Ꭺɴꭲꭺꭱꮯꭲꮖꮯ Ꮪꭼꭼꭰꮪ (Updated)

Hello and welcome to my interest check. I've been writing for more than 20 years. I'd like to think that I'm not the worst writer, but we're all our own worst critics. I like science fiction, fantasy, post-apocalypse, slice-of-life, themes that explore emotional pain and trauma, themes that explore depression and anxiety, themes of self-introspection and the concept of sonder, and combinations of any of those mentioned. However, I'll write for anything if I'm intrigued and inspired enough. I have been told that I am a decent horror-fiction writer. Take that with a grain of salt.

I typically write with music in mind, as it helps brings my ideas to life; not sure how it started, but that's where I'm currently at.

I can write at a Casual level, probably even Advanced under the right circumstances, but to quantify, I can do anywhere from 1-15+ paragraphs per post. It honestly depends on if I get the right partner with the right story idea. My expectation is not that you match me—though it's a big plus if you do—but that you provide me with substance and something to both be inspired by and respond to. Otherwise, things fizzle out and it's no fun for anyone.

I'm smut-friendly, but it has to hit organically and be worth writing. I'll go on record and say that I might not be the best writer of that kind of content, so if you'd rather things fade to black, that's a thumbs-up from me.

Below, you'll find an example of writing I felt inspired to do, as well as a non-exhaustive list of ideas I'm interested in exploring. Almost all of them can contain elements of romance, should the story evolve that way, but it's not required. If you'd like to write with me, but none of the ideas here interest you, I am open to anything you have in mind. All of these can be discussed at length OOC, and all RPs will take place in PMs.

Thanks in advance for your consideration.

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I can overhear a conversation in the hotel lobby. I take note of the couple near me, nestled down in otherwise uncomfortable leather armchairs, discussing their plans for dinner. One of them wants to keep it casual and hit up a burger joint. The other thinks a nice candlelit meal by the beach would really up the mood. I can hear the nervousness in one person's words. A plan to propose, probably. They sound like they're in love.

There's an old man complaining to the desk clerk about the in-room snack bar and their pressure weights. I think back to an internet post I saw regarding them. It talked about how fees are calculated based on the shift in weight, and it gets me wondering who would go through the trouble of programming the ratios in every single snack bar when no one ever touches them. The answer I get is in the form of a cranky, grizzled man in fading blue suspenders hurling expletives at a clerk who can barely keep their eyes open. "I can't move that well," the old man says. "I accidentally knocked over a bottle of water, and you're gonna charge me three dollars for it?"

A baby's crying in the corner. The woman holding on to the little bundle of alligator tears has bags beneath her eyes, checking her watch as often as I check my phone for any sort of notification. Her husband/boyfriend/regret is somewhere in the labyrinth of hallways above, navigating an endless sea of sterilized doors for a number that seems familiar. "We forgot the diaper bag," she said. "I'll get it," he responded just under ten minutes ago. She checks her watch. I check my phone. I can tell her feet are about to find friction.

Sitting in the middle of the lobby are a group of hungover college students, all male; the type of four-man that reminds me of Bradley Cooper and his buds. They've drunk too much and look like shit. The fat one slurs his words; his weight betrays his handling of liquor. One of them laments an empty wallet and another joins in, though their wallet is empty of something else. A high-five is shared, and it silences the baby in the corner, right before it explodes in an even bigger wail. The fat one groans, and I silently agree.

Near the exit, there's a family of four, dressed unseasonably and leaning over a map. The patriarch is all too kept together, mustache carving a stark outline across his upper lip. The spitting image of Tom Selleck points a finger firmly onto a section of the map landmarked by a ferris wheel, then whispers something to his two kids. Like gargoyles over the entrance to the hotel, they flank their mother with goofy smiles and rosy cheeks, a perfect match for the equally cheery woman. A picture perfect family. I can't help but envy them.

As I listen to the chaos surrounding me, I can feel a lump in my throat and I choke it down. It's a slice of society I'm not used to orbiting. I look around at the empty seats in the private circle of chairs I've claimed in an opposite corner of the room, and then peer over to watch the rest of the lobby.

The college hungovers rise, one by one, patting each other on the shoulders and back as they start trying to gather themselves together. The empty wallet pulls himself up and fixes his smile, giving the others a pep talk about "maybe taking it easy next time," and they all share a laugh with a heartiness that would make migraines man's worst enemy. I smile as they snake single-file through the gaps in the furniture, in the direction of the elevators.

Coming out from the elevator is the man attached to the hip of the woman, whose own grin of discovery eases her suffering as he proudly waves around the diaper bag like a trophy. With a simple forehead kiss, the man quiets the screaming child, who keenly takes to siphoning milk from a bottle smaller than its head. The mother and father share whispers and silently rise to their feet, baggage in tow. I compare them to the budding romance nearby and wonder if the future is parallel.

As the lovebirds finally compromise on dinner and a movie, they snuggle together before lifting from their chairs, arm-locked and punch-drunk. One of them mentions the park on the pier as they pass the family of four, something that earns them a sideways glance from Magnum P.I. As his chest pushes open the ironically fitting Hawaiian shirt, he rallies together the other soldiers in his vacation platoon and prepares to make an advance on the oceanside theme park, garnering a salute from each familial subordinate before marching them towards the lobby entrance.

Silence fills the lobby as the old man takes a seat in one of the chairs across the empty room, having had his fill of complaining to a clerk whose break should've ended just about now. We lock eyes and watch each other's faces for a while in noiseless understanding and, for a moment, we become mirrors, echoing into infinity. In him, I see my future. In me, I wonder if he sees his past. In both, we have become equally and measurably alone.

He probably had a family, a loving wife and children and grandchildren, all contributing branches to the tree. His calendar must've been a rotation of birthdays and doctor's appointments and reminders of poker night with his friends, and time and intention must've erased each and every one, leaving slates of empty days sitting beneath picturesque landscapes, as if to mock him. I can understand his bitterness, though it isn't anything more than a projection, a painting of my own design on someone else's canvas. I know the vacant future I've set up for myself.

As the old man grumbles and finds his way to the elevator, I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, trying to search for solace inside my head.

There's too many voices here.
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We are two childhood friends, marred by bad family lives and separated when one of us moves. It's been 20 years, but we reunite, each almost unrecognizable to the other. There's a lot to talk about, a lot of ways to reconnect. How will it go?
I am a grizzled knight-errant, tasked with escorting you—a noble of the kingdom I serve—alone across the borders to a distant kingdom for a reason we can come up with. As we navigate the world and the dangers that lurk within, a kinship grows between us, which can blossom into anything.
You've been hired by my estranged family as a life coach to train me—a depressed, lazy do-nothing—into becoming a contributor to society and a better person. As time goes on, conflict and closeness forms, and we get to know each other a lot better than we expect.
You're a server at a highway diner. You see all manner of people come and go—truckers, mostly. One day, I—a disheveled-looking individual—walk in, sit down, and you come to take my order. Over the course of my stay, you catch glimpses of me playing a board game alone. This might be a short RP.

This list will be updated occasionally.
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Ꭺɴꭲꭺꭱꮯꭲꮖꮯ Ꮪꭼꭼꭰꮪ (Updated)

Ohm 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 // 𝙽𝚞𝚖𝚋

Ohm 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 // 𝙽𝚞𝚖𝚋
