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Missing Metaphor
Meteorite
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2019
Intro:
Hello and welcome,
I go by Ren and I've spent a lot of my time wandering from one roleplay site to the next, searching for interesting people to write with. Each time, I’ve tried to make my usernames sound profound, but there’s usually a dumb, often music-related, reason behind them. I’m always curious about how others come up with their own usernames (that goes for you too XXXBimbofyMe123).
I’ve collaborated with a lot of people over the years, but one thing that’s been proven to me time and again is that a roleplay is more gratifying when we get along. So talk to me. About your likes, your dislikes, your hobbies. Anything that crosses your mind. But fear not! I won't ask any super hard-hitting questions like what’s your favorite color. That one’s a doozy.
For starters, my idea of fun just so happens to be sitting with a Word Doc open and blasting music through my headphones. So bonus points if you're a rocker. Major bonus points if we share the same bands on our playlists.
Since I’ve rambled on enough about myself, I ought to dig into the meat of the matter. My main hope is to improve this request thread, and my own writing, in time.
Writing:
I try to keep an even balance between narration and description in my writing, but your style doesn’t have to match mine. More than anything, I’m looking for partners who can write expressively because I can't roleplay alone. I mean, I could but I don’t find that anywhere near as enjoyable. That's why I'm here. All I can wish for is that effort be put into the roleplay.
However, if I were to lay down some ground rules, then I prefer writing that’s in 3rd-person-past tense and isn’t purple language. It’s easy to get so lost in pages and pages of context clues and imagery that by the end, it won’t really be story-telling anymore. Which is why I'm impartial to size (er…that’s what she said) - large walls of text alone don't impress me. Admittedly, it’s only the extreme ends of the spectrum that I’m opposed to, so I’m actually much more flexible than I may come across. It just comes down to the manner in which we handle the characters and how well they play off of one another.
Short disclaimer about my schedule: As much as I would like to be writing all the time, things like work, family and other real life responsibilities call me away from it. Which is why I ought to mention that I'll only be able to reply once a week - twice at the absolute best.
Characters:
Characters are vessels. Make them human; give them personalities; describe their internal/external conflict; flesh them out with inhibited desires. I don't want boring and perfect, I want deep and well-rounded. My favorite part about roleplay is the character-building and finding realistic face claims for them, so hit me with your best shot! If we want, we could refer to characters from select media for inspiration, but I generally prefer to keep them non-derivative. The same thing goes for the sort of plots I like to write.
Genres/themes:
I like thought-provoking topics. A lot of my writing interests are extensions of the books, games and movies I grew up with. But instead of basing plots around already existing universes, I'd much rather create something new. I’m always drawn to grey, gloomy worlds. Themes involving duality, existentialism, apathy, anomie etc. are great but they don’t have to be deathly serious. Plots that are too angsty have a habit of overcompensating. That said, I am open to some clichés; it’s all about the delivery for me.
Just for the sake of narrowing things down, some of the genres/themes I'm into are:
Short disclaimer about smut: I'm not going to include erotica as a genre because I'm avoiding smut-driven plots. Yes, I write smut. Yes, chances are I'll want to include it in our stories together. And yes, I'm down for just about anything as long as it fits the context and the characters. But the story must always come first. I’m especially uninterested in delving into areas that are hard noes for me (such as futa, furries and toilet play).
Ideas:
I'll be adding more to this list but I'm also eager to hear your own ideas or develop a new one together. As a semi-introduction to my writing style, I figured I'd add some samples to give you an idea of it.
Sample A which I wrote on a whim:
Sample B which I wrote on a longer whim (potentially up for grabs as a roleplay plot):
And there you have it, folks! I think I’ve covered everything. At least I sure hope I did, but I guess that’s what editing is for, right? Thanks for sticking through my incessant rambling, and send me a PM if there was anything in this thread that made you think: “damn, I’d like to write with them”. Until then, have a good day/evening and happy hunting.
Hello and welcome,
I go by Ren and I've spent a lot of my time wandering from one roleplay site to the next, searching for interesting people to write with. Each time, I’ve tried to make my usernames sound profound, but there’s usually a dumb, often music-related, reason behind them. I’m always curious about how others come up with their own usernames (that goes for you too XXXBimbofyMe123).
