My favorite book of all time has always been Gone With the Wind (followed by Pride & Prejudice in a very close second). I've loved it from the moment I read the opening line--Margaret Mitchell's writing is beautiful and evocative and I have always striven to recreate her style in my own writing.
...all of this to say, I really want to find a partner who will help me re-imagine this story. What if Scarlett realized early on that she wasn't really in love with Ashley? What would happen? I'd love to find a gifted writer who will portray Scarlett and help me answer these questions.
Before you PM me, here are some guidelines:
- 21+ only
- Novella/Multi-Para writers only**
- Must be willing to submit a writing sample
- Google Docs for IC, Discord for OOC
** Before I scare you off with the 'novella' tag, just know that, while I go ham on introduction posts, my average reply is closer to five paragraphs.
I do not hold my partners to any kind of a post schedule. I, myself, aim for 2-3 replies per week and would appreciate a head's up if my partner intends to go for more than a week or two without a reply or OOC contact.
Please hit me up on Discord (Fable#9103) if you are interested! I need to find a friend with whom I can nerd out about this book. ;~;
Platform: Google Docs or Email Preferred Length: Novella/Multipara Genre: Historical Romance
I am a huge fan of historical roleplays and tend to get major cravings for certain time periods. At the moment, I'm stuck on the 1920s during Prohibition, and have a plot idea that involves a mobster and an aspiring nun. The details of this story are very much up for discussion, but I'd like to explore how two characters with very different moral codes interact and how their relationship impacts their decisions, with the backdrop of the Roaring Twenties to add some spice~
I'd prefer that my partner take the role of the mobster--I envision him to be a hardened criminal and an unlikely friend for a woman who aspires to join a religious order. For my own character, I imagine that she has her own dark past to struggle with and which, by way of her guilt, encourages her desire to join the church. I also imagine that there will be a whole cast of side characters as well.
I only feel comfortable writing with partners who are at least 21, so keep that in mind before messaging me. I am also open to doubling within the context of the story.
If you are interested, send me a message containing a writing sample and your ideas for the characters and plot~
Hey there! I'm seeking a partner to engage in one (or more) fantasy stories with me! It should be noted that I prefer to write in Google Docs, but have Discord and Hangouts for chatting purposes. Additionally, I tend to average between 500-1000 words per reply and would like for any potential partners to be prepared to do the same (I love details). If any of the below prompts interest you, hit me up on Discord (Dandelo#8313) with your ideas for the plot and characters as well as a writing sample! If you would like for me to provide you with a prompt, I have a couple starters written up for these plots so just let me know! As always, I'd like to stress the fact that these are simply ideas and we can discuss and change aspects of each plot as we see fit!
Medieval Fantasy: - An immortal mage with a dark past and a history of destructive, evil tendencies finds an unlikely friend in a young village woman who convinces him to help save her home/kingdom from an evil queen. - A troubled dragon rider is forced to become the personal guard of a difficult, headstrong princess. He is dealing with the guilt he feels over the needless death of a close friend and she must come to terms with her impending arranged marriage.
Historical Fantasy: - Regency/Victorian: A twist on the classic story of the Beauty and the Beast. The beast was born with his monstrous appearance as the result of a generations-old curse in his mother’s family. His mother attempts to relieve his loneliness by enticing a young servant woman to work for their family and become her son’s maid. - Victorian: Vampires have long held Werewolves as personal slaves and ‘guard dogs’ against the threat of mortals. They have managed to maintain their wealth, power, and safety for centuries with the ‘help’ of their servants. A young Victorian vampiress is given her own Were as a gift on her 21st birthday. Will generations of discord and animosity prevent them from becoming friends or perhaps more?
Hey there! I'm looking for a long-term partner who would be interested in writing some good old fashioned Phantom of the Opera fanfiction with me. Yes, yes, I know this is an old fandom and there aren't many of us left, but surely someone out there still obsesses over the story like I do.
I am able to write as Erik, naturally, but I would really prefer to find someone who would allow me to play Christine. I'm willing to double in return, or even to have two stories going at once. I would prefer that my partners' skill level be in the Intermediate to Advanced range--we will exchange writing samples to ensure compatible writing styles.
