petite blonde bombshell with the faint signum of the Nosferatu clan tattooed on her slender neckline sauntered past him with a wicked smile, her fluttering heartbeat calling out to him like a siren's song, promising deadly delights... but a pair of hulking male accomplices tailed her closely, firm hands on the familiar's dainty shoulders, threatening postures and piercing stares with a clear readiness for violence. The scent of brimstone and the look of their pointed claws made any stand-off a tense one; Daemon could only fake a look of equally murderous intent to keep the monsters moving without retaliation, eventually exhaling with relief as he realised they opted to pass him without a challenge. He continued his ascension to more appropriate surroundings that befit his newly-found undead station. He wondered if the girl knew exactly what kind of night she got herself into. He'd seen far too many human familiars in over their heads before, but what could he do?

Macabre was a thriving hub of vampire activity in Seattle, one that attracted ancient bloodlines, old money, human familiars, varcolaci and the newly Embraced alike to its doors. It was the first place he had heard about while on the road to nowhere; spoken of like some underworld haven by other newly Embraced. Somewhere to seek refuge, indulge, and awaken again. Once he arrived, it was everything they had said and more; but it didn't take long for Daemon to see first-hand just how easy it was to get lost in the enticing promises, intoxicating atmosphere and endless vices the lower sections of the club offered. Alcohol, drugs, sex, and clean blood on-tap for those who could pay or knew the right people. Because wealth alone didn't proffer you with status here; only pure-blooded heritage, or association with such.

But even with that status, it was still just as easy to wake up with your limbs detached, and your immortal body broken as the Gataro sold your fleshy parts to the highest Adrasteia bidder. Or witness the Nosferatu demanding blood tribute from lower-class patrons that couldn't possibly offer, just for the fun of the savage mauling that followed. Daemon had seen enough of what these ancient monsters did to the 'lessers' of their own kind to remain on as high alert as possible.

Friends in the right places always help.

Out-of-towners weren't so openly welcomed in Seattle. But the Brethren had accepted him after the Proving, and subsequently made his day-to-day a little easier, even with the type of depraved dirty work enforcing a never-ending nightclub entailed. As far as he was concerned, Nyssa and her crew were the only reason he made it through his first night in Seattle - and all the nights after - alive, well-fed and limbs intact.

That, and because I make sure the Nosferatu's blood orgies and illegal Turnings go uninterrupted. Or whatever the fuck they're doing.

"You still on-shift, freshblood?"

The harsh voice of Omar pulled Daemon from his thoughts. The older man was leaning against the cold concrete walls of the packed stairwell, enjoying a fresh drag from his hundredth cigarette for the night. Even undead, Daemon still felt sickened from the slow and creeping stench.

"I'm done in five," he replied dryly. "Snuck out before they brought out the real human entertainment. Nobody'll notice."

Omar laughed heartily, though his amusement was cut short by another of his incessant coughing fits. The way the old man told it, two hundred years of unrestricted substance abuse had naturally taken its toll, even on his genetically perfected insides, and effectively made his voice sound like it travelled via vocal chords of heavy sandpaper. He was apparently a well-known travelling singer, once, with a deep and pleasing baritone that melted hearts and guaranteed wet and willing feedings; now, every time he spoke made Daemon wonder which breath would be his last.

Suppressing another cancerous fit, Omar grinned at him in evident approval, flashing his rotten yellow teeth and decayed fangs for all to see. Judging by the looks of disgust from nearby attendees passing through, it made sense he was on his lonesome. "Still can't resist the smell, huh?" You talking about the blood or your goddamn toxic vice, old man?

Daemon shuffled through a particularly large patron to find a spot beside the old black man, resisting the urge to gag from the smoke. "You of all people here know how badly I fared last time in the Pit."

"It ain't something to be ashamed of, kid. Just the way it is for Turned."

"Easy thing for a varcolaci to say," said Daemon, smirking. "Worst thing you guys have to deal with are the constant furballs."

"Says the motherfuckers walking around with coagulated stains over their jackets every night."

"You know how disgusting it is to help the busboys clean up your fucking shedding?

Omar ignored his dig and changed the subject, as usual. "You're getting better at hiding it is what I'm saying. You don't even shake anymore."

"Yeah, well, I'm taking no chances. I don't exactly want to give Nyssa a reason to regret her decision."

"How about the rest of the Brethren? Ezra still on your ass? Last I heard he was purging your ranks out of spite."

Daemon's smile faded at the memory of the severe beating he endured. "He's been off-site for weeks. Motherfucker."

"About time they let Nyssa start running things. That woman is something, ain't she?"

"She is," he agreed. Daemon could only smile at the thought, even as Omar unleashed a cloud of sickly stink into his face. He did it to get a rise out of him, and knew how he felt about the sensuous woman.

"Well, my friend," Omar said, patting Daemon on the back with hearty familiarity, gently squeezing his way out of the corner and through the growing crowd that were descending the stairs. "Have a good night, yeah? Best stay away from the Pit, though - last I heard, the Consilium's bringing in some special entertainment later!"

Daemon watched as Omar was engulfed by the sea of well-dressed men and women eagerly joining the feast to be. The only varcolaci who had free reign of the place. He had heard rumblings of the Nosferatu pulling out the human favourites to celebrate the Consilium's recent arrival in Seattle, but Daemon had opted to keep himself mostly out of the loop. The less he knew, the better chance he had to go home without more regrets.

God knows I have enough as it is.