I’ve collaborated with a lot of people over the years, but one thing that’s been proven to me time and again is that a roleplay is more gratifying when we get along. So talk to me. About your likes, your dislikes, your hobbies. Anything that crosses your mind. But fear not! I won't ask any super hard-hitting questions like what’s your favorite color. That one’s a doozy.
For starters, my idea of fun just so happens to be sitting with a Word Doc open and blasting music through my headphones. So bonus points if you're a rocker. Major bonus points if we share the same bands on our playlists.
Since I’ve rambled on enough about myself, I ought to dig into the meat of the matter. My main hope is to improve this request thread, and my own writing, in time.
Writing:
I try to keep an even balance between narration and description in my writing, but your style doesn’t have to match mine. More than anything, I’m looking for partners who can write expressively because I can't roleplay alone. I mean, I could but I don’t find that anywhere near as enjoyable. That's why I'm here. All I can wish for is that effort be put into the roleplay.
However, if I were to lay down some ground rules, then I prefer writing that’s in 3rd-person-past tense and isn’t purple language. It’s easy to get so lost in pages and pages of context clues and imagery that by the end, it won’t really be story-telling anymore. Which is why I'm impartial to size (er…that’s what she said) - large walls of text alone don't impress me. Admittedly, it’s only the extreme ends of the spectrum that I’m opposed to, so I’m actually much more flexible than I may come across. It just comes down to the manner in which we handle the characters and how well they play off of one another.
Short disclaimer about my schedule: As much as I would like to be writing all the time, things like work, family and other real life responsibilities call me away from it. Which is why I ought to mention that I'll only be able to reply once a week - twice at the absolute best.
Characters:
Characters are vessels. Make them human; give them personalities; describe their internal/external conflict; flesh them out with inhibited desires. I don't want boring and perfect, I want deep and well-rounded. My favorite part about roleplay is the character-building and finding realistic face claims for them, so hit me with your best shot! If we want, we could refer to characters from select media for inspiration, but I generally prefer to keep them non-derivative. The same thing goes for the sort of plots I like to write.
Genres/themes:
I like thought-provoking topics. A lot of my writing interests are extensions of the books, games and movies I grew up with. But instead of basing plots around already existing universes, I'd much rather create something new. I’m always drawn to grey, gloomy worlds. Themes involving duality, existentialism, apathy, anomie etc. are great but they don’t have to be deathly serious. Plots that are too angsty have a habit of overcompensating. That said, I am open to some clichés; it’s all about the delivery for me.
Just for the sake of narrowing things down, some of the genres/themes I'm into are:
- Modern/slice-of-life (the genre I'm most familiar with and which I usually pour my heaviest character development into)
*Fantasy (since fantasy worlds are complex in nature, and since I've only written for it once or twice, this one will take some convincing. I'm predisposed towards low fantasy since it allows me to focus more on my characters' personal struggles and discomforts)*Artificial Intelligence (I’m finicky about sci-fi; there are very few examples of sci-fi media that I actually enjoy and I’d rather not cast a wide net on the genre as a whole. What attracts me to AI in particular are questions like…where does consciousness derive from. Yeah, heavy stuff. I’m fun at parties)- Dystopia/"utopia"
- Action/adventure
- Thriller/specific kinds of horror
- Maybe post-apocalyptic. Maybe
- Honestly, I’m down for something comedic. Be it dark, light-hearted, or a mix of both
Short disclaimer about smut: I'm not going to include erotica as a genre because I'm avoiding smut-driven plots. Yes, I write smut. Yes, chances are I'll want to include it in our stories together. And yes, I'm down for just about anything as long as it fits the context and the characters. But the story must always come first. I’m especially uninterested in delving into areas that are hard noes for me (such as futa, furries and toilet play).
Ideas:
- I want to explore themes of wish fulfillment and instant gratification in a plot centered on a video game that deals with virtual/augmented reality, featuring characters rooted in a modern setting, and blurring the lines between what they perceive as real and fictional.