Hit me up on Discord if you are interested! Loveday#8313
Rules: - 21+ only - 3-4 paragraphs per reply on average - Google Docs for IC - Discord/Hangouts for OOC - reply at least once per week - be willing to play M or F - MxF romance only - provide a writing sample
Genres (number of * indicates level of interest): - Regency Era/Pride & Prejudice *** - Gone With the Wind ***** - The Phantom of the Opera ** - Marvel (specifically seeking Thor or Captain America) **** - Medieval Fantasy ** - Star Trek: The Next Generation (seeking Riker or Q) ***
Additional Comments: Hey there! I go by Dandelo or Loveday depending on where you find me. I'm 27F and have well over a decade's worth of writing experience. I tend to specialize in grumpy-yet-lovable male characters, but would appreciate it if potential partners would at least be willing to double.
The dingy ceiling of the room beyond the entrance hung low, too low for the man to stand fully upright. He loomed in the doorway for several minutes, seriously considering whether he should enter at all. The gleaming silver armor of his breastplate seemed to stand in stark contrast with the dimness of the whorehouse, and his serious (almost angry) expression hardly seemed to fit with the sounds of laughter within. No, this was in no way the place that the Marshal Vesden expected to find himself or one of his men--though, he reminded himself, perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised given the man in question.
Steeling himself, Vesden at last entered the establishment and began the final leg of his search. The passage beyond the front door was narrow and lined with still narrower doorways leading into increasingly small rooms. He peered into several and found most empty. A few were occupied by women who lounged luxuriously upon the mats they had spread upon the floor of their respective rooms, beckoning to him with lazy, knowing smiles. He merely turned away from them without a word, set upon his task.
Warm red light flickered welcomingly at the end of the corridor and Vesden made his way toward it with mounting apprehension. He could hear conversation in the room beyond--multiple feminine voices and one lone masculine voice, rasping and gravelly in its timbre. The man attached to it seemed to be telling a story. Vesden just managed to catch the tail end as he drew nearer:
“The Lanvelor armies had been prepared for land defenses, you see. They managed to forge past our outer wall and dismantle our catapults and ballistas, but they hadn’t counted on the dragons.”
This statement was met with a number of murmured exclamations. The female voices insisted the male voice continue. He obliged them:
“..just as the inner wall seemed ready to fail, I led the Templars forward into the enemy lines.”
The corridor opened into a long room, into which Vesden peered tentatively. To one side loomed a massive, stacked stone fireplace roaring with a large fire. Nestled in a semicircle in front of the mantle was a small group of some four or five young women in various stages of undress and at their center, a young man. Their backs were all turned to Vesden so he was able to enter the room unnoticed. He paused just inside the doorway to observe the scene, the corners of his mouth twitching downward unconsciously when at last he spoke, “If I recall rightly, Rhourn, you were just a boy when we fought at Andolere. Your dragon hadn’t come into her fire and wasn’t even big enough to fly.”
The man at the center of the little group jerked his head upward at the sound of Vesden’s voice and, propping himself up on his elbow, turned quickly to see his commanding officer glaring down at him. The women around him all turned to look as well, though they seemed much less concerned by the Marshal’s presence. The man seemed suddenly aware of himself--shirtless, bootless, with a mead in one hand and the other hand wrapped around the waist of the nearest whore. Quickly he set aside his cup and jumped to his feet to salute Vesden, his expression a bit sheepish.
Vesden seemed not to care about his subordinate’s embarrassment as he stepped forward to inspect him, gloved hands folded behind his back as if he was simply a father preparing to admonish his wayward child, “Care to tell me why your beast is curled up outside in the rain while you sit in here, drinking away your earnings?”
The younger man stood at attention, eyes focused straight ahead upon the opposite wall rather than meeting Vesden’s gaze. He seemed unwilling to reply.
Vesden sighed, lifting a hand to massage his temple in agitation. He then gave a sharp gesture and turned away, “Get dressed. It’s time that you and I talked.” Without another word he left the room, making his way back along the narrow corridor and out the door into the rain.
The gravel of the road crunched soggily beneath his boots as he made his way around the side of the whorehouse. A massive shape loomed out of the grey to greet him with a friendly rumble--a large dragon. Her obsidian scales gleamed even in the growing dusk and the haze of rain, and she lifted her great head at Vesden’s approach, “I had warned him that you would come looking for him eventually.” Her voice, rich and deep, filled Vesden’s head as he came to a halt a few feet from where she lay coiled. He shook his head, “I am sorry to find you in such a state, Lorraki. I had thought he would take better care of you.”