Daemon pushed through to the bustling upper floor and the difference in smell hit him at once. A smell of rot and old salt water, of unnatural shit and piss, of fast living and slow decay. Gone was the ultra-modern, multi-level nightclub mecca with state of the art lights and sound systems and shadowy booths full of private delicacies, built into the city's tunnel system with shocking engineering genius; here was the uglier above ground front of it all. A draughty industrial cavern carved out of an old maintenance facility, with cold moonlight, harsh winds and icy raindrops finding chinks in the shutters, leaving bright lines and wet patches across the dusty boards and re-purposed barrels and crates littering the corners of the warehouse. In the middle was a much smaller dance-floor, still packed to the brim with bodies, but of a different sort, the lower-rungs of the vampire caste system. Newly Embraced pretending at status, hoping to be seen; gargoyle-looking Adrasteia pushing their latest product; and human familiars with eyes glazed over and necklines reddened. Not to mention much more leather, whips and chains. It had a more industrial feel to it than the opulence of the Blue Club, but the honest roughness of Macabre was one that Daemon preferred.

To the far left of was perhaps the only area that rivalled the Blue Club in popularity: The Carfax. Daemon glanced at his watch, shrugged to nobody in particular, then pushed his way through the bustling crowd towards the bar. He was abruptly stopped by a lanky male familiar with a jewelled cross dangling between his hairy chest, sadly poking out from his cheap silk shirt. Daemon's eyes made out the signum of the Gataro on his neck as the male and his two companions appraised him from head to toe. The man ran his tongue over a set of resin fangs, flashing them as if they were the real thing.

Got some balls wearing that symbol and those props, motherfucker.

"Can I help you?" Daemon asked neutrally, occasionally peering over the bar to try and grab Ruthie's attention. The overworked bartender was being accosted by a couple of horny regulars over on the other side, and Ichabod was nowhere to be seen. He couldn't blame them, though. But then again, Daemon was always a sucker for redheads.

The human chuckled, leaning in to have his voice better heard, jewelled hand on Daemon's shoulders like they were old friends. "It's Chad, remember?! We were here last week! You reckon you could put in a word for us to get in downstairs, bro?"

Daemon worked through his memory, the corners of his mouth creeping into a smile as he remembered exactly who the git was. "Chad, yeah, I remember you. Hard to forget."

Hard to forget someone who insulted a Nosferatu and got away with it by the grace of god.

Chad and his friends grinned, while Ruthie seemingly came to his rescue with a tired smile. "Hey sweetheart, what can I do for y - "

"Three Blood and Sands!" Chad yelled, leaning over the wooden finish of the bar with far too much confidence, beaming at Ruthie's bewildered face. Daemon did his very best to resist hauling his lanky ass back to the front, letting Maurice beat him black and blue.

He's just a stupid human with shit drink taste and penchant for picking the wrong fights. Mostly harmless.

"How about you, Daemon?" shouted Ruthie over the increasingly suffocating noise of the bass and a crowd of rowdy patrons screaming and dancing not too far from the main bar.

"Pint of the usual!"

Ruthie disappeared to get their drinks ready while Chad and his weedy friends loitered by his side like parasites. "Come on bro, we'll pay you good!" He shifted from casual talk to pretty much pleading. "I'd get my handler to get me in, but the Gataro have a beef at the moment with the wolves - and they're all fucking killjoys!"

Daemon shook his head, occasionally scanning their surroundings of any trouble, out of habit. Off-duty and still dealing with this shit, jesus christ. "No can do. Familiar without his handler is basically asking for trouble. You boys are lucky you even got in here."

One of Chad's friends, the short one, waved his hand at him in feigned annoyance. "Come on! The pussy here is fucking weak, man. We just wanna party with the Nos is all!"

Trust me, you don't kid. You'll last sixty seconds down there before you're mince meat. Literally.

A shoulder roughly bumped into his ribs. Daemon flashed his fangs and hissed out of habit, to the slight shock of Chad. "Hey man, chill! Just thought - just look over there! Thought you'd appreciate the view."

Daemon's hard eyes followed where he pointed. Right in the thick of the crowd in front of them, an auburn-haired beauty wondered through the press towards the Carfax. Even from that distance, Daemon could pick up the intoxicating aroma of thriving, vibrating life... and the slightly heightened heartbeat of a human out of their element. No signum from what his eyes could see, but plenty of hungry eyes on her from all sides. Chad gave a low whistle, while a varcolaci brute leered over her as she passed the bulk of the crowd, his humanoid glamour barely holding as his saliva dripped to the floor shamelessly.

"On second thought," the short one said excitedly, "I'm cool here boys. One second." And he was gone.

Daemon turned back to the bar, in time for Ruthie to serve him his drink. She looked exhausted, and over everything. He could sympathise. On the far end of the bar, her hell-hound of an ex continued to screech for her undivided attention, while Chad and his other friend messily cheered to another night of pretend.

Escaping their grasp, Daemon secured a seat and drank his poison in silence, eyes quickly finding their way to the human. He wondered if it she found the place by mistake, or got lured there by an over-eager Nosferatu. Either way, she was in for an awakening.

Drama/Gang Example
Cole didn't know what to do, which wasn't a first in his life. But this time, it was certainly a predicament.

A strange woman stood in his room, one he didn't even know existed until a few hours ago, revealing hurtful things about another strange woman who had utterly captivated him. She stared back at him with a mixed look of curiousity and pity, as if he was far from a hired killer and instead someone who could be a... confidant.

Cole studied Catriona in silence as she recovered from the assault, narrowed eyes watching the faint rise and fall of her chest, ears prickling at the rattle of her breath, too soft for someone who he had nearly choked to unconsciousness. Her black lashes cast shadows on her striking face, and her mouth had a red ripe colour in the dim lamplight. She caught him staring, or perhaps guessed at the fleeting thoughts that must have been etched on his face: "You treat all girls who come over so late this way?"

"You told me what you wanted to," Cole replied dismissively. "But I still don't get why you think I care."

Catriona seized her opening, knew even with the flash of anger in his dark eyes he was latching onto something she said. "I'd say anyone fucking their boss and doing their dirty work in the streets would want to know she has some other men on the side, at the ready. Unless she was open and told you about the arrangement, which... judging by the killer's glint in your eyes, you hadn't even entertained that possibility."

