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Multiple Settings Adv. Lit | Character Focused | Super Gay | Angsty | Definitely NOT too long for a recruitment thread | That was a lie | I regret nothing

Happiness Transplant

Intimidating and a bit insane...
Light a candle
Clap three times fast
You will summon the high brow spazz
Steel yourself and call him Jazz
As for gender, they are trans
He/they pronouns are a blast
Do you care or dare to dance
A dance of words, a dance of class
A dance with someone who’s mind is mad
Sleep, it’s waning
But no complaining
As a writer, he’s amazing
Often rhymes when he’s campaigning
‘Till they find the rhymes are fading
The cat—it screeches,
Wants some treats and
Don’t you find yourself intrigued
And don’t you want to dance with me?

[m i c d r o p]

Alrighty everybody—grab some snacks and strap yourselves in ‘cause this is a long one.

I can come across quite snooty because I have ultimate confidence in my godly roleplaying skill. I’ve earned it, okay? I can look back and cringe at my old stuff, but it’s been 12 years now, so I’ve got this shit on lock.

That said, don’t be intimidated. I’m harmless. Extremely chill. Not actually snooty.

….just good.

:p

Expect casual OOC and godly IC. Post sample at the bottom to prove it.

I’m a bit of a character, myself—part of a bundle deal with depression, and really dorky in a lame pun dad joke kinda way… seriously, there will be puns. And not a single apology for it, regardless how cringey they may or may not be.

I’m going to preface all this by saying I’m an extremely character focused writer. I tend to really develop my OCs. I’m not expecting you to come to me with a fully developed OC—I’m just giving you a heads up that character dynamics are how I get invested in something, so you have to be capable of heavy character development to mesh with me.

Also—

I’m a complete angst-lord so if you need something fluffy and nice, uh… I’m not your dude. I especially love that slow burn to angsty tortured romance—dysfunctional but intense. And those ones who fucking adore each other but neither will say it aloud, preferring to pretend there isn’t complete fucking adoration there. Maybe if you ignore it hard enough, it’ll start to doubt its own existence and fuck right off. Right?

I like pushing the boundary to the point it’s like, damn, HOW COULD THEY POSSIBLY COME BACK FROM THAT? THE RELATIONSHIP IS RUINED.

And then finding a way to somehow bring them back from that. In some capacity. SOMEHOW.

I love the dark, gritty, psychological things.

I’m not above suggesting a character die or suffer torture or get maimed for the sake of a conflict-ridden arc I have in my head.

A n y w a y —

Lemme offer some deets about me and roleplaying with me.

  • I’m 24, for reference. It… didn’t fit in the poem.

    I do prefer partners be 18+

    I write 3rd person, though tense can be either past or present depending on what feels best for a given post.

    Pairings:
    MxM. NB// ...occasionally MxF. FxF. In order of preference.

    We probably won’t mesh if you only do MxF—I’m sorry, I have nothing against your hetero comfort zone, I just don’t tend to last long in situations where I’m not permitted to be utterly gay as fuck. I require the possibility of the big gay to comfort this gay heart after a long day of heteronormative nonsense.

    I love both romance and platonic character dynamics.

    My OCs:
    Usually cis male. FTM. NB. Femoids happen rarely. Very rarely. 3% of OCs perhaps.
    Queer as fuck.
    Diverse as fuck.

    Post length:
    me excited = novella, many paragraphs, 1k+.
    me absolute smooth brain = 2-3 paragraphs.
    Post length varies (200 - 4k words) based on excitement, motivation, current events in the RP (aka heavy dialogue = usually shorter), and current level of creativity... but I tend to match your energy / effort.

    I’m an advanced literate core with chill execution. I do well with other literate types that throw down when they’re excited, but can forgo the expectation of long post minimums.

    Post frequency:
    haha quality goes brrrrrrrr. *cries in quantity*
    I’m a perfectionist. Correction: I’m a perfectionist IC. I put way too much work in my posts so they can take deadass 8+ hours to write. At least. They’re god-tier. The trade off is I’m fucking slow as shit, even on a good day. Especially if I have multiple RPs.

    I’m active most days chatting and brainstorming OOC, but official posts can be more of a once every week or two thing. The rate tends to increase when I’m motivated / excited— I’ve managed a couple (shorter) posts in a day before— and decrease when I’m the opposite. Rate isn’t consistent. It’ll definitely vary throughout our endeavor.

