Multiple Settings Long-term, Detailed, Character-Focused, Quality>Quantity, Overreaching Themes, Literary Devices. Have I seduced you yet? Good. Befriend me.

[Happiness Transplant]

-Introduction-​

Hey... so, uh... just a little FYI... this is a really long post. I used BBCode to hide the extents of it so you don't know what you're getting yourself into, but... that's not really fair, so... um... it's over 23k words. It was like 50 pages when I typed it out in the word document... so you might just want to skip this if you're more of a "Casual Chad" sort of roleplayer. Otherwise... I recommend getting some snacks. Stay hydrated. Pace yourself. See—it’s shit like this that made this so long. I’m sorry. You have to read all of it if you want to hit it off with me. Maybe take some breaks? I don’t know. Good luck. If you expect daily posts just… just run away now. Good luck.

Hello. I’m Mahdi. I’m an INFJ… so there’s that. If you don’t know what that means, well—I’m basically a mythical creature that’s composed entirely of paradoxes and good intent. My super powers are intuitively knowing things and feeling other people’s emotions more intensely than they do. Yay!

I’m intimidating. I get abandoned a lot. It’s dreadful. I’m trying to avoid that—really, I’m going to make it my mission to write the scariest recruitment thread in existence. I’ll scare you all off now so I don’t accidentally scare you away later. Fear me, dammit! Every last one of you better be trembling in your boots at the end of this. I mean it. All of you! I’m going to tell you a story—a scary story, like a ghost story, but it’s true and it actually happened so it’s really essentially a very scary story.

My words are so unquestionably brilliant that they take on a life of their own. It’s terrifying. They become sirens. Have you ever heard a siren’s song? I presume not... as all who hear their cloying tune fall swiftly, quietly to their doom. I’ve had a lot of partners. They were all entranced by the sirens’ song. They were good people. We had some nice chats.

They’re all dead now.

That’s the story.

Well… I’m not entirely sure if they’re actually dead. They disappeared. Balance of probability suggests that they were eaten by sirens… and I’m pretty sure the same thing will happen to you. Yet still, I remain somewhat hopeful that one or two brave souls will attest immunity to the perilous creatures that curse me to endure this solitude. I don’t know why I still cling to this optimistic nonsense in the face of such… despair. It’s ridiculous. I wish it wasn’t ridiculous.

I’m not going to start a roleplay with someone simply because they express interest. I’m going to expose the very depths of my soul to you—the good and the bad, but mostly the bad—and if you want to collaborate with me you’re going to have to befriend me first. That’s going to take some effort on your part. It’ll take effort on my part, too—but that’s not the problem. I’ve always worked hard for your affections. I’m not afraid of the dark. It exists within me; I am the dark. It’s you who must disprove cowardice in the face of me.

I’m looking for a handful of partners… but I’m going to do everything I can to make myself seem as unappealing as possible. I’ve been around the block more than a few times, to be honest, and I now find myself weary of the momentary companionship that pops in and out like fucking roleplay wack-a-mole. Look—I’m done with that nonsense… so I’m doing things differently. I’m only interested in the sort of roleplaying partnership that lasts for years—you know, the ones where people communicate and adapt and take breaks and return instead of running away in silence and pretending the whole thing never happened.

That sort of thing is hard to come by the way things are now.

This is how it’s going to go down. For many of you… I’m going to be your worst nightmare. You’ll run away and never look back. And that’s good. I’m glad, really. It saves me a lot of trouble. I want you to run away if you think for a mere second that you should. At the end this, though… a precious few of you will remain—trembling in some mixture of fear and excitement—unable to tear your gaze away from the anomalous creature you’ve found. And you’ll step forward. Reach out your hand. Resign yourself to patience as you begin the task of earning my fingers interlocked in yours.

I’m sorry if I intimidate you, but I’m no longer willing to alter my writing to better suit your comfort level. You need to be comfortable with your ability to roleplay with me the way I am. If you’re not, well—I don’t care how much you love my writing or ideas. I told you my words become sirens. Don’t let them tempt you to your doom. You’ll just get overwhelmed and run away anyway, so please spare yourself the effort and me the emotional turmoil of befriending a ghost.

I have a ton of flaws and way too much self-confidence to let most people make me feel bad about that… although I do slip up sometimes. I think there’s something in the building blocks of humanity that makes even the most impregnable minds suffer a pestilence of self-doubt. And my mind is far from impregnable. I care too much about people. Their feelings. I love too openly to protect myself from each wayward abuse or disapproving stare.