The dragon rumbled again, “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. Rhourn, however, is well deserving of your pity.”
Hurried footsteps from behind caused Vesden to turn and look. Rhourn had dressed himself and rushed outside to meet him. Vesden turned to face him with his arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed sternly, “This is the third time you’ve failed to participate in drills. Am I to understand that you forsake your training in favor of whores and beer?” Rhourn opened his mouth to speak, but Vesden cut him off with a wave of his hand and continued, “You’ve neglected your duties long enough and it will change starting tomorrow. I’ve secured a position for you at the castle and you will not disappoint me.”
Rhourn again opened his mouth, this time in protest, but Vesden again cut him off, “You will arrive at the palace gate at dawn. You will be sober, fully clothed, and ready to accept your new responsibilities as the princess’ personal guard. Am I clear?”
Rhourn seemed to hesitate for a moment, then straightened and saluted, “Aye, Marshal.”
Vesden turned back to the dragon, who nodded her approval, “Make sure he does this.”
The dragon bowed her head, the very end of her pointed tail flicking to and fro thoughtfully as she watched Vesden depart. Her golden eyes then turned upon her rider and she snorted disapprovingly, causing a puff of smoke to erupt from her nostrils and curl upward in the rain.
Rhourn relaxed his stance the moment he was sure that Vesden was out of sight and turned to face his beast, a hand raised to rub the back of his head, “I didn’t think I’d be long. Apologies, Lor.” The dragon did not respond and merely watched him with a mixture of agitation and motherly concern evident in her gaze.
The man who stood before her was well into his thirty-fourth year, with broad shoulders and thick, muscled arms and legs. His torso was wide at the chest and narrow at the waist, toned from years of training. He was tall, maybe six feet in height, with curling brown hair cropped close to his head. His face was exceptionally handsome despite the creases that had begun to develop around his eyes--a strong jaw, a straight nose, and dark, glittering eyes that always seemed to flicker with mischief. He was dressed in merely a tunic, pants, and a pair of boots, but when he donned the full uniform of a Templar Knight, he resembled the heroes of old (at least in Lorraki’s humble opinion). She was so proud of her rider...when he wasn’t making foolish mistakes and shirking his duties. Why hadn’t he shed his boyish tendencies years ago?
She growled resignedly before raising up onto her feet and moving toward her rider. She nudged him firmly in the chest with the tip of her snout, indicating that he was to lead the way back to their quarters, “To bed with you. You’ve sullied the Templar reputation well enough for one evening.”
The morning, hopefully, would put an end to his wayward tendencies.
The sun had not yet risen when Lorraki had roused Rhourn from his restless slumbering, but the sky was beginning to turn faintly blue from black and the horizon was tinged with a thread of pink where the new day threatened to begin with or without the Knight. Her insistent growling did at last manage to wake him, but it was a reluctant awakening--one that involved a great amount of shifting and muttering as he rose to wash and dress. Lorraki peered in at him through the open window beside his bed to oversee his progress, but did not speak save to hurry him along periodically. She was deeply apprehensive of Vesden’s new appointment given Rhourn’s recent track record.
Something had happened to her rider in the past year that had rendered him nigh useless. She had some vague ideas of what might have caused the sudden lackadaisical outlook he had developed, but he had never seen fit to discuss it with Lorraki, and Lorraki was not one to pry. Her connection to him may have bordered on the telepathic, but she prided herself on her ability to maintain her rider’s privacy. They were bonded, it was true, but she always hoped that she wouldn’t need their mental connection to know what went on inside Rhourn’s head. As it was, he had never discussed the sudden, drastic change in his mood with her and she could only watch as he slowly tore himself apart with the guilt or depression that resulted.
When at last he had completed his morning ablutions and had dressed in his ceremonial armor--Vesden hadn’t mentioned that it was necessary, but both Rhourn and Lorraki thought it appropriate given that he would be meeting with a princess--Rhourn emerged from his quarters in a grumpy silence, greeting Lorraki with merely a lukewarm pat on her great shoulder. It was evident that Rhourn was greatly displeased by his new position, but also that he was grudgingly determined to see it through. Vesden’s admonishment had made its mark--Rhourn hated when the Marshal made his disappointment so clear; he’d always been a kind of father figure to Rhourn and the rider had always secretly striven to please him as any son might.