    OOC and Roleplaying Style:
    I’m a massive nerd for OOC chat. Please join me on discord to talk about random shit, brainstorm stuff, and do stupid impromptu character chats. I love the dumb shit. Inside jokes. Sharing songs and memes that relate to our OCs. Showing off my latest shitty attempt at drawing the OCs. Squealing incoherently about our masterpiece.

    It’s a bit unconventional, but... I greatly prefer talking / brainstorming / spitballing for at least a week or two to get a really solid sense of the characters and their dynamic before starting a thread + first post. I feel like plot comes naturally when two characters have an interesting dynamic, but when it’s just the base start of a plot and two barely developed characters it’s like... speed dating. But stretched out into an uncomfortably long span of time.

    Who the heck is this character? Seriously. Who eVEN IS THIS CHARACTER? Do I like them? Will they mesh with my OC? Is this going to take a nosedive into cringe town? OH GOD. What am I doing here? Is this going to be interesting or a complete waste of time?

    It’s taking the awkward small talk vibe and putting a bunch of effort into it when you could just take a minute and sort it out beforehand so the high effort stuff is actually juicy.

    It’s infuriatingly hard for me to find motivation to write when I’m not invested in the characters, so the norm of jumping in with a first post like 2 hours after first contact lowkey makes me die a little inside. Don’t make me die inside. Friend. Please. Don’t do it.

    It’s my style to brainstorm things in advance vs winging it, and I heavily favor character driven vs plot driven stories. Again, we will not mesh well if you’re the latter. I lose motivation if it’s just plot. Characters are how you get me starry-eyed. Tell me their story, not a story in general.

    wooOoOooOoO:
    I’m 100% down for hiatuses—we all need them sometimes, so no worries. Feel free to hit me up after a hiatus, even if you didn’t give me a heads up. I won’t be a meanie face.

    I have severe depression myself, so I will most definitely retreat back into hermithood at some point. Expect it. If it’s just looking like a day or two of not wanting to talk to anyone, I’m not always great about giving a heads up. I just yeet for that day or two and return. Though I will make a concerted effort to give a heads up if I’m asked. This relates more to OOC.

    I also get busy with work and things, so that’s another reason it’s somewhat common for me to disappear for a day or two.

    As far as IC posts… and OOC brainstorming, for that matter—I need proper hiatuses sometimes when creativity is particularly comatose. For this flavor of hiatus, I’ll definitely let you know. Straight up. Your tamagotchi has potato brain. If we’re buds I’ll still be around to blabber about dumb shit OOC. It just won’t be fresh plot stuff.

    CONFESSION:
    I can get so unbelievably carried away if you let me. BUT ONLY IF YOU LET ME. Please, I’m not intimidating. Don’t be intimidated. I only get out of hand if you get caught up in my pace.

    [can and will hatch plots to get you caught up in my pace]

    *sheepish smile*

    I have a thing for big universe, many character type roleplays. World-building and developing the living shit out of everything is my jam. I had a long term roleplay that had over 50 developed characters. It spanned 2 time skips and about a dozen overreaching arcs—to say nothing of individual character arcs. THERE WERE SPREADSHEETS.

    I have a habit of introducing a regular trickle of “bare bones” “side characters” that I will almost surely get way too attached to.

    I will then develop the living fuck out of them with the explicit goal of manipulating your own attachment before finally realizing my diabolical master plan of pushing them into honorary main character territory.

    “Honorary.”

    Everyone’s the protagonist of their own story.

    This is how we get dozens of main characters in a roleplay. It’s fine. Don’t worry. It means I like you, and besides... I only get out of hand if you get caught up in my pace. You’d have to introduce your own “side characters” to be coaxed towards overdevelopment.

    And you’re not crazy enough to do that. Right?? I’m the only lunatic here!

    Unless…? 0.o

    This is most prominent with Greek myth roleplays. It would be really hard for me to keep it to 1-2 OCs because there’s so much inspiration there. Other things might naturally take a smaller scale, but… it’s still pretty easy for me to get carried away.

    NOTE: I don’t write a separate thing for every character in each post. I treat it more like a multi-main-character chapter book where the POV character shifts every so often… and if there are multiple characters in one place for a scene, I generally keep one POV character and portray what the others are doing from that perspective.

Post Sample:

Note—you do NOT have to read this whole thing. Or any of it, for that matter. It’s my longest post. Which makes it my favorite for showcasing my writing style. You may choose for yourself if you wanna yeet after a paragraph or two or stick it out.