Let’s see… how to scare you? I’m blunt. I have little patience for skirting around problems—I’d rather face them and be done with it than endure any length of time with shadows lurking in the corner. I will communicate openly and honestly as best I can. I ask the same of you. Truth prevails over any ego, even mine. Discomfort really does make us stronger in the end. Most times. I’m adventurous. I don’t have many boundaries. I don’t like being boxed in by steep margins. In truth, I demand complete creative freedom to do whatever the hell I want. I offer the same curtesy to you in return. When I look at the world, my eyes are drawn to all the dark corners… but I choose to focus on the good in everything despite that. I can get dirty and explore the darkest parts of humanity—and I don’t know when to stop because I can always see a bit of light in everything no matter how irredeemable it may seem to everyone else.

I have a weird paradoxical personality that’s hard to understand.

I don’t reply quickly. I’m likely the slowest writer in existence. I often mistake myself for batman and disappear for several days or weeks. I’m working on that habit… but when a person suddenly believes they’re batman, well—there’s not much to be done, is there? I often write massive posts with high levels of detail. Sometimes I get excited and fail to adequately translate my thoughts into something easy to understand. That largely terrifies people. I strongly believe that my own well-being and mental health are more important than fulfilling obligations to assorted people on the internet—and I encourage my partners to feel the same. I don’t like pressure. I like flexibility and understanding. I’d rather be 100% accepting and keep my relationship with you than implement unwavering expectations that cause you to disappear when you can no longer meet them.

Bottom line: if you’re tolerant of me and my habits, I’ll gladly extend the same acceptance to you. I have no intention of making you feel pressured. If you start to feel pressured, well—that’s on you. Not me. Communicate your distress and I’ll happily do my best to work out a solution. And if it doesn’t work out… that’s fine. We can part ways amicably. I don’t mind ditching, honestly. It’s reasonable. If a person or a roleplay is affecting you that negatively—you should ditch. I’ve personally ran away from dozens of roleplays. Is that terrible? You bet your ass. Am I proud of it? No. I don’t generally self-identify as an asshole. Has karma adequately balanced the scales of my poor life choices? God, I hope so.

I have ditched. I will continue to ditch. But I no longer ditch without a word. Ever. So please give me at least a single word of farewell before you go. I don’t require an explanation or justification or anything. A single word—goodbye—sent as a PM would do me. I don’t hate you for ditching. I hate you for ditching wordlessly.

My goodness—why is she focusing so much on ditching?

I’ll tell you why. I’ve been roleplaying for over 9 years, and over that span of time I’ve only had 8 roleplays last long enough to be deemed successful. 8 roleplays. That’s terrible. I mean, sure—they were super amazing and rewarding roleplays, but if I really think back to all the roleplays I’ve been in and try to ballpark an estimate for the entire 9 years—I’m looking at roughly a 94% mortality rate. That’s dreadful. And you know what? It’s common. Even worse—I’ve never had a single person inform me of their intent to ditch. They always just disappeared. If I’m really exceedingly generous and say I ditched half of the failed roleplays and my partners ditched the other half… that’s still over 50 separate people that wordlessly abandoned me. Do you really want to judge me for making a big deal about that?

I may not be the definition of self-control, but I’m certainly a footnote. You really have nothing to fear. I’m not going to be upset. I’m not going to fling mean words at you, and that’s the worst thing I even have the option of doing. Just be a brave person. Tell someone who finds ditching entirely acceptable that you’re ditching her. If you can’t manage that—well, at least your cowardice is outstanding.

I know. That was savage. Psh. That’s why I’m a footnote instead of a definition. Rest assured I don’t make a habit of such savagery. You’re fine, really. It’s okay. I’m just being playful. It’s not directed at anyone!

…at least, not to your knowledge.

• prelude to the depths of my soul
• expectations
• content
• into the depths: my reason for writing
• it's called method writing
• not actually a control freak + brainstorming
• writing sample: Kingdom
• writing sample: descriptive
• character: Executioner Amasa
• Roleplay Proposal: Ascension

• 
  Writing is important to me, okay? It means something. It means something. I’m not just putting words on paper because it’s fun—it is fun, generally, but it can be painful too. I’m taking pieces of myself and nailing them to an empty wall. Some people look at it and they just see a monstrosity—remnants of a massacre… of many massacres that happened long ago. And that’s true. My words are remnants of massacres. They are broken and healing and scarred pieces of myself. It’s not wrong when that’s all people see. I don’t mind when that’s all people see—because that means they’re seeing something. Some echo of truth and authenticity….
  
