GoneForABurton
In verum, decor.
Most of these are Modern, or Modern Fantasy. The GAARD, MARV, and Subject 52 are futuristic fantasy, Sullivan and Phoenix are Victorian gents, and the rest are all basically Modern.
I do write in first person, past tense, so just be aware of that, okay?
Anything that has a green title is something I'm particularly looking for right now. Why green? Why not?!
Below is a list of current plots. I have others, and other ideas, but I don't want to flood this place.
When Eddie Met Everyone: Eddie Fuller was an average kind of guy, until he hit his twenty-fifth birthday. Then, something weird happened; he started getting into meet cutes. A lot of meet cutes. His life changed almost overnight, from the dull, average existence he'd previously forged, to one where he was living out some bizarre real-life version of rom-com movies. Was he doomed to forever meet women yet never meet the one, or would he find love in the arms of someone not utterly batshit insane?
Sweet Caroline: He was happy, and why not? He was a mildly popular DJ for the local radio station, with tens of listeners tuning in almost every time he was on. He had his own place, he had a loving girlfriend, he had a good job, great friends, and a pretty good life.
Until it was cut tragically short one day. On his way home to see his girlfriend, he got distracted, crashed the car, and died. Or did he?
Blah blah plot happens, and he gets sent back to Earth because it's 'not [his] time to go'. Which is all cool and everything, except he's been sent back right into the body of a woman. Whoops.
What'll happen when new meets old, when man meets woman, when good meets...not good? In a plot where anything can happen and frequently does, will he reunite with the love of his life, or will she find the love of hers?
A Cinematic Masterpiece: He'd found the projector at some sale, complete with collection of movies someone had lovingly transferred. He watched one, then another, then another, and discovered, to his surprise, the same woman turned up in all of them. Always in the background, always blending in perfectly, always watching him. One day, as a test, he paused the movie, got in close, and studied her.
So imagine his surprise when she spoke to him. And told him her story. And oh, what a story it was.
Spencer Moore and The MARV: a fantastical tale of technology, provides a pretty good framework for literally any kind of roleplay you could possibly think of.
If you could use a device to view any alternate reality, to be anyone, to do anything, what would you do? Who would you be?
A broken hallelujah: He's a priest going through a crisis of faith, she's a face from the past who first persuaded him to join up. When she confesses to him (by accident, of course), that she thinks she made a mistake, what'll happen?
I miss you, with all my heart: he was young, so was she. They loved each other, and one day, she disappeared. Years later, he still thinks of her, still misses her. What'd happen if she were to, say, show up again?
The Ballad of Frankie and Poppy: They were in love, a couple inseparable. One day, she went to an interview, and simply disappeared into thin air. A year later, after pretty much giving up on her, he finds someone on the street in a city miles away; a someone different enough to be someone else, but similar enough in specific ways to be nobody else. Is it? Isn't it? Let's find out!
Weatherby and Guv. When two cops-turned-bumbling-supervillains rob a few buildings during a heist, they get the attention of a new heroine in town. Will she be the one that beats them, or will they somehow, despite sharing a brain cell, outsmart her? Who knows!
Victor Koch, testing, testing, one-two, one-two; he was the youtube sensation, a jazz protege who taught himself everything, and rose through the ranks of popularity to get himself signed with a record label. She was the classically-trained singer of opera and traditional music, with a pedigree in everything audio. The record label, in their infinite wisdom, decide that opposites can work well, and lump them together. Question is, will opposites attract, or will there just be too much bad blood between them?
Sullivan and Phoenix. Imagine Holmes and Watson, if Holmes was an insane semi-immortal magician with actual powers and a God complex, and Watson was an ex-policeman-turned-writer with a severe opium addiction and a propensity to hallucinate at the worst possible moments. Done that? Good. They're our heroes. Fun, right?