Briefly he checked the straps of Lorraki’s harness and saddle before mounting her. He never, ever gave a command to move--partly because it was unnecessary, but partly because Lorraki disliked being treated like a common horse or donkey. She was not merely a beast to be ridden, she was a dragon--the fire in her blood was ancient as the mountains and ran nearly as deep.
Instantly she bounded into the air with massive wings spread wide and took to the sky with the deft ease of a bird a hundreth her size, a great black shadow against the coming dawn. Rhourn leaned forward in his saddle, a hand raised to massage his eyes from beneath the visor of his helmet as the world fell away beneath them. The magic and beauty of flight had been lost on him with familiarity and he could only notice the pounding sensation that filled the space behind his eyes, which were ringed with dark circles.
The castle swiftly came into view below them. Lorraki circled it once before finding a clear space to land at the far end of the bridge leading up to the front gates. Sliding out of his saddle with astonishing grace, Rhourn dismounted and glanced down at his attire briefly to ensure that everything looked as it should. The silver breastplate gleamed in the dimness, as did his bracers and greaves. The scabbard at his side was, he suddenly noticed, decidedly empty and he threw up his hands in agitation.
Lorraki shook her head and, using the pointed tip of her muzzle, nudged him forward gently between his shoulder blades, “The sword is unnecessary. Don’t draw attention to it and no one will notice.”
“I’ll notice,” came a voice from ahead. Both Rhourn and Lorraki looked up to see Vesden striding along the bridge toward them. He came to a stop a few feet in front of his Knight, hands folded behind his back as he inspected Rhourn’s appearance. It was clear from the downward curve of his lip that he was not entirely pleased, but also not entirely displeased. If he had been surprised to see Rhourn at the appointed place and time, he didn’t say as much. Instead, he growled, “But she’s right. I doubt the princess will care if you are armed. This introduction is purely formal, but you better have your weapon tomorrow.”
Rhourn replied only with a nod and a salute.
Vesden nodded, then turned with a gesture for Rhourn to follow, “They’re waiting at the gate for you. Lorraki, you must come too. The king insisted he wanted to meet both dragon and rider.”
Frey is a large man. Standing roughly 6'2", he's a head taller than the majority of his male cohort, and probably stronger to boot. Years of both hunting and training as a fighter have made him tough and sinewy and he has developed a distaste for perceived weakness in others. His shoulders are broad, and his arms and legs as thick as tree trunks. His hands are rough from use and gifted with both sword and spear.
He could not be described as particularly handsome, but neither is he ugly--an odd mixture of roughness and masculine grace. His dark hair is kept short on the sides and long on the top, tied back out of his way. His beard, in contrast with his brunette locks, is bright red and medium length. His eyes are sharp and cold and hazel green, frequently narrowed and rarely widened in surprise. His nose is slightly crooked from an injury he sustained as a child. A scar runs down the right side of his head and down along his cheek and jaw.
Frey is not friendly. To be frank, he is rather cold and distant and is not popular in his village. People grudgingly respect him for his skill in both hunting and fighting, but no one is in a hurry to make friendly conversation with him. He is laconic, preferring not to add words where none are needed, and solitary. He lives apart from his village in his family's homestead and rarely leaves it save to go up into the woodland or mountains.
Had anyone attempted to get to know him, they would find that he is surprisingly intelligent and quite snarky when given the opportunity. His standoffish nature is mostly born of, astonishingly, shyness and reserve. Women, in particular, intimidate him.
History :: ______________________________________________________________
Frey is the eldest son of a farmer. He has two younger siblings, a sister and a brother, as well as a doting, affectionate mother. His father raised him with the idea that he would ultimately take over the farm and continue planting, and grew angry when Frey choose a different path--that of a fighter. A warrior at heart, Frey left home as a young teen to become a soldier and did not return until very recently, by now a seasoned killer. His father and mother, grudgingly proud of their eldest child, encouraged him to participate in the May Day celebrations in an effort to nudge him out of his carefully made shell.