Anger tightened Cole's jaw, and his deep-seated rage was far from simmering. Just suppressed, as best he could manage. "What makes you think she's anything to me but that? Who are you," he almost shouted, but regained control over the volume of his voice, "to assume anything about me? Some fucking medic patching up killers, gossiping like a pathetic schoolgirl." He took two big steps forward, the full extent of his hulking physique looming over her like an intimidating otherwordly shadow in the low light.

"This is far from gossip," she simply said. "This is your life."

Cole's tired eyes narrowed even more, if it was even possible. "What's your angle, Catriona?" A lot of obvious possibilities were suddenly dwelling on him, then. Possibilities that didn't seem quite so ridiculous or readily apparent, at first. "What do you know?" Another step forward, well within range of striking her again. "You're here now, and clearly not in a rush to leave. I think some answers are due, before I'm fucking happy to let you walk out of this room intact." His snarl was vicious, welcoming of resistance.

So he could choke her again the moment she tried anything funny.

That same mischievous curve to her lips alluded to nothing but amusement. No fear, or hesitation. "All I know is Casey McCallum is a dangerous woman. I have no delusions about what she would do to me, if she heard what I said. Or knew I was speaking to you about this." One long arm lazily reached out to touch him. Pianist's fingers, with cool white skin and perfect manicure. They were soft and cold against his chest. He did not react, but he did not brush it away, either. "There are plenty like me, working for the McCallum operation, that are not as secure as you." A slight shift in tone of her soft voice, but still sultry. "That live in fear for doing the wrong thing, or not being there at the exact impossible time they requested. We see things, so they keep us under tighter leashes, until the money and the prestige and the connections don't matter anymore." Her fingers trailed down his chest, and he guiltily felt himself stir, until they met air and came back to rest on her collarbone. "We've lost a lot to this family."

"Like what?" He snorted.

"My freedoms."

"What?"

"I think you relate more than you will admit."

"I don't."

"Well, I'm a prisoner."

"My sympathies," he said sarcastically. Though not as harshly as he had intended to sound.

"You can have mine, for what that's worth. You're just as much a pawn in this degenerate chess game as the rest of us. And you've lost even more than I have. Your shoulder." It was like the pain shot up his arm in the moment. "Your friends." He knew she was referring to Ravi and Lester, but he couldn't help but think of the Westsiders. Of Malik and Kintell. "Your dignity," she closed, voice suddenly biting and harsh.

His fury flickered about again, and he quickly steered the talk away from Casey. "You're just some bitter, morally questionable medic that feels regret for getting involved in this mess." He grabbed her arm with some force and held her close, meaning to intimidate with another swift act of violence. Catriona only simpered at the contact.

"Really? So Casey McCallum is not some incompetent, treacherous, psychopathic, patricidal murdering cunt who uses anyone and anything to get her way? She killed her own father, killed half of the men that served her family since she was a snivelling little shit in school-gear, probably blowing the old bastards for all we knew."

All of that should have set Cole off again. His brain was screaming at him to smash the woman's face against the wall until it was pulverised, but he stayed his hand. He couldn't help but listen. He couldn't think of a thing to say.

"She's promptly driven the Azure distribution network into the public eye," she continued, tone confident. Like she knew she had him. "Allowed petty gangs and disloyal partners to take advantage of her stupidity and loss of leadership. She's put the frontline workers like us in danger, withheld our pay, had her dogs threaten our families should we run. She's used and manipulated men like yourself, men too stupid and mesmerised by her promises to see they're just another body. Another meatshield."

"No," he boomed in roaring disapproval. "You have it wrong. You're twisting everything."

"I'm the one who has it wrong?" She was halfway to whispering in his ear. "They say she's been fucking this ER doctor at Central since she was thirteen years old and the creep was nineteen. Ran off with him to escape her father, but the pedophile bastard took advantage of the dumb cunt's stupidity. Has been using him ever since to blackmail his fellow doctors and nurses into working for her. Blackmail me, and my sister, into staying." Her voice quavered minutely, but found its bite again soon enough. "They still fuck now, even with you at her back-and-call. Still hear of her fucking several other men, actually. Dozens more of us will tell you the same thing. It's no fucking joke. She has them all to have ready to sick on the other, should they not be needed anymore. Wonder how long it'd take before that was you, Cole?"

"You're - you're fucking insane," he growled back, though the seeds of doubt were too evident in his expression.

"Like heading into Flagship Hill to stop the bikers from destroying our warehouses? For the entire city and world to see, to broadcast to millions? Those same bikers she riled up and antagonised for the sake of, what? Some stupid girl? Or her pride?"

"It's not like that," he said weakly... even though it was exactly like that.

"That ER doctor - they're lovers," she purred, reaching out to touch his face. He didn't move away. "More than what she considers you, from what we hear. More than what some killer that works for her could ever be. It's no kind of secret she favours him. Ask anyone working for her, you'll see it in the way they look at you mockingly in the halls. Ask her." She daringly stroked his mouth with one delicate finger, the glint in her eyes almost revelling in his utter confusion, rage... despair.

Cole found he couldn't breathe normally, or focus. Could only think of Kenny, and choking the life out of that pale face. He felt humiliated, betrayed, laughed at, as he recalled the withering looks and open laughter. Like a fish tickled from a river and left choking on the soil. The fury boiled up in him so hot, he could hardly keep himself together.

"Fuck off!" He flung Catriona's hand off his face, finally. "I see what you're fucking doing. You don't think I know you're goading me, bitch? For whatever fucking bullshit you're trying to make happen? Make me do your dirty work? I'm nobody's fucking puppet!"

Instead of cringing away, Catriona only came forwards, pressing against him, chocolate eyes as big as dinner plates. "What I have done to you, Cole? I've told you what I know, what I know you would want to know. You've made no sacrifices for me. Was I the one who sent you into a suicide mission? Who almost killed you in a coup? Who has toyed with you like a puppy?" He could feel her breathe on his face, warm and pleasant as her scent. God, everything still hurt. He was so tired. "You're no fool, Cole."

