Ludigraph
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2022
First of all, hi hello, if you actually read this whole thing I already adore you and think you’re amazing and great, thank you so much.
If I could summarize my request – I’ve been doing this long enough that I’m kinda over the whole process of sifting through the dross to find the golden nugget. I’m taking a leap of faith to find one awesome writer who’s willing to join me on a sprawling long-term adventure through messages. I am happy to do the lion’s share of the worldbuilding and plot progression (although would also be pleased to have my structures wrecked by daring decisions and wild pivots in tone and narrative alike; please, bring it on).
I don’t mean to sound like a hardass (I’m a pretty goofy and lighthearted guy, honestly!), but I trust someone out there will understand what I mean when I say I’ve been burned a few too many times to want to deal with that too much more. I make no claims as to being the greatest writer ever. I just want that classic feeling back, that heart-flutter of excitement to see I have a new message in my inbox.
Some points of info about me as a writing partner:
• Varied Timing – Part of the beauty of messaging is flexibility in response times, yeah? Some days I am going to be chatty and get you multiple replies. Other times, I will need some patience from my partner (much of this is simply due to the nature of my job, which gets busier at some points than others). I’m fairly chill and low-pressure, I promise: Real life comes first, I don’t hold people to deadlines, etc.
• Quality Primary, Quantity Secondary – Nobody needs to read 10,000 words describing a character’s outfit, but I do want to read multiple great paragraphs each turn. I don’t need novella-length replies (not at all!), but I’m definitely looking for a partner who truly relishes the opportunity to absolutely write the hell out of a story.
Dramatic twists, taut suspense, terrifying horror, intense action, humorous dialogue, multi-layered characterization and slow-burn chemistry… I’m a greedy bastard who wants it all, and I’m prepared to give it in return.
• Flexible Smut Ratio – This is an erotic roleplaying site after all, so I suppose this should be covered. I am fine with smut happening, I do enjoy it, but I want to make expectations clear that I am a story-first writer and any smut should occur as a part of the natural blooming of whatever relationship is building between characters. That being said, if they do get along and things get steamy and smut-heavy, I won’t complain. I guess I’d say I’m in a mindset of aiming for 80-20 plot-to-smut ratio but if the scales tip one way or another in the course of writing, the door is open for that.
As far as kinks/limits go, this would be an area where I’d be happy to field questions if anyone is concerned, though I’d say my character(s) is fairly vanilla but definitely prefers taking the dominant role. While the tastes and boundaries are pretty unremarkable (no feet/toilet/furries, not really into bondage/toys/non-human pairings, bedroom interactions range from a praising and encouraging ‘soft dom’ to full-on hair-pulling/slapping around/degradation/etc.), I guess I should mention that any interested partners should play a human woman character who is submissive. She doesn’t need to be an outright sex slave or enthusiastic slut, though those expressions of submission are fine and great, just that she’s cool with him taking the lead when things do get intimate.
• Pantsing Over Plotting – I don’t mind OOC chat, and especially once the story’s started I welcome feedback and clarifications as we go. But I really do think the magical payoff of partnered writing is delivered when fewer details are settled upfront and more of it is discovered organically. I am a firm believer that vibing with the right partner is more important than agreeing on the details of a plot with someone, if that makes sense; the idea that if you put two writers together with good chemistry, they can weave a killer plot out of a simple one-line prompt like “old friends reconnect at a café and the ceiling begins making a strange sound.” If we're a good fit for each other, I trust we'll have fun, simple as that.
• The Leap of Faith – Okay, here it is, the moment of truth. This might be a little bit unorthodox, but how I want this to work is for you to read the starter below… and if it sounds intriguing and fun to you, if something about it sparks a sense of adventure within you, if you think “oh what the hell” and want to give it a shot… then reply to it directly, in a message to me. Just send me a message with your direct response to the starter below. It doesn’t have to be as long (we know how starters can go, to ‘set the scene’), but I would love to get something in my inbox that launches us into a sprawling, unpredictable genre-bending adventure we’ll both have a blast with. Here goes nothin’:
###
The skies were quiet and the universe was growing colder.
Zyndo Syliiqua was a man who found himself at the moment sitting on a cliff-edge, feet dangling and even twirling in little opposing circles, his back hunched and head down as he gazed over the expanse of lifeless brown-and-gray rock plains before him.