*Despite my qualms with sci-fi, I'm interested in writing a story set in outer space with the right partner. Something along the lines of a galactic cruise ship that gets thrown off course, possibly featuring an ensemble cast of colorful characters.*As avoidant as I am of smut-driven plots, I've thought about doing something with a cult - one that revolves around the idea of communal love and shared ownership of all property (including people). Naturally, there'd be a charismatic leader at the head of the hubbub, officiating the rules that they're all expected to follow.- I'd like to try my hand at a comedic take on an otherwise dramatic plot. For example, a shipwreck on a deserted island. One of the main characters could be obsessed with shipwreck stories and survival videos (Survive. Adapt. Overcome) and treat it as a chance to live out their adventurous fantasies, much to the annoyance of his/her fellow castaways.
I'll be adding more to this list but I'm also eager to hear your own ideas or develop a new one together. As a semi-introduction to my writing style, I figured I'd add some samples to give you an idea of it.
Sample A which I wrote on a whim:
An inviting façade, to be sure.
Vicky scowled at the decrepit/ramshackle bungalow that plagued her field of view. It was a dreary excuse of a sight. Crumbling brickwork laced in overgrown vines. The door was little more than a plank of rotten wood, hanging on its last hinges. Glass-less windows paired with tattered curtains, rustling in the breeze. It reeked of decay. Vicky shuddered, rubbing her bare shoulders in a futile attempt to ward off the cold. She eyed her companion suspiciously as he sidestepped the blatant “No Trespassing” sign on the chain-link fence before them.
Of all the stupid ideas Grant had ever had, this one took the cake.
“Can’t we just go home?” It was far from the first among many complaints she’d been making all night. And just like all the other times, he rebuffed it with the grace of an oiled up gazelle.
“Where’s your selfish ambition?” He scoffed while fishing out a pair of bolt cutters, which probably weren’t his own, from his rucksack. Barbed wire lined the top of the fence, preventing him from the opportunity to show off by jumping it. Property damage was one of the lesser felonies on his rap-sheet. One more parole violation. That was all he needed. Just one and he’d be tossed right back in the slammer.
“It’s on my couch, watching sitcoms. Where it’s nice and warm.”
She tucked her hands in her armpits, hopping from one foot to the other. If she’d known they’d be taking such a drastic detour on their date, she would never have opted to wear a dress. And that’s without even mentioning how uncomfortable her heels were.
Her lower lip stuck out in a childish pout.
“Now let’s just go. Please.” Incessant pleading fell on deaf ears since he’d already begun snapping through the diamond loops. The fence recoiled each time with a loud twang.
Panicked, Vicky’s pale blue eyes flitted about, searching for someone who’d heard the ruckus. But they were thankfully, disturbingly alone. The stories surrounding the abandoned abode were several, ranging from sinister to utterly ridiculous. Poltergeist haunt, demon babies, banshee brothel, final resting place of a crooked old man; the list went on. More than half were the ingenious products of sniggering teens. Only an idiot would go looking for trouble there.
And Grant was a special kind of idiot.
“I wanna see what all the fuss is about.” Once satisfied with his handiwork, he pushed himself through the hastily-made hole, leaving behind one very cold, very angry girlfriend.
“Grant! I swear to fuck, I’m leaving without you!”
A cocky, pearl-white grin shot back at her before melting into the dark.
Vicky scowled at the decrepit/ramshackle bungalow that plagued her field of view. It was a dreary excuse of a sight. Crumbling brickwork laced in overgrown vines. The door was little more than a plank of rotten wood, hanging on its last hinges. Glass-less windows paired with tattered curtains, rustling in the breeze. It reeked of decay. Vicky shuddered, rubbing her bare shoulders in a futile attempt to ward off the cold. She eyed her companion suspiciously as he sidestepped the blatant “No Trespassing” sign on the chain-link fence before them.
Of all the stupid ideas Grant had ever had, this one took the cake.
“Can’t we just go home?” It was far from the first among many complaints she’d been making all night. And just like all the other times, he rebuffed it with the grace of an oiled up gazelle.