"...I'm no fool," he repeated like a fool, his face on fire and blood battering at his skull. He yelped in a strangled way, throat closed up and unsure of how to properly unleash the anger he had built up within. Like that was her intention all along, Catriona let go of him, left him with his grief, staring back up at her with his own eyes, widened, speechless, as she made for the door.

"So stop acting like one."

Romance/Fantasy Example
For the Malak'Nathal, the lessons of the past were often forgotten in the rush to salvage an unlearned future. It was how the dying tribe was and always would be, until it's last breath. But that didn't mean Urak would follow the same path as the lost.

That stubborn vow for change, for progress, away from the shackles of a clan he barely considered his own anymore, could not have been more related to how he felt about Rahla.

The lasting sensation of... whatever it was he had shared with the human girl since young, no matter how much it was buried and forgotten, still inexplicably resonated with him every time they met. Today, alone and candid in their talk, was no exception.

One fresh look at the sheer vulnerability in her shockingly sapphire-blue eyes made eight months of tortured distance and emotional separation come undone in an instant. Sitting beside her, sharing jokes, training together - it felt as if nothing had changed. As if Urak did not treat her lower than dirt when he arrived back with the hunters and other survivors of the disastrous expedition, and instead had come home to promptly resume... what it was they had intimately shared before his departure. The lingering worries about what the other orcs thought, or being discreet, were fleeting and faraway. He was well and truly caught, now, between acting like the friend she needed... and the more his troubled mind yearned to be. Tension mounted in the air like a wall slowly erecting between them in the wake of her question, but he broke it down with a sad smile.

"I think about it all the time," he admitted readily, gravelly voice a little somber. "About the harsh way I used to treat you. Mock you. Fear you." He took a small bite of his meal, chewing thoughtfully as he carefully considered his next words. "It... brings me shame, if I'm honest. To know I acted that way. To isolate you, when you were alone, and confused, and scared." The hunter shuffled his position on the log to better face her person and leaned in, a surprising softness to his usual stoic countenance indicating he was more than sincere. "But I've never hated you, Rahla."

It was over a dozen years ago when he first recalled seeing her. Dragged by Draug to attend one of the tribe's evening sessions of prayer to Gul Ora, to thank the Maker for that summer's bountiful harvest. It was the last the tribe's proud hunters would ever manage of that size, for as long as Urak had since lived on the Maker's earth and joined the hunters as an adult. He had found himself staring at the back of the procession in irresistible curiosity, unafraid of the Shaman's discipline. She had looked like something out of one of Old Nargi's night-time yarns. A small, pale, otherworldly little thing wrapped up in a tattered cloak, almost completely engulfed in the shadow of Draug's gargantuan form. She resembled nothing like what he had heard the older orcs describe humans to look. But it was the fiery red hair that he remembered stunning him into silence.

The whispers about the human outcast being rescued by the Malak'Nathal's most famous berserker had already spread among the children like wildfire by that point. As did the fear, and the fury. And how could it not? The tribe was constantly overwhelmed by swarms of refugees and travellers from across the Malak Tributary, and the mother river it spawned from the humans called the Amaranthine. Telling them of the humans, and their steel weapons, and their mad lust for destruction, desecration and death of the kinfolk. Humans had attacked their ancestors before in eras past, and the young of the Malak'Nathal had always been educated and trained to be ready to drive them back from their home. But only the Warmaul's warriors and the Marked's berserkers had fought them head-on at that point, and only across the river. They were distant monsters.

Which was why the news of Draug's decision baffled, infuriated and scared many among the tribe. He was only a child himself, far from grown, but Urak remembered the fear he felt in his bones, boiling up and constantly unleashed as ignorant rage out playing with his friends in an attempt to hide his cowardice among his peers. Urak's father had warned him not to wonder too far out of the village to satisfy his curiosity, or try to even speak to Draug about it. It was one thing Urak and his father had agreed upon, yet... when he caught that glimpse of her, he couldn't help but be drawn. 

Urak and Rahla had fast found themselves in the same childhood circle - by chance, not choice. Urak's father had remained a recluse since the Tyvian Raids, bitter and cryptic and weak-willed, but Urak's mother Guthra had once shared a close bond with Draug in their youth. She had been the one, now Urak thought back to the past, to reach out to the old warrior after Rahla's arrival had well and truly been verified by the tribe, and frightened and angered the most vocal among them to lash out at the Malak'Nathal's greatest berserker since the Ironhead himself - Agrobal.

Urak couldn't believe the berserker had done such a thing until he sat across from the human himself. Wide-eyed with deep orbs that, at first glanced, appeared impossibly blue, bluer than the bounteous Tributary that fed and protected the kinfolk since he was born. She was paler than Gul Ora's twins in the sky, a sight which mesmerised him, and frailer in build than the sickly spawn of Mad-Eye Lithilgrum, a once famous beserker cursed with malformed children who only walked Gul Ora's earth for a few years of pain and suffering. His mother had forced him to acknowledge Rahla, but her queer insistence had only heightened the bottled up fears swirling in his ignorant young mind. He had spat at Rahla, cursed at her, stared up at Draug as if he was a mad old fool instead of the glorious hero the rest of the Malak'Nathal revered. He ran away, like a coward.

The Exodus of Dush'nikh Yul was only a few years later, and Urak could only remember cruelty and heartlessness when it came to Rahla in those years. The taunts inflicted, the chants created, the rumours spread. He had never joined in on the physical violence, as if that made any of his behaviour better, but he sat by and watched all the same while Nidrog, Nazgoth, Ozor and Todrak used to torture the girl with little mercy. Even after Draug had put his foot down and struck Nidrog, their hatred only burned brighter and the attacks became far more discreet. He remembered finding her crying in some quiet part of the Saar'thal, or pleading with her eyes for him - or anyone - to step in. All Urak could do was gawk, or glare, or walk away. Even after seeing the way these same orcs once treated Vrogir's oddities, despite all his combat prowess. Like a coward.