Air systems hissed from within his exosuit. There were no clouds tonight, only the inky darkness of unfathomable space overhead amid the twinkle of billions of stars, beckoning him into their depths like the siren call of mermaids from the old tales–
He leaned over and pulled his datapad from its holster-like pocket along his side. It was beeping and blinking and vibrating in a rhythm indicating an incoming holocall. Zyndo sat up straighter as he tapped the pad and accepted the call.
On-screen appeared the digitized visage of an old friend, Captain Lockehammer. His hair seemed whiter than last time, his mustache less sure of itself. The image shimmered and sizzled, like water in a warming pan. Quantum tightbeaming technology allowed instantaneous transmission of data between any two points in the physical space of the dying universe (provided transmitter and receiver could match the proprietary frequency of the same device brand, of course), but at extreme distances you could still expect some static and interference.
The display may have shown warping and distortion, but Lockehammer’s voice was as clear and confident as ever.
“Greetings, Zyn,” the aging captain began in his typical regal cadence, nodding his head beneath an old-fashioned pith helmet. “We have concluded a comprehensive scan-and-search of the planet at the coordinates you provided. The damned corpos in the region did all they could to slow us down, but we managed. And I’m sorry to say it, old friend, but we found nothing.”
Zyndo’s own aging face was obscured beneath his helmet, its cutting-edge surfaces of gleaming metallic alloys and tiny indicator lights a stark contrast to Lockehammer’s simpler headwear. Zyn nodded too, in response. And said nothing, before the captain continued.
“Forgive me, but I must say… it might be of some help to those assisting you to, er, provide more details as to this mysterious item you seek? I consider you a friend, and it’s true I owed you a favor, but I’m not sure our amount of intel matches the, ah, priority you led us to believe is owed this task.”
Zyn turned his helm, looking into the middle distance at no object in particular.
“I belie–”
“No no no, it’s just, it’s… a basilisk, a sort of… psych warfare. It’s…”
Zyndo was snapping his gloved fingers, his brow furrowing beneath his visor. His voice was modulated somewhat, adding a husky low buzz to his otherwise boyish, casual tone as he spoke.
“It’s venom.”
“... excuse me?”
“It’s, it’s like a venom, of the mind. It’s just one of those things, Captain: The more you know about it, the more dangerous it is. It’s better that you know as little as possible. It kinda, like, eats you up from the inside out. It… affects you. If I told you about it, you’d regret it. You’d wish I hadn’t said anything. Trust me. Terrible burden and all that.”
“...”
“Hey, look, I appreciate your help. I’m gonna let you go now. Catch ya later, cap’n.”
“All right then, I will take my leave. Lockehammer out.”
Zyn tapped the datapad screen and the call ended. He sighed and closed his eyes for a breath, frowning at it all, even if no one could see. He reached an arm out to his side, leaning on his hand as he got up with a wince and a quiet groan.
Minutes later his booted footsteps clanked up the ramp onto his ship, an ugly old freighter he had christened Accomodia Judiciate. He got a kick out of giving such an extra, anime-ass name to such a bulky, blocky, utilitarian vessel.
The craft was a little too large for one person, somewhat like driving a three-story building across the cosmos. Commanding and maintaining the thing would be rather difficult for a one-man operation had it not been for the central artificial intelligence (and its fleet of various robotics) named A.N.N.A. who now greeted Zyndo in her distinctive soothing, feminine lilt. Before she said a word, he knew she had already trawled his datapad for information, including the holocall with Lockehammer.
“Welcome back, Zyndo. Shall I prep the engines for departure?”
The former soldier (former mercenary, former explorer, former smuggler… etc.) leaned against a greebly bit of bulkhead, wiping some dust off his chestplate.
“I dunno, Anna. Stay, go. What does it matter, anymore?”
It took a while, but Anna had learned by now that such questions were rhetorical and he did not actually desire her input on the matter. She changed the subject.
“Two pieces of news, then. First, the nest of frost rats has been successfully exterminated. The wires they had chewed through are being replaced as we speak. Full heater capacity for the primary cargo hold should be restored within the hour.”
“Uh, okay. I didn’t know the heat was even out. Frost rats, huh?”
“Yes, sir. I had informed you before your prior departure from the ship. If I may speculate, it seems your faculty for memory has dimini–”
He waved a dismissive arm. “Just give me the other news, Anna.”
“Right. Two hundred and forty-six seconds ago, a spacecraft entered the atmosphere of this planet. They seem to be heading on a direct vector toward our position.”