GAARD: Imagine you suffer from a disease that, every time you sleep, changes your every fibre; changes your age, your gender, your appearance. You might go to sleep an overweight 6'5 black man, and wake up as a 5'2 stick of an asian girl. Now imagine that you're persecuted by the government for something you can't help. Not good, huh? Well, let's see just how not good it is.
Tom the Widower, Tom the Dollmaker, Tom the...Crazy?: When he lost his wife Juliet, Tom went a little...off the rails. He devoted himself to his art, made more dolls than ever before. He dreamt about her, saw her everywhere he turned, heard her voice in his ear every waking moment. So when he wakes up in the middle of the night to a noise, and goes down to find her wandering round his shop, and the doll of her missing, is it just his imagination, or is something more spiritual at work?
Johnny Five is alive!: He's an android, specifically made to test new personalities. Every day a new personality's loaded into him, every day it's taken out. One day, though, he shows signs of, well, being sentient. Is he truly alive, or is it just a glitch in the matrix?
Fiona MacNair, fake girlfriend extraordinaire. She's a woman who makes her living being other people, faking love and passion and romance for people who need a date, a fake relationship, or something else. So when she gets someone she thinks she might actually fall for, will she keep up the charade, or let her guard down, and be herself for once?
Subject 52: It was a perfect world, a perfect life. He loved her, she loved him. So why did it feel like it wasn't really him, like it wasn't really real? Who was the man in the mirrored room, with the scarred face? Who was the woman who had the voice of his love? Why was he being shoved into different scenarios? What the hell was going on?
Sample:
“Pretty sure a crystal glass ain’t nothin’ like a crystal ball- you won’t find anything in there by lookin’, you know”
I felt her slide in next to me, taking her time to sit in the stool; I felt the warmth of her body, the swell of her breasts brushing against me. I could feel the ice in my glass burning my fingers as the moment stretched on, almost forever. Finally, I wrenched my eyes from the amber liquid, up to the mirror behind the bar. For a moment, steel-blue met steel-blue, and then I looked away, glancing over at her. She was pretty, no doubt about it, but she was young, too; maybe twenty, twenty-five years younger than me. Probably old enough to have her own home, a good job, whatever else- she was maybe mid to late twenties, but to me she might as well have been fresh out of school, for all the good it was going to do. She was far too young for a man of my age, that much was for sure, which meant one of two things- she was either harbouring some serious daddy issues, or her affections were as negotiable as her rates. Either way, I wasn’t in the mood for paying, or playing.
“You don’t want me”, I replied softly, mirror-me talking to mirror-her.
“I’m only bein’ friendly”, she replied, pouting, her voice slipping into a tone that wobbled along the tightrope line between flirty and defensive, somehow making her sound both ridiculously sulky, and utterly sultry, at the same time. It was funny- she almost sounded as though she thought she still had a chance with me.
“You’re lookin’ for a bed-warmer, right?”, I glanced over at her properly, and saw her head bob just a little, though her eyes widened in a perverse parody of innocence, like she knew she’d been caught but still wanted to play anyway. I took a moment to take a sip of my drink, grimacing as it burned my throat, baring my teeth against it for a moment, before replying.“Then you really don’t want me, kid. It’d be like fucking a snowman with an icicle for a cock”.
“Fuck you”, she shot back, but there was no venom in it- it was more like some reflex action brought on by consistent rejection. Her eyes narrowed, though, and her face flushed in anger, and weirdly, it made her look all the sexier. Hell, maybe after a couple divorces and a dozen failed relationships, I’d developed some sort of Pavlovian response to anger; out come the narrowed eyes, up pops the erection. Wouldn’t have surprised me, really. Nothing much did at that point.
After a moment, she slid out of the stool- faster that time, like she couldn’t wait to be away from me- and then she was gone. And there was nothing but me, and the bartender, and the sound of soft music, interrupted by the blades of ceilings fans whirring lazily.
I took another sip of the drink, grimacing again as the booze burned my throat on the way down, frowning at the ice still burning my fingers. I didn’t let go yet, though- just kept on holding that glass in my hand, cradling it as though it were something precious and wonderful. And I guess, in a way, it was, right?