“Where’s your selfish ambition?” He scoffed while fishing out a pair of bolt cutters, which probably weren’t his own, from his rucksack. Barbed wire lined the top of the fence, preventing him from the opportunity to show off by jumping it. Property damage was one of the lesser felonies on his rap-sheet. One more parole violation. That was all he needed. Just one and he’d be tossed right back in the slammer.
“It’s on my couch, watching sitcoms. Where it’s nice and warm.”
She tucked her hands in her armpits, hopping from one foot to the other. If she’d known they’d be taking such a drastic detour on their date, she would never have opted to wear a dress. And that’s without even mentioning how uncomfortable her heels were.
Her lower lip stuck out in a childish pout.
“Now let’s just go. Please.” Incessant pleading fell on deaf ears since he’d already begun snapping through the diamond loops. The fence recoiled each time with a loud twang.
Panicked, Vicky’s pale blue eyes flitted about, searching for someone who’d heard the ruckus. But they were thankfully, disturbingly alone. The stories surrounding the abandoned abode were several, ranging from sinister to utterly ridiculous. Poltergeist haunt, demon babies, banshee brothel, final resting place of a crooked old man; the list went on. More than half were the ingenious products of sniggering teens. Only an idiot would go looking for trouble there.
And Grant was a special kind of idiot.
“I wanna see what all the fuss is about.” Once satisfied with his handiwork, he pushed himself through the hastily-made hole, leaving behind one very cold, very angry girlfriend.
“Grant! I swear to fuck, I’m leaving without you!”
A cocky, pearl-white grin shot back at her before melting into the dark.
It was a dreary Monday morning at Paradise Trust Bank.
Just another white-collar worker among the masses, Adam Burgess stifled a yawn as he lamented his skipped morning coffee. It was the cost of rushing out of his apartment early enough to beat the usually, egregious lines before heading off to work.
The gentle ambience of background chatter, fluttering of currency-counters, and stamping of papers coupled with the warm interior lighting made him feel ready to nod off. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his khakis, Adam began tapping his foot rhythmically for something to focus on as the queue trudged on.
“Did you have a long night?” A voice croaked behind him. A soft, age-d voice. Adam spun around to face the elderly gentleman who’d spoken up.
“Excuse me?” He replied quizzically, unsure of who they were speaking to.
The older man smiled back, eyes crinkling as though Adam had said something funny. He was hunched over an ornate walking cane, just barely shuffling along while tightly gripping its lion-head handle. His entire weight seemed dependent on it.
“I’m sorry, Adam, my boy. You just seem awfully haggard.”
That did nothing to help his confusion. Brows furrowing, Adam opened his mouth to ask how he knew his name, but stopped short when he pointed, with a trembling, wrinkled finger, at the shiny, metal tag clipped to the pocket of his polo shirt.
“Oh.” A sheepish flush crossed his face.
“A little young to be working in retail, aren’t you?” The man seemed keen on keeping up a conversation. God only knew why.
“Um. I’m in customer service,” Not wishing to be impolite to someone who looked older than his own grandparents, Adam chose to indulge him. “It’s a stepping stone.”
“Ah, I see. That makes sense.”
How it made sense, Adam didn’t know. He simply closed his eyes and silently prayed that this wouldn’t be another case of in-person product complaints.
“My name is Peter.”
“Adam, but uh...you already knew that.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He didn’t need to guess to know that Peter would be expecting a handshake. So, for the second time that day, he indulged him.
What should’ve ended as a simple exchange between strangers turned instead into an elongated period of small-talk. Peter seemed curious about the sort of life Adam lead. He asked him questions about his family, his routine, his lovelife (which he’d answered while flushed in the face). After learning that the young man had little to no one with a significant presence in his life, Peter traded in his own family tales, complete with photos of his great granddaughters and the birthday drawings they’d made him.
“Now this masterpiece-” Peter let out a gentle laugh as he pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper and unfolded it to reveal colorful, crayon-ic mess. “-is Sarah’s. Bless her heart, she’s only six.”
Adam couldn’t help but smile along with him. Within the disarray, he could just barely make out the image of a grey-haired, bearded stick figure. It even wore the same beige suit that Peter had on. Quite the likeness.