She's been alone since she before she came to us. I now wallow in my own pathetic, self-inflicted isolation as if I'm the pariah, like a fool. Like my father.

It had changed, of course, though Urak could not pinpoint when it did. Perhaps when one of Todrak's taunts had gone too far, or when Nidrog had touched her so brazenly it shamed Urak into action. Or when he first saw Rahla take up the sword, spear and axe, awkward and clumsy in her movement and training as he had been, though instead of a ruthless and uncaring trainer that was his father, Rahla had the tough but loving Draug as her mentor. When she kept up with her conditioning and training and fishing and playing, by herself, even after all the times Urak's peers made her life a living hell and did all they could to encourage her to lie down and die. Suddenly the hatred Urak held for the humans - and what they had done to the Malak'Nathal, to Malakbrurd, to their spirit - felt wrong to attribute to the human outcast. Not when she tried twice as hard in her training, twice as hard in her prayer, infintiely as hard to simply... exist among the kinfolk and seek acceptance when there was nothing but unbridled loathing returned to her in droves. Not when she smiled at him the way she did, even as he stood and stared and did nothing to help.

"I've... always admired you," Urak found himself saying, no longer held back by those restraints, breaking the silence and returning from his deep thought with a gleam of admiration in his gold-flecked eyes. Warm and embracing, instead of cold and distant. She must have been sick of trying to guess which she would encounter, but he was more than committed to dispel the latter and return to a more hopeful outlook. One she could be a big part of, if she'd have him around. "I've also always been foolishly proud. Stupidly stubborn. A coward." His head lowered a bit, though he kept locked with her intense gaze. "I saw everything. Watched you, from afar, and did nothing. But I saw how you adapted. How you held onto happiness, with Draug. How you persisted to be a part of us, even with everyone against you. I... was just scared to stand with you. A human. Knowing how everyone thought."

It wasn't an excuse. Far from it. But Urak couldn't discount those reasons, even now after knowing their hatred was misplaced. Todrak's parents were slain by human raiders when they were young, some of the first of the Malak'Nathal to be killed before official conflict had began. Nazgoth and Ozor's mother never returned from the Tyvian Raids, thought to have been enslaved. Nidrog physically escaped the Sack of Orsina, but had never truly left the perpetual scene of his parent's torture until Urak had been forced to kill him. Their stories stayed with him, and their pain.

But Rahla was not the one to blame.

"You're stronger than anyone I know, Rahla, as I said before. And much stronger than you think. You're Draug's daughter, through and through." The sunlight accentuated his pointed white tusks and grin that only the human girl seemed to elicit these days. He playfully grabbed her sword arm, examining it like a mock weapon, subconsciously knowing he had probably only acted so to have a reason to touch her. "I probably should have let you thump me with the sword when we were imps. Might have cracked through my lughead and into the sappy center I seem to find myself drawing from whenever I'm with you." Another joke, another grin. Perhaps the training had let off some much needed steam. "I want things to keep changing, between us."

Perhaps he wouldn't have... felt this way, whatever this way was - wouldn't have had to awkwardly bumble his way through adulthood with a woman who, by all accounts, he knew made his heart race and his mind swirl with... thoughts - if Rahla had simply acted the way the entire tribe expected her to. The way they taunted her or acted as if she did. Cold, and unfeeling, and alien, and unwilling to embrace the culture and customs she was forced into the day Draug dragged her back to his home instead of letting her starve in the woods. But she didn't go that path. Far from it, in truth. She took the harder journey, the one with no support, no recognition, and little reward aside from Draug's continuous love. He was in awe. Envious. Maybe, once, even jealous, when they were younger, and he saw the inner strength she clearly displayed, while he floundered in the dirt with all the fear and loathing his bitter father had forcibly instilled in him since young. It took far too long for him to shake it off, and grow to become his own person. To see Gul Ora's world for what it really was. And who truly deserved to thrive in it.

Her eyes are above, hunter.

"Who am I kidding..." he said as smoothly as possible, pivoting the conversation further into the light. He had spent enough time in the murk. He'd revisit it soon, anyway, when he was alone with his thoughts. For now, it was training, and joking, and pleasant company. "I shouldn't be surprised. I've always known you were stronger. Remember that time with Vrogir, playing Hill Warrior. Before the Crossing. You were young, but you may remember." His voice wavered only the slightest amount as he realised Vrogir's death and the hurt he felt was still fresh, but he pressed on, as visibly unperturbed as he could manage. "He always won, but that day the twins and I had decided to play dirty. Use sticks, and come at him in waves." Urak found himself grinning, ear-to-ear. "And there you came, from atop the hill on one of the orchards, yelling at us. Calling us cheaters. Calling us out on the unfairness. No fear, then, just iron. More iron than any of us, at that age." The mental image of the tiny red-head tutting her finger at Ozor's stupid blob of a stomach, beside a towering Vrogir shaking with mirth, and Urak's gawping slab of a face, surprised and in awe at once... it swelled his hardened heart to a surprising degree.

Urak guffawed heartily at the memory, but soon found himself a little more serious again. "Or do you remember the time before I left for the expedition... when you gave me the stone."

He had never forgotten it, like she probably thought. He'd held onto it, grasped at it and rolled it between thumb and forefinger for endless nights out on the Plains, in the mountain ranges, in the Saar'thal. He'd almost lost in, in the battle that saw the death of Vrogir. It had fallen out of his pocket into the Tributary as he fled for his life, the original leather cord cut. By some miracle he had spotted it gleaming in the shallows when the battle was over, and held onto it with his life ever since. It was just a rock, by all accounts, prettier than most, and orcs weren't known for their sentimentality over trinkets... unless it was their weapon or a trophy from combat. But to Urak, it represented a whole lot more. What it represented was on the tip of his tongue, for he knew it but could never say it. He was getting closer to it, though, judging by his growing openness.