I'm seeking to try a Disney roleplay or two. I have, admittedly, never done one, but I have around a decade-and-a-half's worth of experience with writing in general~
Some characters I'd like to try include: - Phoebus (The Hunchback of Notre Dame) - Quasimodo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame) - Beast (The Beauty and the Beast) - John Smith (Pocahontas) - Kocuom (Pocahontas)
Feel free to suggest others!
I expect partners to: - be 21+ - be able to write novella (or at least multi-para) replies in general - be okay with MxF romance - be open to using Google Docs for writing and Discord for OOC chat
My Discord is Loveday#8313. Message me there to exchange writing samples~
Hey there~ Dandelo here, searching for another fan of the epic novel Gone With the Wind. I'd like to try my hand at either Rhett Butler or Scarlett O'hara and would love to find a kindred spirit with whom to discuss the book and movie.
I'm a novella/multi-para writer for what it's worth--I enjoy adding detail and reading detail. I also only write with people who are +21.
Hit me up on Discord and we can exchange writing samples and plot ideas: Dandelo#8313
It is reasonable to assume that most families keep at least one secret. Generally, that secret is something small and harmless, but occasionally it is a large and frightful thing, generations in the making—as was the case in Lady Downs’ family.
A story was told and passed down which spoke of some great wrongdoing committed by some misguided forefather at the expense of some magically inclined gypsy. The story went that, in a righteous rage, the gypsy swore that her antagonist would suffer greatly—the first male child born to him or his kin would assume the appearance of a terrible beast. Luckily, the subsequent five generations resulted in all female babies and the myth was mostly forgotten until the next in the line, the young bride of the Earl of Pembroke, Lord Downs, fell pregnant.
Hers was a difficult confinement and she, wretched and exhausted, ultimately bore her child in the midst of a terrible storm late one March. She had known almost immediately that something was amiss by the way her midwife’s eyes widened in horror. The babe was healthy, yes, but had not the appearance of a human child. The Earl, until the day of his untimely death some years later, rejected the boy for his monstrous appearance, but Lady Downs could not help but love her strange offspring.
That love persisted well into his adulthood when she realized that her companionship was not enough for him and he had grown lonely and despondent. Eagerly she cast about for some remedy for his depression and ultimately found it in the form of a young woman..
Rules: - 21+ - Multi-para, Third-person, Past-tense - Google Docs for writing, Discord for OOC chatting - Be willing to double
I have always loved the Beauty and the Beast trope. I have also always loved historical roleplays and stories. Being the genius that I am, I thought I'd combine the two! How would you like to join me in a Victorian version of this beloved fairy tale?
Hit me up on Discord (Dandelo#8313) with a description of the kind of character you'd like to play opposite my beast, as well as any ideas you might have for the plot and a writing sample! I'd prefer that this not turn into a master/maid kind of story, so female characters of some social standing are preferred. Snark is also a plus--my characters are frequently very sarcastic.
It should be noted that I can be talked into other time periods in which to set this story, I just prefer the Regency and Victorian eras~
Writing Sample: This is a writing sample which should give you some idea of the personality of my beast, as well as the typical length and level of detail involved in my replies. I average between 500-700 words per post and would like to see a similar level of detail in my partners' replies.
Lady Downs smiled at her guest’s reassurances, but her expression maintained the smallest quirk of apprehension. Juliette, she knew, could have no idea of what really lay in store for her. Harcourt Downs had none of the usual afflictions one might think of when confronted with an unusual appearance. ‘No,’ Lady Downs thought to herself, ‘She must be properly prepared for him.’ She could not, in good conscience, introduce the young woman to her son yet. They were not dealing with a mere cleft palate or abnormally large nose--Harcourt could almost be thought of as an entirely new species. Literally.
It seemed that Lady Downs would be denied the opportunity of further preparing Miss Tash, however, for they could hear through the closed door of the parlor that some commotion had occurred down the long hallway. Hurried footsteps passed the door, and the peaceful stillness of moments before was suddenly stirred and broken by what could only be described as a mighty roar. Lady Downs started at the sound, then sank slightly in her seat and held a hand to her temple in exasperation.