While the old man continued to dote on the drawing, Adam’s gaze flitted over Peter’s shoulder as the double-doors of the main entrance swung open behind him.
His breath caught in his throat.
Three tall, burly men in janitorial jumpsuits and matching balaclavas strode in, toting duffle bags and machine guns.
The moment they’d crossed into the threshold, the woman standing closest to the doors screamed, and Adam felt of his bodily organs instantly drop. Several people in the crowd joined in her terror as they tripped over one another in their scramble to get away from the bank robbers.
“Nobody move!” Yelled the stockiest of the three, swiftly aiming his gun at the young woman. The color drained from her cheeks as she slid to the floor in a whimpering heap, her fearful eyes all but fixed on the barrel. “Nobody move or I’ll blow her goddamn head off!”
The room fell deathly still; their collective gaze completely immobilized.
“-really are a wonder, you know? You should consider settling down, son. Find a good girl who’ll treat you right. And when you finally do have children-” Looking back at him in disbelief, Adam had only just noticed that Peter was still prattling on with their small-talk. The old man seemed blissfully unaware of the ongoing commotion around him. He was facing away from them, sure, but was his hearing that miserably poor?
He had to do something, Adam thought as his chest heaved, hands clenched into fists in an effort to stop himself from shaking. There was no way this person could fend for himself. He would be a flimsy, plastic bag at the mercy of a tornado. Like it or not, Adam was responsible for Peter now. He had to protect him…
Two of the armed men began strong-arming the bank tellers from behind their booths, all the while ignoring their pleas. The third retrieved a long metal chain from his duffle bug, and looping it through the handles of the double doors, before securing it with a heavy-duty padlock and a solemn click.
“Hold on to this for me, would you, sonny?” Delivering him back into the present, Peter offered Adam a kind smile as he casually slid something into the younger man’s hand that almost made his knees buckle.
Adam stared at the handgun in his grasp.
Its metallic texture was cold but smooth against his palm. And it was heavy. Much heavier than he’d ever expected a gun to be. Unable to fully register the sequence of events that had just transpired, Adam could do little more than open and close his mouth like a dumbfounded fish caught on a hook.
By then, the queue that had previously been snaking through the room was completely scattered. He watched as the frail, old man left him alone, disoriented, and rooted to his spot in the middle of the hall, to limp over to the bank robbers. As the man he’d assumed was trying to befriend him just a few moments ago joined in their stance.
"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen." Peter’s normally soft voice bounded within the echo-chamber. “Now, if you would hand over your belongings to my four colleagues...”
He trailed off with a slight nod of his head; an instruction. The men immediately jumped into action and began visiting each of the terrified customers in turn.
"Everything will be fine."
Just another white-collar worker among the masses, Adam Burgess stifled a yawn as he lamented his skipped morning coffee. It was the cost of rushing out of his apartment early enough to beat the usually, egregious lines before heading off to work.
The gentle ambience of background chatter, fluttering of currency-counters, and stamping of papers coupled with the warm interior lighting made him feel ready to nod off. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his khakis, Adam began tapping his foot rhythmically for something to focus on as the queue trudged on.
“Did you have a long night?” A voice croaked behind him. A soft, age-d voice. Adam spun around to face the elderly gentleman who’d spoken up.
“Excuse me?” He replied quizzically, unsure of who they were speaking to.
The older man smiled back, eyes crinkling as though Adam had said something funny. He was hunched over an ornate walking cane, just barely shuffling along while tightly gripping its lion-head handle. His entire weight seemed dependent on it.
“I’m sorry, Adam, my boy. You just seem awfully haggard.”
That did nothing to help his confusion. Brows furrowing, Adam opened his mouth to ask how he knew his name, but stopped short when he pointed, with a trembling, wrinkled finger, at the shiny, metal tag clipped to the pocket of his polo shirt.
“Oh.” A sheepish flush crossed his face.
“A little young to be working in retail, aren’t you?” The man seemed keen on keeping up a conversation. God only knew why.
“Um. I’m in customer service,” Not wishing to be impolite to someone who looked older than his own grandparents, Adam chose to indulge him. “It’s a stepping stone.”