He abruptly retrieved the stone out of one deep pocket, fingers unravelling to reveal its eye-catching shine in the increasing sunlight of the morn. His smile was infectious, and he was leaning in closer to Rahla than he had ever dared in days past. "I remember how I mocked you, when you ran to give me my bow when I went on my first hunt. Made you shy away from me, when that was the furthest thing I wanted. But still you came before I left for the Bones, and gave me this. I didn't deserve your kindness, or favour. You were always stronger."

The space between them negligible now, Urak pressed the flat of his forehead to hers, the same way he had done after she gifted him the stone. He could see the mixed emotions on the human girl's face, now, hoped he had not stepped too far or brought up too many painful memories. He just wanted to tell her how much he appreciated her, despite it all. He was never the best with words, as his father used to lecture him about. Too concerned with feelings, and sentiment. But he wasn't his father, and he wasn't like the rest of the Malak'Nathal. Change was long overdue.

It was like their quiet moment the night before, outside the hut, only Urak seemed to be leading this, without any doubt. He liked that. She hadn't moved away yet, so the orc assumed Rahla did too.

"I remember just gawping at you, lost for words," his gravelly voice softer than it had any right to be, and low, almost urgent. "Couldn't even thank you. Lughead Urak. Could only lean in, like this..." he slowly pulled his chiselled face back, dark eyes still locked with her bright ones, even though it was her lips he was really focused on. "When all I wanted to do..." his face hovered, as if positioning himself... "was just..."

He never finished his sentence. By Gul Ora's will, or her prankster brother Qhrog's delight, one of the brilliant rainbow-coloured birds that frequented the Saar'thal perched itself on the log beside them, and immediately began chortling its ugly, ear-piercing song. It was wonderful strange how something so stunning could produce such ear-splitting noise, but the timing of it made the temporarily stunned Urak burst into hearty laughter. In hindsight, it was kind of amusing, though at the time, it wasn't exactly the best set of circumstances to unfold. Not when he was so close.

"Then I remember..." he quickly said, gently grabbing her by the arm to help her stand, then turned her in the direction of the nearest flowing off-shoot of the Silverflow river. "How you dunked me in the water, after I joked about your hair." She had run from the other-side of the village to catch him that day, if he remembered correctly, and it was not the smoothest journey through the trees. "How about we go there, for a cool-off..." he stomped away to the other side of the log to grab one of the practice axes, the other hand retrieving his half-eaten sandwich to gulp the rest down in one go. "After another round with the axe?"

His mind should have already been racing with the regime he would be teaching to Rahla, to help her improve her stance with the heavier weapon, or a better way to swing the axe on the back-hand to surprise Draug. But all he could think about was the smooth-skinned girl in the river, and what she had looked like when he saw her arrive from the springs upon his return from the expedition. If his beaming face didn't betray him, at the very least, it showed the human girl he was more than on her side. As he always should have been, when he returned. As he should have been, when they first met.
« Last Edit: September 03, 2020, 08:22:30 PM by Tyrus »

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Re: Grown and Sexy. (Male seeking Female RP Partner)
« Reply #1 on: January 16, 2012, 06:07:48 AM »
My partner preferences

First and foremost: If all you want is smut, please go elsewhere. If you also expect me to carry the story without any of your input, don't bother.

I give it my all when it comes to building and writing a story, not just a one-shot smut scene or character role-play, with you. I expect the same in return.

And to have fun too, of course.

I enjoy Elliquiy for its adult-oriented stories and exploration of more mature themes, and the narratives I love writing the most are those with proper planning, pacing, development and effort.

When it comes down to it, I seek a partner who's just as committed to crafting all elements of the story as I am. That includes plot, characters, dialogue, motivations, lore, world-building, mysteries, etc.

I've found in the past I don't quite resonate partners who like to get straight to the smut without building a compelling story or characters around it. Makes for dry RP that whittles out fast, in my experience.

I'm also a less frequent poster with a varied RL schedule. While I do my best, I tend to post only when I reach a level of quality I deem acceptable. I never rush for the sake of it.

In short, I'm looking for a partner who jumps into and embraces all aspects of the story as much as I do... and has the patience to make it into something that's a great read rather than a once-off.

P.S. I prefer stories to be posted in the forums. I'm not a fan of stories via Discord, only OOC.

My writing approach

Call me the breadcrumbs man, because I'm all about leaving behind those little morsels of detail that spring to life the further the story goes along.

I would best describe myself as a 'gardener' type of writer. I put a lot of emphasis on world-building, mystery and intrigue and spend a decent amount of time gradually shaping each character's quirks, histories and motivations - and enjoy the long-term pay-off as they naturally develop throughout the story and keep things interesting for both parties. 

I consider myself a fairly heavy writer in terms of content, with a minimum of 2-3 paragraphs with a tendency for the long-form (sometimes, as some of my current partners would attest to, I'm far too dedicated to upholding that). I am flexible, however, for anyone who wishes for a more casual or long-term writing project, a very detailed one, or something in the middle. I am a long-term role player who has written and continued many stories with several partners, so I currently lean towards that preference. I admittedly have quite a demanding RL work schedule that has, in the past, prevented me from replying immediately. If you prefer a partner that can produce daily or weekly posts always, I might not be best fit.

My writing style is predominately third-person limited and I enjoy writing and introducing several POV characters, depending on what the story calls for. It's never fun without conflicting personalities and drama! My view is writing with only the knowledge of my primary character and setting up mysteries and wider continuity via gradual development and a limited perspective is my strength. The concept of unreliable narration and multiple point-of-view writing structure is something I love to explore and employ in my writing, so heads-up there!

Characterisation and character development is a major focus and emphasis of mine. I try to write realistically; that is, with flawed, but likeable characters and plots which aren't too far-fetched, but that aren't boring or light on detail either. If I had a particular style I tend to employ most regularly, it would be described as grounded, gritty, and a little (okay, maybe overly) dark in terms of humour.

Basically, I enjoy adult story-telling, and if you want more than just straightforward smut and violence in your stories (with a healthy serving of both still, mind you), I'm your guy.