  …But some people don’t see anything at all. They see black smudges on paper. Not even that. Discolored pixels on a screen. Barely tangible. They don’t see the meaning behind it all. The unpleasant expense of turning oneself into a frag grenade for the sake of… literary expression. Or maybe just expression. Understanding, perhaps. Attempts to understand. Attempts to be understood. Attempts to help others understand. They don’t see any of that. Can you believe it? It’s just a game to them. And maybe it is a game—sure, maybe it is a fun little game. But it’s not just a game. It’s more than that. Maybe not for everyone—maybe not every word—but for some of the people and some of the words… there’s more to it than that.
  
  I am putting my heart in your hands. Beating. Bruised. Covered only by a thin, tattered veil of metaphor and disassociation. It sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Maybe it is stupid. I never really knew how to exist any other way. I always felt as though the depths of my soul, my consciousness, my very being were too murky, too unfathomable for anyone to explore or understand. Even myself. I always thought everyone else seemed so frivolous in comparison. It’s like an aquarium. They were somehow permitted on the right side of the glass and I was stuck behind it—with all the dangerous things that hurt fragile things such as myself and the gallons upon gallons of water that pressured me to stay there. I couldn’t exist on the correct side. It was too shallow there. I couldn’t breathe. I tried—I tried so hard—but I could never manage much more than silence and a few breathless, futile attempts at connection.
  
  It wasn’t possible. You can’t go from nothing to something in the blink of an eye. You can’t expect a warm reception when you pull a thrashing heart from your chest and thrust it towards a new acquaintance. Any sane person would give you little more than a look of horror. Unless, of course, they didn’t realize what you were doing. Then the horror would be postponed until the realization hit.
  
  Yet here I remain, obstinate, capable of nothing outside indifference or devotion. It’s always all or nothing. I don’t understand the in-between. It doesn’t make sense. I know what I want but I’m witless how to obtain it. Am I really the only one? I can’t be. There must be others. Surely an exchange of hearts between two kindred souls isn’t a belligerent possibility. It could work out somehow, couldn’t it?
  
  Anything that isn’t strong enough to break you isn’t important enough to matter. That’s how I always saw it. I don’t want to be the person with the strongest walls. I want to be the person who picks themselves up. Dusts off their bruised heart and parades it proudly through the streets of life—again and again—as many times as it takes. I am not a phoenix. I do not have the luxury of radiant rebirth, better than before. I’m only human. Just an ordinary human. I’m fragile. I break. The bastards will never stop trying to grind me down. There will always be bastards that succeed. And I alone have held the power to repair myself. I do it diligently. I have to. I have only one shot at this life. But someday… it’ll be different.
  
  No one has ever wanted my heart in their hands. But someday someone will. And it’ll change me. And that’s the greatest feeling I can think of—because whether or not the change is good… I can guarantee you there will be good moments amidst the mess I throw myself into… and life is nothing but a collection of moments. All I can do is seek the good despite the bad.
  
  If in my span of limited moments I must endure horrors in payment for wonders…so be it.
  
  
• 
  As it stands, you have little concept of the amount of effort I put into roleplaying. I’ll do my best to make one thing abundantly clear: I devote the entirety of my being to it. If you’re not passionate about writing, my overwhelming intensity is liable to constrict you like a scratchy blanket of fear and futility.
  
  I’ll tell you exactly what writing means to me in a minute, but for now… just know that I take it very seriously. I’m not exaggerating when I say I devote myself to it. My posts go through 5+ drafts. I proofread dozens of times. I’ve spent upwards of 28 hours on a single post. Most tend to take me a solid 8-9 hours at least. I pay attention to how specific words affect the mood and tone of my posts. I think about how my words and sentences flow together. I constantly rework things to have a smoother rhythm or pace. Or a more disjointed one, if that’s what I’m going for. I’m deliberately considering things like driving forces, overreaching themes, interpersonal conflicts, introducing tension, and mirroring a character’s state of mind with writing style. I love literary devices. I use them constantly. Basically… I put an insane amount of thought into everything I write.
  
  Advanced + Literate:
  
  By this point… you’ve probably surmised that I’m part of the literate club. It’s true. I’m one of those grammar freaks that notice pretty much every mistake you make… but I do bend the rules. I use a lot of sentence fragments. Run-on sentences. I occasionally delete or purposely misplace commas to affect how you read something. Don’t worry—it’s rare for me to get that crazy. I fully expect my partners to have good grammar, but I also don’t want you to freak out about it. Don’t change your writing style for my sake. That’s a terrible idea. I don’t care about stylistic rule-bending. You can get creative and do what you will with sentence structure.
  