If there's any questions about anything here, please feel free to ask away!
I do write in first person, past tense, so just be aware of that, okay?
Anything that has a green title is something I'm particularly looking for right now. Why green? Why not?!
Below is a list of current plots. I have others, and other ideas, but I don't want to flood this place.
When Eddie Met Everyone: Eddie Fuller was an average kind of guy, until he hit his twenty-fifth birthday. Then, something weird happened; he started getting into meet cutes. A lot of meet cutes. His life changed almost overnight, from the dull, average existence he'd previously forged, to one where he was living out some bizarre real-life version of rom-com movies. Was he doomed to forever meet women yet never meet the one, or would he find love in the arms of someone not utterly batshit insane?
Sweet Caroline: He was happy, and why not? He was a mildly popular DJ for the local radio station, with tens of listeners tuning in almost every time he was on. He had his own place, he had a loving girlfriend, he had a good job, great friends, and a pretty good life.
Until it was cut tragically short one day. On his way home to see his girlfriend, he got distracted, crashed the car, and died. Or did he?
Blah blah plot happens, and he gets sent back to Earth because it's 'not [his] time to go'. Which is all cool and everything, except he's been sent back right into the body of a woman. Whoops.
What'll happen when new meets old, when man meets woman, when good meets...not good? In a plot where anything can happen and frequently does, will he reunite with the love of his life, or will she find the love of hers?
A Cinematic Masterpiece: He'd found the projector at some sale, complete with collection of movies someone had lovingly transferred. He watched one, then another, then another, and discovered, to his surprise, the same woman turned up in all of them. Always in the background, always blending in perfectly, always watching him. One day, as a test, he paused the movie, got in close, and studied her.
So imagine his surprise when she spoke to him. And told him her story. And oh, what a story it was.
Spencer Moore and The MARV: a fantastical tale of technology, provides a pretty good framework for literally any kind of roleplay you could possibly think of.
If you could use a device to view any alternate reality, to be anyone, to do anything, what would you do? Who would you be?
A broken hallelujah: He's a priest going through a crisis of faith, she's a face from the past who first persuaded him to join up. When she confesses to him (by accident, of course), that she thinks she made a mistake, what'll happen?
I miss you, with all my heart: he was young, so was she. They loved each other, and one day, she disappeared. Years later, he still thinks of her, still misses her. What'd happen if she were to, say, show up again?
The Ballad of Frankie and Poppy: They were in love, a couple inseparable. One day, she went to an interview, and simply disappeared into thin air. A year later, after pretty much giving up on her, he finds someone on the street in a city miles away; a someone different enough to be someone else, but similar enough in specific ways to be nobody else. Is it? Isn't it? Let's find out!
Weatherby and Guv. When two cops-turned-bumbling-supervillains rob a few buildings during a heist, they get the attention of a new heroine in town. Will she be the one that beats them, or will they somehow, despite sharing a brain cell, outsmart her? Who knows!
Victor Koch, testing, testing, one-two, one-two; he was the youtube sensation, a jazz protege who taught himself everything, and rose through the ranks of popularity to get himself signed with a record label. She was the classically-trained singer of opera and traditional music, with a pedigree in everything audio. The record label, in their infinite wisdom, decide that opposites can work well, and lump them together. Question is, will opposites attract, or will there just be too much bad blood between them?
Sullivan and Phoenix. Imagine Holmes and Watson, if Holmes was an insane semi-immortal magician with actual powers and a God complex, and Watson was an ex-policeman-turned-writer with a severe opium addiction and a propensity to hallucinate at the worst possible moments. Done that? Good. They're our heroes. Fun, right?
GAARD: Imagine you suffer from a disease that, every time you sleep, changes your every fibre; changes your age, your gender, your appearance. You might go to sleep an overweight 6'5 black man, and wake up as a 5'2 stick of an asian girl. Now imagine that you're persecuted by the government for something you can't help. Not good, huh? Well, let's see just how not good it is.