This was an introduction of this character into the roleplay, and we’d planned how it would go down, so they decided to make their post include Mika stumbling upon Amasa in full-blown princess mode before I’d actually written the post of him being in full blown princess mode… so there was a lot of prior things to be covered in my post before reaching the point of intersecting with their post towards the end there. It was a little convoluted at the time, but it all worked out.
It took over an hour of walking and 2 checkpoints before he obtained a meal. It was courtesy of a pub he frequented a few blocks away from his flat—run by people who seemed to care as much as one could care about anything in Asimah. Not much. The whole thing was half-assed, yet somehow overflowing with arrogance. Tired pride. Odd combination. Asimah was full of odd combinations.

The shopkeep was a sight from hell—literally, though they all were in Hades’ realm—a monstrosity in a different life, 7-foot-tall and bulky as fuck, scars covering every inch of his exposed ashy skin. He used to be a warrior—not the type of person you’d expect to be serving you muffins in the early glow of Asimah’s half-light dawn. His name was E’Challa. Irrelevant detail, sure, but Amasa made it a point to know every little bit of irrelevance he could. Maybe that made it relevant somehow.

E’Challa didn’t bat an eye at Amasa’s visible state of disarray, despite the fact he was usually well put together. That was a joke. He usually wasn’t very presentable at all; hence why the shopkeep offered no surprise when the disgraceful rodent wandered in to scrutinize his wares—embellished with far too many rips in his attire and a smattering of grime befitting a chimney sweep. His appearance did him no favors today. It did nothing today except portray him as a disorderly fool. Was it acceptable for God’s attendant to be a disorderly fool? Hades never gave a shit about such things. Would Mika be different? He should know these things. Why didn’t he know these things? What could a few years have done to make his Mika a stranger to him?

Fuck. They could do a lot. They did do a lot.

Maybe he should stop off by his flat to change.

Amasa would likely have been eaten alive by his apprehension in much the same way he’d almost been eaten by rats this morning—but E’Challa was impatient and dragged him out of his mind every time he got a little lost in it. He was quite devoted to the task, honestly. Standing, shifting irritably. Staring at the little shit he towered over. Clearing his throat. Probably imagining no less than three methods of murdering him as he innocently pointed out muffins. The bloodlust was almost palpable as he rumbled out a warning: “Just finish picking the damn muffins, Amasa.” Oh—Five different methods of killing him now. After a few more seconds he finally threatened to throw him out, hungry, on the streets if he didn’t hurry up. He was annoyed. That happened a lot. Seven methods of killing the dwarf.

The benefit of E’Challa waving an axe at his thoughts was markedly short lived—replaced by the heavy drawback of more unease as the muffin-baking bastard appeared to have the intent of waving an axe at his actual person. Amasa didn’t know why a baker would keep a battle axe under his table. Though it made an appearance every time he patron’d the pub, he never had a chance to ask about it. A nervous laugh escaped a nervous smile as Amasa quickly declared he’d gotten what he came for. Truthfully, though, he was entirely unsure how many muffins he’d managed to select. Ah, well. Nothing to be done about it. When E’Challa was that cross after you’d spent a mere two minutes in his shop… it was always best to cut your losses and run.

Leaving a handful of coin on the counter and hauling ass out the door, Amasa set on the familiar path to his flat. It was a small, one room studio largely devoid of possessions—a mattress laying crookedly on the floor was his only piece of furniture and everything else was only what he deemed necessary for basic life. He wasn’t home very often… most nights he slept on the streets or somewhere on the premise of Hades’ castle. Usually in cupboards. It was always fun to inadvertently give someone a scare.

It took about 15 minutes to reach a presentable state. Well, presentable for him. He took a shower—more of a rinse, really—and donned a fresh shirt. A simple cotton tunic, black and open in front, exposing most of his chest as always. He wasn’t going to don his armor today. It was a shoot everyone in the face before they get near you sort of day. Most days were like that. Besides the shower and shirt, he did nothing. It was a half-effort. He wore the same pair of muted pants and mud-crusted boots as before, fastening his belts haphazardly around his waist, his dagger on his thigh, and slinging his quiver, bow, and useless deadweight sword upon his back. Following that, he packed an assortment of things into a leather messenger-style bag that was entirely too large for his small frame. It would take forever to describe the eventual contents of the bag—Amasa’s paranoia was truly a sight to see, and he’d packed everything he thought he might possibly be in need of at some point.