“Wait, what? We’re in the middle of nowhere! How did–ugh. Is it Sovereign?” he asked, referring to the Sovereignty: One of the few remaining governing bodies over the sentient population of the omniverse, the Sovereignty was an autocratic (dictatorial, really) regime led by an enigmatic figure called Univox, or ‘The One Voice.’ He was an obnoxious prick whose governing philosophy could be summed as “kiss the boot or die beneath its heel.”
“No scans indicate any signatures matching any known sets of Sovereign starship data,” Anna responded. “But I cannot rule out the possibility of a conscripted ship or otherwise allied craft.”
“Yeah yeah,” Zyndo spoke quickly, pulling out his datapad as his fingers rapidly tapped at dialog boxes to bring up the current scan feeds. “Give me somethin’, like, velocity? What size are we talking here?”
“Velocity variable. Current estimate for mass volume is between sixty cubic feet and fourteen thousand cubic miles.”
Zyndo… frowned. That seemed an, uh, excessively broad range for a guess, even given minimal scanning info, but he didn’t feel he had time to quibble or make her run any diagnostics. Still, before he could offer any ideas on what to do, Anna gave her own suggestions.
“Would you like me to re-estimate variables when the ship closes half its current distance? Or perhaps we could send a transmission?”
Zyn smacked the nearest wall flat-handed and muttered some obscenities.
“I’m sorry sir, did you say–”
“No! Listen: Just ping ‘em. Nothing audiovisual, just shoot a general hailing signal their way and we’ll see what happens next.”
“Understood.”
Zyndo jogged to the central shaft, climbing a ladder up the narrow cylindrical space toward the piloting chamber at the top and front of the ship. Along the way he would pass all sorts of various items, stored and hung, mementos and accoutrement, a pulse rifle and an old newspaper clipping and a dimly glowing emerald set in a lump of iron as a deceivingly crude pendant.
If this bogey was hostile and opened fire, he knew the Accomodia could take a pretty good beating in the few minutes it’d take to get off-world and out of system, but it was always such a pain to get all the repairs done.
And yet, if this other craft wasn’t the feds finally closing in, that was a possibility that may have unsettled him even more.
The skies were noisy and the universe was growing stranger.
If I could summarize my request – I’ve been doing this long enough that I’m kinda over the whole process of sifting through the dross to find the golden nugget. I’m taking a leap of faith to find one awesome writer who’s willing to join me on a sprawling long-term adventure through messages. I am happy to do the lion’s share of the worldbuilding and plot progression (although would also be pleased to have my structures wrecked by daring decisions and wild pivots in tone and narrative alike; please, bring it on).
I don’t mean to sound like a hardass (I’m a pretty goofy and lighthearted guy, honestly!), but I trust someone out there will understand what I mean when I say I’ve been burned a few too many times to want to deal with that too much more. I make no claims as to being the greatest writer ever. I just want that classic feeling back, that heart-flutter of excitement to see I have a new message in my inbox.
Some points of info about me as a writing partner:
• Varied Timing – Part of the beauty of messaging is flexibility in response times, yeah? Some days I am going to be chatty and get you multiple replies. Other times, I will need some patience from my partner (much of this is simply due to the nature of my job, which gets busier at some points than others). I’m fairly chill and low-pressure, I promise: Real life comes first, I don’t hold people to deadlines, etc.
• Quality Primary, Quantity Secondary – Nobody needs to read 10,000 words describing a character’s outfit, but I do want to read multiple great paragraphs each turn. I don’t need novella-length replies (not at all!), but I’m definitely looking for a partner who truly relishes the opportunity to absolutely write the hell out of a story.
Dramatic twists, taut suspense, terrifying horror, intense action, humorous dialogue, multi-layered characterization and slow-burn chemistry… I’m a greedy bastard who wants it all, and I’m prepared to give it in return.
• Flexible Smut Ratio – This is an erotic roleplaying site after all, so I suppose this should be covered. I am fine with smut happening, I do enjoy it, but I want to make expectations clear that I am a story-first writer and any smut should occur as a part of the natural blooming of whatever relationship is building between characters. That being said, if they do get along and things get steamy and smut-heavy, I won’t complain. I guess I’d say I’m in a mindset of aiming for 80-20 plot-to-smut ratio but if the scales tip one way or another in the course of writing, the door is open for that.