A voice, thunderous and deep, could be heard moving toward their room, snarling and pitching as it went, “The dishonor of it! The disgrace! Cartwright, move out of my way. I must speak to Lady Downs this very instant.” Lady Downs and Juliette could barely distinguish the hurried, murmured reply of the startled footman before the thunderous voice took up once more, “She is my mother! I need no introductions! Stand aside, I will open the door, myself.” Before Lady Downs had a chance to rise from her settee and go to the door, it had been thrown wide and a great, monolithic form emerged from the dimness of the hallway.
The creature (for that was what it appeared to be at first glance) was a little more than seven feet tall and, though dressed in pants and a white button-down shirt as any normal man might be, was clearly covered in long, glossy black fur save the coppery-red of his voluminous mane and the tuft of his long, lion-like tail. Two great rams horns extended from his forehead and curled around to either side of his massive head, and his face--all black save the pink of his slitted, goat-like nose--was contorted in a snarling grimace. His pointed teeth were clearly visible in his lionish snout, the lips there curled back in aggravation.
He appeared not to notice Juliette as he stalked from the doorway to his mother’s settee and demanded her attention, “Madame, I insist that you fire that disgrace of a valet this instant. See! See what he has done to my mane and tell me that a swift dismissal is not his just due!” He gestured with a great, claw-like hand at the reddish fur of his mane. There, framing his face, were a number of large coils of fur, apparently intentionally styled this way.
He threw up his hands, “He told me only half an hour ago that we were expecting company and then imposed upon my patience with his damned tendency toward the ‘latest fashions’.” He growled again and shook his head, causing the curls to bounce with gaiety that was clearly uncharacteristic, “Tell me, is it the latest fashion to look like a damned poodle?”
Here at last, Lady Downs was given some opportunity to interject. She cleared her throat to capture the creature’s attention, then pointed with the turn of her gaze to where Juliette sat upon the couch nearby, “Harcourt, allow me to introduce you to our guest, Miss Tash.”
Harcourt started and swiftly turned his great head to see that there was, indeed, someone else in the room with them. With a sharp intake of breath, he straightened and turned to face her, suddenly acutely aware of how informally dressed he was and how improper his entrance had been. His eyes, pale gray and decidedly human in their shame, were instantly cast down at the floor as he gave a small bow to Juliette. “Forgive me for intruding..” was all he could manage before turning and departing the room almost as quickly as he had entered.
Lady Downs watched as her son disappeared, then slowly turned back to her guest to see how she handled the scene.
Disclaimer: The majority of my Batman knowledge extends as far as the Christian Bale movies. BUT--if you are patient, I'm willing to learn. I'm more than happy to conduct research where research is needed.
Me: - 27F - Multi-para, third-person, past tense - EST Time Zone - Google Docs for writing, Discord for ooc chatting
What I can offer you: - detailed replies three times per week (or more) - occasionally hilarious characters - friendship~
You: - 21+ - willing to provide a writing sample - experienced roleplayer/writer - friendly af - in possession of DC knowledge superior to my own
I want a friend as well as writing partner. I want to get to know you and have some fun coming up with scene ideas and discussing character development. I can commit to around 3 replies per week, but I want to be able to just shoot the shit in between and hear how your day is going. Roleplaying is my main social outlet (is that weird?).
"And what qualifications have you?"
"Well, I was a nanny to five small children for several years before this, which I'm told is exactly the necessary experience for handling a single ahem eccentric bachelor."
So what's this plot idea I have in mind? Well, to begin with, I ask you---is there a more iconic DC duo than Batman and Alfred? (You thought I was going to say Robin, didn't you?)
BUT WHAT IF Batman didn't have his trusty butler sidekick? What if Alfred became sick or injured or otherwise incapacitated and Batman needed to replace him for an indefinite period of time? And what if Alfred's replacement came in the form of a well-put-together, exceptionally sassy young woman?
Admittedly, I am kind of stealing the idea from the Iron Man/Pepper Potts pairing, but work with me here.
My idea is that this story will involve adventure, intrigue, the forming of the close bonds of friendship, and maybe even a little slow-burn romance (actually this is non-negotiable, I just said this for dramatic effect).
...aaaand that's the gist. Obviously this is still very much up for discussion. For my part, I would like to play she-butler, and you would play Bruce Wayne.
Message me if interested~ My Discord is Dandelo#8313.