“Ah, I see. That makes sense.”
How it made sense, Adam didn’t know. He simply closed his eyes and silently prayed that this wouldn’t be another case of in-person product complaints.
“My name is Peter.”
“Adam, but uh...you already knew that.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He didn’t need to guess to know that Peter would be expecting a handshake. So, for the second time that day, he indulged him.
What should’ve ended as a simple exchange between strangers turned instead into an elongated period of small-talk. Peter seemed curious about the sort of life Adam lead. He asked him questions about his family, his routine, his lovelife (which he’d answered while flushed in the face). After learning that the young man had little to no one with a significant presence in his life, Peter traded in his own family tales, complete with photos of his great granddaughters and the birthday drawings they’d made him.
“Now this masterpiece-” Peter let out a gentle laugh as he pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper and unfolded it to reveal colorful, crayon-ic mess. “-is Sarah’s. Bless her heart, she’s only six.”
Adam couldn’t help but smile along with him. Within the disarray, he could just barely make out the image of a grey-haired, bearded stick figure. It even wore the same beige suit that Peter had on. Quite the likeness.
While the old man continued to dote on the drawing, Adam’s gaze flitted over Peter’s shoulder as the double-doors of the main entrance swung open behind him.
His breath caught in his throat.
Three tall, burly men in janitorial jumpsuits and matching balaclavas strode in, toting duffle bags and machine guns.
The moment they’d crossed into the threshold, the woman standing closest to the doors screamed, and Adam felt of his bodily organs instantly drop. Several people in the crowd joined in her terror as they tripped over one another in their scramble to get away from the bank robbers.
“Nobody move!” Yelled the stockiest of the three, swiftly aiming his gun at the young woman. The color drained from her cheeks as she slid to the floor in a whimpering heap, her fearful eyes all but fixed on the barrel. “Nobody move or I’ll blow her goddamn head off!”
The room fell deathly still; their collective gaze completely immobilized.
“-really are a wonder, you know? You should consider settling down, son. Find a good girl who’ll treat you right. And when you finally do have children-” Looking back at him in disbelief, Adam had only just noticed that Peter was still prattling on with their small-talk. The old man seemed blissfully unaware of the ongoing commotion around him. He was facing away from them, sure, but was his hearing that miserably poor?
He had to do something, Adam thought as his chest heaved, hands clenched into fists in an effort to stop himself from shaking. There was no way this person could fend for himself. He would be a flimsy, plastic bag at the mercy of a tornado. Like it or not, Adam was responsible for Peter now. He had to protect him…
Two of the armed men began strong-arming the bank tellers from behind their booths, all the while ignoring their pleas. The third retrieved a long metal chain from his duffle bug, and looping it through the handles of the double doors, before securing it with a heavy-duty padlock and a solemn click.
“Hold on to this for me, would you, sonny?” Delivering him back into the present, Peter offered Adam a kind smile as he casually slid something into the younger man’s hand that almost made his knees buckle.
Adam stared at the handgun in his grasp.
Its metallic texture was cold but smooth against his palm. And it was heavy. Much heavier than he’d ever expected a gun to be. Unable to fully register the sequence of events that had just transpired, Adam could do little more than open and close his mouth like a dumbfounded fish caught on a hook.
By then, the queue that had previously been snaking through the room was completely scattered. He watched as the frail, old man left him alone, disoriented, and rooted to his spot in the middle of the hall, to limp over to the bank robbers. As the man he’d assumed was trying to befriend him just a few moments ago joined in their stance.
"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen." Peter’s normally soft voice bounded within the echo-chamber. “Now, if you would hand over your belongings to my four colleagues...”
He trailed off with a slight nod of his head; an instruction. The men immediately jumped into action and began visiting each of the terrified customers in turn.
"Everything will be fine."
And there you have it, folks! I think I’ve covered everything. At least I sure hope I did, but I guess that’s what editing is for, right? Thanks for sticking through my incessant rambling, and send me a PM if there was anything in this thread that made you think: “damn, I’d like to write with them”. Until then, have a good day/evening and happy hunting.