  Proofread your posts. Multiple times if that’s what it takes. Use the correct form of homophones like (there/their/they’re). Avoid misspelling things. Capitalize the first word of your sentences and words like (I/I’m/I’ve). Don’t throw commas in utterly ridiculous places. This is basic stuff. There’s no excuse for butchering these things. Occasional mistakes are okay, but if you regularly drop the ball… well, don’t even bother reaching out to me. Spare me the awkward “I’m ditching you” conversation. It isn’t fair for you to torment me with easily avoidable mistakes after I’ve spent 15 hours working on a post. That’s lazy and absurd and I’ll hate you.
  
  I don’t care if you’re silly or have a completely different writing style when you type OOC—I can be like that. I’m ridiculous OOC. But I still expect you to be mindful of those basic things I just listed.
  
  And now for a moment of savagery that I would never actually say:
  
  Well, this is awkward. I’m just going to say it. Witnessing the violent abuse of the English language in your posts makes me die a little inside—and you’ve killed so many little pieces of me at this point that there’s no longer a living person left here to roleplay with you. I would apologize, but really that’s your line—I’m the one who was just murdered, after all.
  
  Why do I put these little snippets of savagery in here? Well, you can thank one of my characters for that. That’s James. He’s a bit of a little shit. You know—mass murderer for a cause. Brimming with wit, though. He’ll make a proper appearance later. Much later. Presumably several weeks from now. He'll be the next OC in this post.
  
  Writing Style:
  
  My writing style is often reminiscent of prose poetry. I use a lot of metaphors. Imagery. Repetition. As I said before, I put a lot of thought into specific words and the flow of everything… so it usually ends up having a poetic feeling to it. People always seem to like it. Must be doing something right, yeah?
  
  I’m a psychological writer. I write in third person, but the content is what you’d expect to see in first person since it’s so focused on my characters’ inner world. Their thoughts and emotions. The writing sample for Kingdom is a good indication of this—but that post is about 4 years old now, so I have evolved a bit. I’m much more descriptive when it comes to actions and surroundings, nowadays, but I’ll still only describe something if it’s necessary or important somehow. I tend to be a bit philosophical. Everything means something. Everything. There’s always central themes and hidden meanings intertwined in my characters and stories.
  
  Generally… I won’t tell you the moon is shining. I might show you the glint of light on broken glass if it’s relevant… but I’ll always detail how Jason is currently losing half a liter of blood due to his own stupidity—and how upset he is because that shard of glass imbedded in his heel will probably give him tetanus, an infection—or dammit, maybe even rabies. And there’ll be a generous ration of little hints about an underlying theme that states paranoia is often more damaging than anything a person may face in actual reality.
  
  I have one consistent writing style that I absolutely adore and tend to use most of the time, but I do have variations. I like to change the aura of my entire post based on my character’s personality or mental state. It’s like a spectrum—one end is extremely ornate with long strings of complex sentences and lots of adjectives and descriptions for everything… it’s kind of impersonal or matter-of-fact… like a narrator in a storybook. The other end is choppy with lots of sentence fragments and less adjectives or descriptions of things—it’s completely character-focused and doesn’t really take the outside world into account. It’s ridiculously personal. Like a direct relay of my character’s mind.
  
  I’ll find a suitable style between these two extremes depending on what I’m going for. My default style is roughly in the middle—maybe a little closer to the choppy end. [Prelude to the depths of my soul] is written in a first-person version of my default writing style.
  
  Generally, the more distressed or insane my character is, the less I’ll make note of details or indulge in poetic eloquence. I’ll try to include a few different writing samples to demonstrate this… but I don’t know how well that’ll work out. My primary roleplaying forums are dead now, and I wiped my hard drive for a clean slate, so… I don’t have a ton of examples handy… and the ones I do have are a bit outdated because they’re from the 8 roleplays I kept some posts from. I’ll do my best.
  
  ((The samples I included are 4 and 6-1/2 years old, respectively, but I revised parts of them to better reflect my current writing style.. so between that and reading how I write throughout this whole massive post... well, you should be able to figure out if you like my style or not.))
  Post Frequency:
  
  Just a warning: this is going to sound completely dreadful. I’m not going to hold anything back. Not only am I extremely slow to reply—I can’t guarantee regular intervals between posts, either.
  