Once satisfied in his preparations and less obvious state of disarray, Amasa ventured back out onto the streets. He had roughly two hours—perhaps a bit less—to get to his post if his plans involved any semblance of punctuality. That would’ve been ample time if it weren’t for one unfortunate detail: he was entirely unsure where Mika lived. Evidently… he’d forgotten to ask before wandering off into the night. He briefly thought of stopping off by the castle and inquiring there, but they would’ve undoubtedly coerced him into doing his former duties… so the thought was dismissed. He didn’t need extra work.

No matter. Everything would work out fine. Probably. He’d just wander around until he noticed someone who might know where Mika lived. It wasn’t a very remarkable plan, but… it was a plan. They couldn’t all be impressive.

After half an hour of indulging his terrible plan with absolutely nothing to show for it, a sound caught his attention. It was an unbearably unpleasant sound. Soul-crushing in every regard. His eyes instinctively darted around, searching for the source, until quickly settling on the black iron gates of a playground.

A young girl, probably nine or ten years old, stood wailing in the gated courtyard. Even from where he stood… she looked like trouble. Sturdy for her size, stocky, not concerned with her feminine charm like the others seemed to be. Wasn’t interested in it. She defied her stature, standing tall even through her outburst. Amasa felt the corner of his mouth upturn just a bit—just a little. After all, one could only smile so much when a child was crying. Adventurous girl, covered in all manner of childhood battle wounds. Bruises. Scraped knees. Calloused hands. She was a fighter. He so loved the little beings with spark.

Surrounding her were a few boys of a similar age… but only one in particular stood out. Their leader. Undoubtedly. He was a bit taller and seemingly a few years older—thirteen, perhaps—and his countenance just dripped arrogance. Amasa wondered how anyone could drip arrogance when they were making a girl cry… but even more than that: his curly hair ruffled up awkwardly in a way that was like a cockerel. Not a scary fighting cockerel, mind you, but one of those fancy little bantam ones with the floof on their heads. It took a special kind of stupid to seep arrogance when you were upsetting a girl and you looked like a floofy midget chicken. How could he manage it? Amasa was almost impressed. Almost.

After turning his attention away from his biased judgement of the boy, it only took a few moments to grasp the situation. Grasp what they had done to inspire blubbering over an innocent game.

The girl wanted to be a fighter because she was a fighter. There was no sense playing at domestics when there was glory to be had. How could she bear to step aside and leave it to the boys? She was just as capable. Spent just as long practicing the sword with a stick. Longer, even. And yet—the boy would not hear of it. You’re a girl, dummy. You have to do what suits you. He wanted her to be the princess. She had to be the princess so he could save her and validate his insufferable ego. He probably liked her. God—why were boys so stupid?

It only took a few seconds of listening to Floof-head belittle this girl before Amasa’s temper stirred enough to matter. It wasn’t even a little bit rational to go tear it up with schoolyard adolescents but—damn—there was no stopping him now. This was bullshit and it would not be allowed to continue.

“Oi, you brats—" Amasa started, owning every bit of his wise old age. He caught the attention of the group and they smirked—completely uncaring about the notion of being chewed out by some adult—but that was where they’d made their mistake. Amasa was an adult in number only. He had no intention of chewing them out; he just wanted their eyes as he approached them. And he put his all into approaching them. Utilizing every bit of his intrinsic speed, he darted towards the fence and vaulted over it in a swift, smooth motion.

The look on the boys’ faces was truly a sight to behold—a sudden transformation from self-satisfaction to shocked horror. They tried to scatter but Amasa was far too quick for them, grabbing Floof-head by his ridiculous floof before he could take even three frenzied steps from his original place. Meanwhile, the girl’s tears had been utterly shocked out of existence, and the other boys froze immediately—unsure how to proceed with their leader detained. Should they leave him and run? No. Loyalty won out today. They would stay, but they would be absolutely no help against the crazy guy who’d come to skin their goats.

Amasa reveled in their terrified looks for a moment, letting them imagine the worst-case scenarios that a man with a sword could engender, before finishing his sentence with a cocky grin: “—your game looks fun,” he said casually, releasing poor Floof-head and smiling bigger as he stumbled backwards, “can I play, too?”

It took several moments for the boys to gather their shattered wits from the dirt below—Floofy in particular, who likely had no idea just how perfectly his open mouth mirrored his wide eyes. Amasa was patient, giving them all the time they needed, until finally one recovered enough to speak. “We—we can’t play,” the boy stuttered, overestimating his confidence just a bit, “because… Annie won’t be the princess.”