As far as kinks/limits go, this would be an area where I’d be happy to field questions if anyone is concerned, though I’d say my character(s) is fairly vanilla but definitely prefers taking the dominant role. While the tastes and boundaries are pretty unremarkable (no feet/toilet/furries, not really into bondage/toys/non-human pairings, bedroom interactions range from a praising and encouraging ‘soft dom’ to full-on hair-pulling/slapping around/degradation/etc.), I guess I should mention that any interested partners should play a human woman character who is submissive. She doesn’t need to be an outright sex slave or enthusiastic slut, though those expressions of submission are fine and great, just that she’s cool with him taking the lead when things do get intimate.
• Pantsing Over Plotting – I don’t mind OOC chat, and especially once the story’s started I welcome feedback and clarifications as we go. But I really do think the magical payoff of partnered writing is delivered when fewer details are settled upfront and more of it is discovered organically. I am a firm believer that vibing with the right partner is more important than agreeing on the details of a plot with someone, if that makes sense; the idea that if you put two writers together with good chemistry, they can weave a killer plot out of a simple one-line prompt like “old friends reconnect at a café and the ceiling begins making a strange sound.” If we're a good fit for each other, I trust we'll have fun, simple as that.
• The Leap of Faith – Okay, here it is, the moment of truth. This might be a little bit unorthodox, but how I want this to work is for you to read the starter below… and if it sounds intriguing and fun to you, if something about it sparks a sense of adventure within you, if you think “oh what the hell” and want to give it a shot… then reply to it directly, in a message to me. Just send me a message with your direct response to the starter below. It doesn’t have to be as long (we know how starters can go, to ‘set the scene’), but I would love to get something in my inbox that launches us into a sprawling, unpredictable genre-bending adventure we’ll both have a blast with. Here goes nothin’:
###
The skies were quiet and the universe was growing colder.
Zyndo Syliiqua was a man who found himself at the moment sitting on a cliff-edge, feet dangling and even twirling in little opposing circles, his back hunched and head down as he gazed over the expanse of lifeless brown-and-gray rock plains before him.
Air systems hissed from within his exosuit. There were no clouds tonight, only the inky darkness of unfathomable space overhead amid the twinkle of billions of stars, beckoning him into their depths like the siren call of mermaids from the old tales–
He leaned over and pulled his datapad from its holster-like pocket along his side. It was beeping and blinking and vibrating in a rhythm indicating an incoming holocall. Zyndo sat up straighter as he tapped the pad and accepted the call.
On-screen appeared the digitized visage of an old friend, Captain Lockehammer. His hair seemed whiter than last time, his mustache less sure of itself. The image shimmered and sizzled, like water in a warming pan. Quantum tightbeaming technology allowed instantaneous transmission of data between any two points in the physical space of the dying universe (provided transmitter and receiver could match the proprietary frequency of the same device brand, of course), but at extreme distances you could still expect some static and interference.
The display may have shown warping and distortion, but Lockehammer’s voice was as clear and confident as ever.
“Greetings, Zyn,” the aging captain began in his typical regal cadence, nodding his head beneath an old-fashioned pith helmet. “We have concluded a comprehensive scan-and-search of the planet at the coordinates you provided. The damned corpos in the region did all they could to slow us down, but we managed. And I’m sorry to say it, old friend, but we found nothing.”
Zyndo’s own aging face was obscured beneath his helmet, its cutting-edge surfaces of gleaming metallic alloys and tiny indicator lights a stark contrast to Lockehammer’s simpler headwear. Zyn nodded too, in response. And said nothing, before the captain continued.
“Forgive me, but I must say… it might be of some help to those assisting you to, er, provide more details as to this mysterious item you seek? I consider you a friend, and it’s true I owed you a favor, but I’m not sure our amount of intel matches the, ah, priority you led us to believe is owed this task.”
Zyn turned his helm, looking into the middle distance at no object in particular.
“I belie–”
“No no no, it’s just, it’s… a basilisk, a sort of… psych warfare. It’s…”
Zyndo was snapping his gloved fingers, his brow furrowing beneath his visor. His voice was modulated somewhat, adding a husky low buzz to his otherwise boyish, casual tone as he spoke.
“It’s venom.”
“... excuse me?”