I guess the most important thing for me to say here is I want to and strive to write interesting stories that aren't one-note or one-dimensional. I want them to have detail, continuity, consistency and constant development of characters and their journeys in the long-term. I follow that through with my dedication to continuing and bettering my stories, even after a lull in writing, or RL getting in the way (which I am incredibly guilty of).

Fluff

When it comes to my favourite reads, I am a major fan of the low-fantasy, grimdark genres and have gravitated towards there the last few years. Guiltily obsessed with ASoIaF especially.

Love my music and use it to fuel a lot of my writing; mostly soulful tones, mellow R&B and sombre tunes of all genres.

I'm a bit of a goofball OOC and like to chat with my partners. But if you like to stay focused on the story, I'm all good with that, too.



Stories I'm looking for at the moment

My biggest successes here at Elliquiy and the stories I've enjoyed writing the most are those I've gradually built in partnership with another.

I'm also shameless in stating I especially love when partners play female protagonists that truly challenge my own.

I'm open to many different types of ideas and settings, so don't be shy to share yours!

I prefer PMs instead of posting here, so send me a message.

If I had to pin-point what I'm currently craving, it'd be along the lines of...

Example Scenarios

Forbidden Fruit: I had an idea to explore the complexities of initial attraction with a slow-burn story centring on two people who just meet at the wrong time. Both instantly drawn to each other from common interests or backgrounds, developing a undeniable connection very quickly by unique circumstance - only for the realities of geography and distance to grind things to a halt. Sometime later, they find themselves in the same space again... only for one or the other (or both) to be with someone else, with the intensity of their attraction simmering at the surface. They both adamantly fight against the idea of cheating or being attracted to someone else, and slowly (whether they realise it or not) start to self-destruct their current relationship and achievements for someone they're not even quite sure they 'want' beyond a fuck. A complete and utter out-of-control spiral, caused solely by lust - or perhaps love? Backdrop either modern or medieval setting.

Non Ducor, Duco: A grim exploration of the hypocrisies of chivalry and knighthood from the eyes of a once celebrated, now ridiculed warrior who is assigned the "shameful" duty of exchanging information and carriage of orders between the away military in a foreign land, and back to the home kingdom. Imagining a puffed-up man who, while of questionable birth compared to other knights of similar noble blood, gained his fame for his sheer brutal prowess in battle (and a lot of favour from women in the tourneys due to his unconventional looks). While away he grows resentful of his perceived harsh treatment, but gains a new perspective on the enemy and his country's atrocities against neighbouring countries, including outright genocide and famine, while they play at pretty tourneys at home. Initially, he guiltily disobeys orders to seek any chance of "glory" and gain enough clout to be forgiven for his crimes, which includes killing men on the other side... but eventually his eyes are opened to what he's really been celebrated for. I'd love to air out his crimes very slowly, to add an element of mystery to its severity. Acting as his moral compass, foil or leveller would be your noble-born PC, not awestruck by his past fame or impressed with his behaviour. Either an anchor to bring him back to reality and what really matters, or a bitter representation of the unattainable prize he could never get back home, no matter how much he had hoped his fighting fame would allow him where his "questionable" bloodline would not.

Pick of the Poison: Consistency, as they say in the trade, is a slow poison. It will kill you one day. A professional poisoner in medieval Tyvia who has outlasted his contemporaries with caution, unpredictability and more than a little luck, contemplates the value and motivations of his latest contract: A deadly hit on the deceased king's eldest daughter and her retinue, apparently in the way of her younger brother's direct ascension. The Triumvirate who want to use the boy as their unknowing pawn don't quite fit the picture of a reliable employer, or one that would leave a trace of their political machinations... unfiltered. Sensing his impending demise, the Poisoner hedges his bets on the Princess instead, offering up his unique services to get the jump on her enemies and win the favour of her people - all without having to lift a finger. All to the tune of more gold than he could carry, of course. But the sweet-natured, noble-minded Princess might not be a fan of the Poisoner's venomous proposition, on account of her trifling moral boundaries. Perhaps he could count on his winning smile to gain an audience. It was infectious, after all. But then again, so was the plague.

Sworn Enemies: All of his life, he'd hated her with every fibre of her being. She represented everything he despised in a person, for reasons both in and out of her direct control. Yet no matter the circumstance, distance or harsh words, they found themselves in the same space throughout the years, over and over again. So how he raged when she dared show up at his best friend's wedding. Share a table with that dagger-tongued, pig-nosed, judgemental fucking bitch? Suffer through that piercing stare that got through to the vulnerable core of him every time, no matter how many walls he put up to forget how she treated him? No fucking way. But by the dead, life offers up its surprises. After meeting again as worldly adults, he can't help but feel like a hypocrite. Can't help but be enamoured with that sultry stare, curvaceous body and fearlessly opinionated mindset. He loved her nose, and her tongue even more. It's almost enough to make him swear off other women. Almost.

Other, general scenarios and ideas to build out with you:

  • Crime and gang-related stories.
  • Modern-day affairs/office-place dramas.
  • Post-apocalyptic tales.
  • Medieval sagas (little to no magic).
  • Romance.
  • Military-style tight knit team fractured from within.
  • Drama.
  • Horror.
  • School setting.

Thanks guys.
« Last Edit: September 03, 2020, 08:28:39 PM by Tyrus »

Offline playfullchick76

Re: Grown and Sexy. (Male seeking Female RP Partner)
« Reply #2 on: January 16, 2012, 04:32:16 PM »
I would be interested in playing out a walking dead one with you, if you were interested. Perhaps even a Maid/master one, where I was a backpacker, snatched by you and forced to be your exotic maid, maybe even made to speak in a French or Dutch accent, if thats your thing, if not, its okay.