The rational thing would’ve been to tell the crazy man to fuck off—at least, that’s what Amasa thought would be rational—but they were too spooked to deny him, apparently. Great. This would be fun. His smile widened even further. Oh, it’s on.

Hearing the news of Annie’s refusal, he raised an eyebrow and relaxed his grin to noticeable surprise—pretend, yes, but convincing nonetheless. His entire countenance had a look to it that completely sided with the boys. A look of questioning. Why would Annie do such a thing? A look of confusion. I have no idea. He donned a face that mirrored the boys’ expressions and lulled them into a false sense of security. Then Amasa’s look departed from theirs, changing into a look of determination. I will find out why. The boys inadvertently found themselves enamored as his eyes darted back and forth from the girl, to Floofy, to each of the other boys, and back to the girl, repeating the motion for several seconds until it finally started making everyone uncomfortable.

He stopped suddenly, looking as though some revelation had been gifted from Apollo himself, and nearly burst out laughing with the excitement of it. “Of course Annie won’t be the princess,” he started, mustering as much playful mockery as he could, “You told her to do what suited her. That doesn’t suit her at all!”

The boys were visibly shocked at this proclamation. It wasn’t one they were expecting, and certainly not one they would’ve come up with themselves, but the crazy man seemed so confident in his words it was hard not believe him. And yet—his words were bordering on insanity. A girl, unsuited to be a princess? Completely unreasonable. It was thoughts such as these that finally inspired little Floofy to recover, and no sooner than two seconds later he was up and ready to pick a fight.

Now, to his credit, Floof-head seemed to realize that Amasa was completely fucking with them. The others were too young to figure it out… but Floofy knew better. He’d owned every bit of his 13 years and he just knew when people were playing him for a fool. So instead of challenging Amasa’s proclamation that Annie was unsuited to be a princess, he took a different approach and proposed that everyone else was even more unsuited to be a princess—after all, none of the boys could possibly do it—so what else was there to do except make the best of an imperfect situation?

Floofy’s comeback boasted both logic and eloquence, and the boy knew it, letting his arrogance show as he adopted his own gratified smirk. He’d won. His argument was so sound it couldn’t possibly be refuted in any rational manner. And frankly, if we’re being honest, even Amasa had to admit he was impressed despite himself.

The boy would’ve won had his opponent been anyone else… but unfortunately, this wasn’t a battle of good sense. Amasa didn’t care for such battles. Logic was rarely his weapon of choice; he preferred foolery. Compassion. Throw enough love and nonsense at something and everything usually worked itself out somehow. It took Amasa a few moments to come up with a countermeasure for Floofy’s admirable rationale, but the moment a cheeky grin once again became the most prominent feature on his face… Floofy knew he was screwed.

“You’re right,” Amasa conceded, “the most suitable person should be the princess.”

This startled Floofy a bit—that smile didn’t seem like a smile of concession. Confused and wary, he pressed for more information. “What d’ya mean?”

“I’m telling you you’re right,” Amasa shot back, clearly having anticipated Floofy’s sorry state. He started to unfasten the belts that held his weapons on his back, continuing his thought as he did so, “The most suitable person should be the princess. That’s me, obviously,” he pointed to his chest, as though that would somehow make his words easier to comprehend, “I’ll be the princess.”

They really should’ve known better than to be surprised at this point, but then again, it was a ridiculous proposal. A grown man acting the fair maiden in a children’s game. Most of the kids were about ready to die in amusement at the thought of it—after they overcame their initial shock, of course—but Floofy was more horrified than anything. He opened his mouth to protest—and it was perfect, it couldn’t have been more perfect—because he opened his mouth right as Amasa was unfastening his sword.

Amasa was not about to miss such a brilliant opportunity. He tightened his grip on the scabbard and allowed his face to darken as he stared down the boy. In a fraction of a moment, his entire continence changed to something befitting an executioner. Even his voice was dark as he practically growled, “Are you planning to tell me… I’m an unsuitable princess…?”

Floofy was not planning to suggest any such thing, apparently. He was simply… concerned… that perhaps he didn’t quite look the part—you know, at present.

Even with that milder version of what he really wanted to say, the poor boy was still noticeably spooked, undoubtedly worried what that sword and its wielder might do to him. Amasa could’ve continued with the farce, but he wasn’t one for scaring children too terribly, even somewhat shitty ones like Floof-head. As such, his demeanor brightened so fast that one could question the prior darkness as a trick of the light, and he practically giggled his response: “Well, of course not! I haven’t done my hair.”