“It’s, it’s like a venom, of the mind. It’s just one of those things, Captain: The more you know about it, the more dangerous it is. It’s better that you know as little as possible. It kinda, like, eats you up from the inside out. It… affects you. If I told you about it, you’d regret it. You’d wish I hadn’t said anything. Trust me. Terrible burden and all that.”
“...”
“Hey, look, I appreciate your help. I’m gonna let you go now. Catch ya later, cap’n.”
“All right then, I will take my leave. Lockehammer out.”
Zyn tapped the datapad screen and the call ended. He sighed and closed his eyes for a breath, frowning at it all, even if no one could see. He reached an arm out to his side, leaning on his hand as he got up with a wince and a quiet groan.
Minutes later his booted footsteps clanked up the ramp onto his ship, an ugly old freighter he had christened Accomodia Judiciate. He got a kick out of giving such an extra, anime-ass name to such a bulky, blocky, utilitarian vessel.
The craft was a little too large for one person, somewhat like driving a three-story building across the cosmos. Commanding and maintaining the thing would be rather difficult for a one-man operation had it not been for the central artificial intelligence (and its fleet of various robotics) named A.N.N.A. who now greeted Zyndo in her distinctive soothing, feminine lilt. Before she said a word, he knew she had already trawled his datapad for information, including the holocall with Lockehammer.
“Welcome back, Zyndo. Shall I prep the engines for departure?”
The former soldier (former mercenary, former explorer, former smuggler… etc.) leaned against a greebly bit of bulkhead, wiping some dust off his chestplate.
“I dunno, Anna. Stay, go. What does it matter, anymore?”
It took a while, but Anna had learned by now that such questions were rhetorical and he did not actually desire her input on the matter. She changed the subject.
“Two pieces of news, then. First, the nest of frost rats has been successfully exterminated. The wires they had chewed through are being replaced as we speak. Full heater capacity for the primary cargo hold should be restored within the hour.”
“Uh, okay. I didn’t know the heat was even out. Frost rats, huh?”
“Yes, sir. I had informed you before your prior departure from the ship. If I may speculate, it seems your faculty for memory has dimini–”
He waved a dismissive arm. “Just give me the other news, Anna.”
“Right. Two hundred and forty-six seconds ago, a spacecraft entered the atmosphere of this planet. They seem to be heading on a direct vector toward our position.”
“Wait, what? We’re in the middle of nowhere! How did–ugh. Is it Sovereign?” he asked, referring to the Sovereignty: One of the few remaining governing bodies over the sentient population of the omniverse, the Sovereignty was an autocratic (dictatorial, really) regime led by an enigmatic figure called Univox, or ‘The One Voice.’ He was an obnoxious prick whose governing philosophy could be summed as “kiss the boot or die beneath its heel.”
“No scans indicate any signatures matching any known sets of Sovereign starship data,” Anna responded. “But I cannot rule out the possibility of a conscripted ship or otherwise allied craft.”
“Yeah yeah,” Zyndo spoke quickly, pulling out his datapad as his fingers rapidly tapped at dialog boxes to bring up the current scan feeds. “Give me somethin’, like, velocity? What size are we talking here?”
“Velocity variable. Current estimate for mass volume is between sixty cubic feet and fourteen thousand cubic miles.”
Zyndo… frowned. That seemed an, uh, excessively broad range for a guess, even given minimal scanning info, but he didn’t feel he had time to quibble or make her run any diagnostics. Still, before he could offer any ideas on what to do, Anna gave her own suggestions.
“Would you like me to re-estimate variables when the ship closes half its current distance? Or perhaps we could send a transmission?”
Zyn smacked the nearest wall flat-handed and muttered some obscenities.
“I’m sorry sir, did you say–”
“No! Listen: Just ping ‘em. Nothing audiovisual, just shoot a general hailing signal their way and we’ll see what happens next.”
“Understood.”
Zyndo jogged to the central shaft, climbing a ladder up the narrow cylindrical space toward the piloting chamber at the top and front of the ship. Along the way he would pass all sorts of various items, stored and hung, mementos and accoutrement, a pulse rifle and an old newspaper clipping and a dimly glowing emerald set in a lump of iron as a deceivingly crude pendant.
If this bogey was hostile and opened fire, he knew the Accomodia could take a pretty good beating in the few minutes it’d take to get off-world and out of system, but it was always such a pain to get all the repairs done.
And yet, if this other craft wasn’t the feds finally closing in, that was a possibility that may have unsettled him even more.
The skies were noisy and the universe was growing stranger.