Offline bluecoco

Re: Grown and Sexy. (Male seeking Female RP Partner)
« Reply #3 on: August 15, 2012, 12:26:07 AM »
Here I am! Over here! What you're looking for! *points to self*

lol

How are you? I'm new to the site, but not new to roleplaying. I've created roleplays and taken part in many over the past 10 years... Crazy how long it has been. I consider myself an advanced writer/very literate. Above anything I enjoy a good plot to jump into. Sex and the like I would consider only one facet of stories I prefer to take part in. Character development is a must. I think our writing styles and preferences are very in tune with each other.

We should become partners, if I fit to your liking! ;P I have a On/off page up in the ladies forum called "Coco's Good Touch/Bad Touch" where you can see a little more about me.

I'd enjoy RPing the following matches with you that you listed:
Maid/Master.
Boss/Secretary
Best friends.
Stepdaughter/Stepfather.
Crime and gang-related stories.
Medieval Tales/Fantasy/Romance
Superhero roleplays
Drama/Horror

and "What We Become" interests me.


Let me know if you'd be open to RPing with me! :D

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Re: Grown and Sexy. (Male seeking Female RP Partner)
« Reply #4 on: August 15, 2012, 06:58:16 AM »
Hey bluecoco, thanks for replying to my thread. :)

Welcome to the site! You should definitely PM me with your ideas and thoughts, sounds like we got the same sort of writing styles, expectations and interests. :)

Offline playfullchick76

Re: Grown and Sexy (M looking for F)
« Reply #5 on: May 18, 2016, 09:07:41 AM »
I would be interested in a walking dead one, most definately, as I'm  a big fan of the series. I have yet to watch fear the walking dead yet, but Its next on my list to be watched.

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Bumping my thread instead of making a new one. I currently am seeking a new story with new partners, due to a few existing stories of mine put on hold by the other party. Craving something modern day in particular, but am open to ideas and brainstorming. All of my favourite stories have started from random conversations, so shoot me a message if you like my writing! (I've linked my published posts/stories in the OP). :)

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Bump. Looking for one more new story!
« Last Edit: June 05, 2019, 04:04:34 AM by Tyrus »

Offline GeekGirl88

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Hey. I read this thread and your O/Os. Seems like we might work well together. In terms of ideas, I read your Forbidden Fruit concept but my brain put a twist on it. I saw it starting in a modern/near-future setting, but that second meeting happening after some sort of apocalypse where the characters could indeed be taken but there is the added element of "who do you trust in this ruined land? Sigh, is it worth possibly breaking up or leaving your new-enforced clan/tribe?

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Thanks to everyone that messaged me and replied here! Appreciate the interest and ideas. I'm currently picking up a few stories, and for now I am not looking to start any more to be considerate to my current new and long-term partners. Thanks again!

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Thanks to everyone who have been messaging me this past month - it's been exciting to see so many awesome ideas spawned from my 'Forbidden Fruit' scenario! To say I'm surprised at the level of sustained interest in this particular story premise (which I initially included on a whim) is a vast understatement.

However, I am currently running several ongoing stories at the moment and I'm unable to commit to any new stories on account of a fairly hectic RL schedule - and to be fair to my current partners. To everyone who have messaged me, thanks again - I'll let you know directly when I may be free in the future to potentially kick off another tale.

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Re: Time is of the essence - why write alone? (M looking for F writing partner)
« Reply #11 on: December 17, 2019, 08:32:23 PM »
Updated OP with further detail and new links.

Have had one story flounder, so I'm tentatively looking to start one new story for the New Year!

(This is not including some separate story ideas floated from my current partners - I'll be hitting some of you up on those long overdue requests in the coming days once I'm on my Christmas holiday. Hoorah!)

Offline Hex

Re: Time is of the essence - why write alone? (M looking for F writing partner)
« Reply #12 on: December 19, 2019, 11:58:05 PM »
Hello Tyrus~

I've read your roleplay request and I'm interested, I'd love to talk to you and further discuss and create a roleplay with you.  Swing me a dm whenever and I'd love to get started on potential rps.

Regards,
Hex.

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Bump, still looking after one story being planned is no longer.

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Updated post with more detail on preferences/expectations. Added two new story prompts/scenarios. Currently in discussion with one new writer, but may be open to a second story depending on if posting cadence preferences align.
« Last Edit: January 06, 2020, 10:15:14 PM by Tyrus »

Offline TooSweetForRock

Giving my strongest recommendation to take him up on the opportunity! I absolutely love writing with Tyrus! Don't miss out.

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Thank you so much, Sweet! Appreciate the kind words. I love writing with you as well. :)

To everyone who has messaged me this past month: Thank you for all your wonderful ideas and interest, and sorry to those I couldn't commit a new story with due to my current story schedule (my current cadence is one or two posts per story a week).

However, I have been in talks with some writers in various stages of planning and it appears some of these stories might not be moving forward, as I haven't heard back for some time (I am referring to the ones without reply for over three weeks)/they're otherwise swamped with RL commitments.

I will be messaging a few people who reached out originally, but that I didn't proceed talks with due to being committed to these lapsed prompts.

So, at present, I'm currently interested in at least one or two new stories! This doesn't count a few stories presently in-planning with my current partners, FYI to those involved.

Thanks everyone!
« Last Edit: January 30, 2020, 04:09:35 PM by Tyrus »

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Bump. Planning to get back into gear with my E posting and I'm looking for one more long-term story. Emphasis on the story, not so much the contextual-less smut. Also want a partner who wants to have a big say in the story development. If you think the same way, PM me.
« Last Edit: April 16, 2020, 10:07:38 PM by Tyrus »

Offline TyrusTopic starter

Re: Time is of the essence - why write alone? (M looking for F writing partners)
« Reply #18 on: September 16, 2020, 02:01:10 AM »
Bump. Looking for one more story, shorter in response length but just as deep thematically as my usual requests.

I have a many existing stories I'm currently writing, so I'm looking for someone interested in a long-term tale that enjoys OOC discussion, planning and narrative payoff.

I'm a bit of a perfectionist (okay, more than a bit, as my partners would attest), but I promise my posts will always move you.
« Last Edit: September 16, 2020, 02:03:35 AM by Tyrus »