In all honesty, making him look the part was hardly a challenge. It took nearly no coaxing at all to get Annie and the boys, save Floofy, to help him with the task. Within minutes he’d gained the help of every curious child in the vicinity. Amasa fashioned a makeshift dress out of his cloak, wrapping it around himself as gracefully as he could manage, and the children brought him flowers to weave into his hair. That was the most difficult part of it—the flowers—as he wasn’t exactly experienced in the art of adorning one’s hair like a maiden… but luckily, some older girls happened by and kindly lent their aid. They even taught him the technique so he could do for himself in future.

In the end, he was a perfectly acceptable princess. His small frame served him well. Of course, the patch of hair on his chin threw everyone off a little—but he just laughed it off and said it added character… and who could argue with that?

At this point, the children were completely satisfied: the mere act of turning a man into a princess had become a story—a legend—that they’d boast about for years to come. Yet… Amasa wasn’t finished. He had every intent of playing the part. After all, he went through all the trouble of becoming a maiden—he’d be damned if he didn’t follow through to the end.

He was pretty sure it was a proverb of some sort. If you’re gonna be princess, you’d best be the greatest fucking princess you can be. Yep. It was most certainly a proverb.

So Amasa took his role more seriously than anyone; he put everything he had into it, as was his nature. It became a sort of game inside of a game. Because the kids couldn’t contain their laughter every time they caught sight of him, they adopted a challenge to see who could go the longest without laughing... and Amasa was sure to make it difficult for them.

Eventually, even Floofy softened up and joined the fun. He ended up being a knight, fighting alongside Annie, trying and failing to save Amasa from all the creatures and trouble he’d managed to get into. If you’d asked, not one of them would’ve been able to tell you how long they’d been at it. Longer than two hours, at least… and that spelled trouble for Amasa. He knew it, too, but somehow ignoring his duties completely and hoping for the best seemed preferable to the original plan—focusing as hard as he could on his duties, but not actually doing them, and obviously hoping for the best despite that. The outcome would likely be the same no matter which path he followed, so… might as well put off his worry until the last possible moment.

Unsurprisingly, Amasa didn’t want to face the moment when it finally came, but the moment itself was pretty damn tangible when Mika appeared like fucking Satan out of nowhere. The fucker snuck up on him. Not literally, of course, but Amasa wasn’t prepared and it felt like the bastard had fucking snuck up on him.

His presence was announced very awkwardly by the loud clamoring of iron as he shut the gate with about as much grace as a child learning to walk. It offered a stark contrast to Amasa’s own entrance earlier in the morning which, frankly, was cooler in just about every aspect… but Mika had done just as remarkable a job of getting everyone’s attention. Time seemed to stop as they all stared at him, wide-eyed and dazed, as though a nightmare had just encroached upon their collective dream.

At this point, Amasa had not yet succumbed to his nervousness—he was keeping it together somehow. Removing himself from the situation. Making up all these little stories in his head so he could observe any happenings while pretending he wasn’t actually a part of them. It wouldn’t last for long, but… it gave him a bit of a foundation in the meantime. A foundation that cracked a bit with every move Mika made, but a foundation nonetheless.

It was fine. No matter. Everything was going to be okay. Yes, he had totally failed his duties as an attendant. And yes—it was already well into mid-morning at this point. Maybe even early afternoon. Sure, Mika’s entire demeanor was rigid and uncomfortable and the feeling of it radiating off him was already threatening to devour Amasa’s soul. But dammit, everything was going to be fine.

Absolutely. Fine.

Absolutely fine, except for the nervous laugh that just escaped his person.

Fine, absolutely.

Oh God—he was losing it.

As much as he was starting to freak out internally, the ridiculousness of the situation helped keep him together. There was a certain surrealness to it. Amasa would’ve loved to know what exactly was going through Mika’s mind when he stumbled across him in full-blown princess mode. There was kind of a clumsiness to it—like an older brother walking in on you doing something that you knew neither of you would ever forget… but also would probably never speak of or acknowledge again.

Or even acknowledge in the first place, if Mika had anything to say about it.

“Chamberlain, we need to get a move on. We are hours late on the journey. Is... that all you’re bringing?”

Yes, Mika. I’m going on the journey as a fucking princess. All I need is my dress and fabulous hair.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d stared silently at Mika after being addressed. It had to have been quite some time, though, because Amasa couldn’t figure out anything to say in response. Everything in his mind was some sort of defensive insult… and he wasn’t near stupid enough to say such things.