Tom the Widower, Tom the Dollmaker, Tom the...Crazy?: When he lost his wife Juliet, Tom went a little...off the rails. He devoted himself to his art, made more dolls than ever before. He dreamt about her, saw her everywhere he turned, heard her voice in his ear every waking moment. So when he wakes up in the middle of the night to a noise, and goes down to find her wandering round his shop, and the doll of her missing, is it just his imagination, or is something more spiritual at work?
Johnny Five is alive!: He's an android, specifically made to test new personalities. Every day a new personality's loaded into him, every day it's taken out. One day, though, he shows signs of, well, being sentient. Is he truly alive, or is it just a glitch in the matrix?
Fiona MacNair, fake girlfriend extraordinaire. She's a woman who makes her living being other people, faking love and passion and romance for people who need a date, a fake relationship, or something else. So when she gets someone she thinks she might actually fall for, will she keep up the charade, or let her guard down, and be herself for once?
Subject 52: It was a perfect world, a perfect life. He loved her, she loved him. So why did it feel like it wasn't really him, like it wasn't really real? Who was the man in the mirrored room, with the scarred face? Who was the woman who had the voice of his love? Why was he being shoved into different scenarios? What the hell was going on?
Sample:
“Pretty sure a crystal glass ain’t nothin’ like a crystal ball- you won’t find anything in there by lookin’, you know”
I felt her slide in next to me, taking her time to sit in the stool; I felt the warmth of her body, the swell of her breasts brushing against me. I could feel the ice in my glass burning my fingers as the moment stretched on, almost forever. Finally, I wrenched my eyes from the amber liquid, up to the mirror behind the bar. For a moment, steel-blue met steel-blue, and then I looked away, glancing over at her. She was pretty, no doubt about it, but she was young, too; maybe twenty, twenty-five years younger than me. Probably old enough to have her own home, a good job, whatever else- she was maybe mid to late twenties, but to me she might as well have been fresh out of school, for all the good it was going to do. She was far too young for a man of my age, that much was for sure, which meant one of two things- she was either harbouring some serious daddy issues, or her affections were as negotiable as her rates. Either way, I wasn’t in the mood for paying, or playing.
“You don’t want me”, I replied softly, mirror-me talking to mirror-her.
“I’m only bein’ friendly”, she replied, pouting, her voice slipping into a tone that wobbled along the tightrope line between flirty and defensive, somehow making her sound both ridiculously sulky, and utterly sultry, at the same time. It was funny- she almost sounded as though she thought she still had a chance with me.
“You’re lookin’ for a bed-warmer, right?”, I glanced over at her properly, and saw her head bob just a little, though her eyes widened in a perverse parody of innocence, like she knew she’d been caught but still wanted to play anyway. I took a moment to take a sip of my drink, grimacing as it burned my throat, baring my teeth against it for a moment, before replying.“Then you really don’t want me, kid. It’d be like fucking a snowman with an icicle for a cock”.
“Fuck you”, she shot back, but there was no venom in it- it was more like some reflex action brought on by consistent rejection. Her eyes narrowed, though, and her face flushed in anger, and weirdly, it made her look all the sexier. Hell, maybe after a couple divorces and a dozen failed relationships, I’d developed some sort of Pavlovian response to anger; out come the narrowed eyes, up pops the erection. Wouldn’t have surprised me, really. Nothing much did at that point.
After a moment, she slid out of the stool- faster that time, like she couldn’t wait to be away from me- and then she was gone. And there was nothing but me, and the bartender, and the sound of soft music, interrupted by the blades of ceilings fans whirring lazily.
I took another sip of the drink, grimacing again as the booze burned my throat on the way down, frowning at the ice still burning my fingers. I didn’t let go yet, though- just kept on holding that glass in my hand, cradling it as though it were something precious and wonderful. And I guess, in a way, it was, right?
If there's any questions about anything here, please feel free to ask away!
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