He was spiraling. Mika was a stranger him—there was no denying that, and looking at this strange Mika and trying to get a feel for him was maddening. Who the hell was Mika? Mika was as formal as a VIP black-tie gala in the good side of town. Stiffer than some poor bastard with tetanus. More painfully uncomfortable than explaining to Jonny that he would likely die by the morrow. And blank. So blank. Practically expressionless. Like he was some sort of porcelain doll they’d painted for a horror film. He was the fucking antithesis of Amasa. The nemesis of his attempts to keep his shit together. Mika was the thing buttering his fingers when he was trying to keep hold of soap in a waterfall.

In the end, he couldn’t think of anything to say… but the kids had started to save him. They’d realized that this guy had come to end their fun and more than a few had started to whine about it. Good. He could work with this. He could use the ridiculous energy to give him one last push before he was becalmed in nervous awkwardness—alone with Mika, the sea monster, who bludgeoned sailors with his evil monotone feelings.

Snapping his fingers and pointing to Mika was his only response—giving him a look that sort of vaguely implied acknowledgement and something like I’ve got this, just give me a minute.

He immediately burst out in narration for the kids, who were only slightly surprised, having thought that Mika’s presence had ended the game, but at the same time knowing Amasa well enough to expect such a thing. “Though the knights and townsfolk had fought valiantly… some stories don’t have happy endings,” he said ominously, quietly, but gaining momentum and speaking quicker with every new word: “The dawn’s light hit the moonstone and everyone fell silent—deadly silent. Had it been enough? Was the curse broken? No one knew. They stared at the princess. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting more—they’d done it. Hadn’t they? They must’ve. OH—” Unfastening the knot of his cloak to unravel his ‘dress’ in an impressively quick motion, and just as smoothly replacing it, hood obscuring his face, as it was meant to be worn, he spoke the next words with frantic despair, voice breaking, “they watched in horror as the curse took hold, and the princess, once kind and fair, turned into something grotesque—a specter of death! Fingers like talons reached out to the crowd, searching for victims—”

He darted towards the awed children, talons outstretched, having the goal of amusing them while also gathering his things. Upon grabbing each weapon, he refastened their respective belts within a matter of seconds—he was used to going from unarmed to battle ready in less than a minute after being Chamberlain to an impatient Hades—and offered description to tie it into the story. The specter got stronger with each new victim she claimed, gaining weapons forged from the souls of her prey. A sword. A bow. Arrows. But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part came last: a bloodied bag hung from the specter’s side, containing the severed heads of every kill, conscious and suffering for all eternity.

Once he’d finished gathering his things, he drew back the hood of his cloak and smiled amusedly. “Look what happened! You lot were the worst knights ever,” he teased, “I’m goin’ to find a better one.” He bobbed his head around as though looking for an alternative, and quickly settled his gaze on Mika. He didn’t look directly at his face, more just vaguely at his person, as he wasn’t ready to be completely infected by his tense energy quite yet. He motioned to Mika, “Oh! That one looks good. Strong, don’t ya think?” Amasa had every intention to poke fun at the kids until the last possible moment, so he walked backwards towards Mika and stuck out a childish tongue at Floofy, directing a playful dig at his pride: “I’m sure he would’ve saved me.”

Floofy knew better than to take anything out of Amasa’s mouth seriously—he’d learned his lesson—but he still wanted to respond to the jab. If only to have one chance at winning, at putting him in his place. So he picked up a stone and hurled it at Amasa… which caused him to learn another lesson.

Every attack against Amasa inadvertently becomes fuel for his playful non-attack attacks at you.

Catching the stone mid-flight and releasing a half-laugh, Amasa raised an eyebrow at Floofy as he continued to back away. “Well shit, you’re rubbish at throwin’, too. Oi! Maybe Annie could train you,” he held out his arm and dropped the stone, something akin to dropping a mic, and switched to a more threatening tone as he purred out half an ultimatum and a promise… “You’d best have the arm of Hercules before I get back.”

With that, everyone was satisfied with the exchange. The game hadn’t trailed off in the middle of a sentence after all, and better still… Amasa had promised to come back someday. Whether or not he would ever find himself able to keep that promise was mostly up to fate, but Amasa seemed like the type of person who’d defy the very fabric of reality to keep his promises. The kids trusted him. And that was something, too, because orphans were usually the least trusting people you’d ever find.

The kids started to scatter and Amasa whipped around to face the other direction, expecting that he was probably close to Mika at this point. He was close. Very close. Much closer than he thought and it startled him half to death. Being within two or three feet of Mika’s miserable visage wasn’t something he was prepared for, and the shock was so sudden he couldn’t help himself. He had a moment of fight or flight and leapt backwards as quick as he could. It looked bizarre. He basically dodged Mika’s demeanor as though he’d had physical tentacles squirming out of him. He’d released a subconscious screech, too, because why the fuck not? It wasn’t exactly a scream… more of a clearly freaked out uhahhhwahh that you’d say when something gross was almost touching you and you didn’t know if you could avoid it so… you just let your horror manifest in a sound.

It didn’t even take half a second for him to regret this reaction—he hadn’t even landed his dodge and he was already regretting it. True, there was nothing he could’ve done to avoid it… but that didn’t stop him from wanting to take it back. Mika would know just how spooked he was of him. What would his reaction be? Nothing pleasant, probably. Shit. Amasa was officially becalmed in a sea of nervous awkwardness.

Staring at Mika and entirely unsure what to do with himself, all he could do was laugh. A small laugh, panicky, and expressing his nervousness even more clearly than the dodging debacle of a second prior. He motioned towards the gate, wordlessly saying that he was ready to leave at any point.
 

sailorsdelight

face like a twisted tree root
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hello!! it's super late where i'm at but i DID read through this and i am v v intrigued! i'm a fantasy and/or historical(ish) pal myself, and love getting overattached to characters.

ok i'm gonna send this out before i pass out, hopefully remember by tomorrow and like, actually take a gander through the OC info. but yes, stating my interest here at least!
 

FaddedFox

"Kadan. It means Beloved" - Iron Bull (Dragon Age)
Kind of like sailorsdelight above, super late for me and work coming up soon but wanted to say that your post made me super excited! I read through it but I think I need to read some of the ideas and characters again when I don't have a blaring headache and can really offer you some info about myself, and post and everything else.
 

sailorsdelight

face like a twisted tree root
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OKAY now that it is a more decent time!

hello hello, i am 25 and a he/they, i am currently deep in an obsession of boat shows that deconstruct myths, the english empire, and masculinity [peace]. call me Bo or Sea or Sailor!

I genuinely love the whole tone you're putting forward here. so!! i'm still getting back in the saddle of roleplaying after a year and some change away, but i like to think of myself as a fairly competent writer! i'm also a big fan of twiddling and developing my characters - i can't really do it in a vacuum? i need some kind of structure/world to build off of, but i can just as easily have a barebones one and build them proper later, after plotting and such.

as mentioned, big fan of fantasy (any kind! high, steampunk, low, modern, more towards the supernatural spectrum), and historical (i'm also not a historian; i can sometimes fall into research holes, and get needlessly hung up on whether a tiny detail is accurate like a turn of phrase or a food, but i only ever turn that towards myself. not my partner: as long as they have a decent idea of the period and don't get too ahistorical/anachronistic, i'm cool!). i'm not that big on angels and demons? but i could be convinced, i'm sure!

my biggest weakness is probably coming up with plots, but i love bouncing off of my partner as soon as we get the ball rolling.

that's me? i think? good to meet ya
 
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FaddedFox

"Kadan. It means Beloved" - Iron Bull (Dragon Age)
Hello again~

Okay so about me, I am 29 (Gods where has the time gone...) and don't generally disclose gender openly on the internet. (I've had issues before...) Besides, who doesn't like a guessing game?

Anyway.

I love adding psychology, sociology, dark themes, character growth, fantasy and romance (depending on how characters interact) into role-plays. I don't hold punches back on characters. Without pain and strife, you don't get a good story or character development! So I am really excited about a world that puts up challenges for characters to overcome or fail and see how they react to things, as well as having a good plot so I like to add and explore things in the world. I am happy with adding multiple characters (that end up main characters somehow? I tend to get attached to characters I thought were originally side npcs... it's fun!). So I think we could do something fun and mesh well! I also like ooc chat about characters, plots etc. I would love to see pictures you draw of the characters! I can't draw lol.

It has been a very long time since I've had a role-play partner that I could write long posts with so I am a little out of practice but if you don't mind me warming up to it again, I am very interested! I am new to this site so don't have a lot of posts, but you can check out some of my writing in the following links (my username is still FaddedFox.

A character profile >> ignore the formatting issues, a lot of stuff on this site broke and it destroyed the coding.

my Character is Aedan >> a sample of some posts for one of the rps I did a few years ago.

I'd be happy to plot something with you and see if you're still interested in role-playing with me. :)
 

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