  I’m a full-time college student. 15+ credit hours in fall and winter semesters. Maximum load in spring and summer semesters—and damn, it’s hard to do 15 weeks of work in 7 weeks. I’m buried in homework. Currently doing prerequisites and general education requirements under pre-nursing. Working towards a BSN. That means I have to shoot for something close to a 4.0 to compete for admission into the nursing program. I also work part-time, and I’m planning to join 2 extracurriculars in September. I have to join the nursing club because that’s expected… but I’m also really interested in joining a sorority, but you know… I have to feel that out and see if I can manage the time commitment with everything else. I also have Netflix and Hulu and Amazon Video to distract me. It’s safe to assume I’m a reasonably busy person.
  
  I’m going to do my absolute best, but you really shouldn’t even expect weekly posts from me. I’m busy, and my posts take hours to write, so it takes me several sittings to get anything done. Occasionally, I somehow manage several posts a day or a short burst of daily posts. At worst, you could go 3 months without a post. Temporary hiatuses can happen with me. Basically… my response time is erratic and varies greatly. I also play favorites—I have to go where inspiration leads me—so please don’t be upset if you see one roleplay getting 2 replies a week while another one has to wait 5 weeks for a single one.
  
  There’s two options. I could be an asshole and write consistent posts for one roleplay while “ignoring” the others… or I could be a decent person and stare at a blank screen for 6 hours until I’m forced to ignore all the roleplays because my heart is in the right place. Come on now—I’m going to do the logical thing and be an asshole.
  
  I’m planning on releasing status updates constantly. Don’t worry—I’m not just going to leave you hanging for 3 months. You’ll know what I’m actively working on and what I’m postponing. I’ll also probably have a section of this thread that I devote to a series of progress bars and updates for each of the roleplays I’m in. That way you’ll have something more detailed than “Currently working on replies for X and Y, won’t be finished today, but I hope to post Y on Tuesday,” or “The reply for Z is hissing violently in the corner and refuses to make an appearance this week.”
  
  If you roleplay with me on a different platform—not on RPN—I’ll just talk to you directly about that stuff. “Working on it—but I’m stuck on this one bit that I just can’t seem to smooth out… I might have it done in a week or so.” “This motherfucking ENG 111 course is kicking my ass—I can’t do this right now, man. Mini hiatus until I finish essay 5 in two weeks?”
  
  Note: please don’t send out search parties or pester me to post quicker. I’m not one of those people that lose track of roleplays or forget about posts. I’m not even sure how people manage to do that. I have spreadsheets, sticky notes, and a 4-foot whiteboard at my disposal. I’m a grown-ass woman who can keep track of herself. I know exactly what I need to reply to… but I’m a quality>quantity type of person with little time, and I can only post when I’m able to arrange sporadic pieces of word vomit into something appealing. If this bothers you, well, don’t bother with me.
  
  If you pester me, I can pretty much guarantee that whatever it is you’re pestering me about is going to be reprioritized to the bottom of the list. If you pester me repeatedly, I can pretty much guarantee that we’re going to have an awkward conversation about you pressuring me and that leading to a decision to ditch you.
  
  I’m unhurried most of the time and I don’t mind if my partners share that attitude. I said in the beginning, didn’t I? Our long-term relationship is more important to me than unwavering expectations.
  
  Post Length:
  
  Fair warning: I’m predisposed to writing novella-length posts. 2500 words or 15-16 paragraph posts are far from preposterous to me—but they’re not sustainable long-term. It’s hard to do anything dialogue or interaction heavy with posts that lengthy…. so I do write posts as short as 3 paragraphs when the situation calls for it. This is what I tell people: post length is highly situational, but I do have an acceptable range you must be comfortable with. I basically end up writing whatever feels right in that particular moment… and I need to know that my partner will be comfortable with that and able to appropriately respond. I don’t think we need concern ourselves with matching the length of the previous post—just because one character had a lot to say or do in that moment doesn’t mean the other one does—but everything needs to mesh together well and it can’t turn into a situation where one person is constantly posting longer/more detailed posts than the other. That isn’t healthy.
  
  I like people who like longer posts but are comfortable writing shorter posts when needed.
  
  If you think you’ll give me anything even close to a one-liner… holy shit—get out now. I can’t believe you even read this far… I mean… we’re practically from different planets.
  
  My absolute minimum is 3-4 solid paragraphs. That’s probably somewhere around 300-500 words. That’s when we’re doing a lot of back-and forth with extremely heavy dialogue and interaction. You can equate 3 paragraphs in a roleplay with me to 4-5 sentences in a roleplay with someone else. It’s extremely casual. I don’t usually commit to roleplays with an expectation that most posts will be this length. I mean, don’t get me wrong—this is a length that roleplays naturally fall into quite frequently, and I write them a lot, but… if a 4 paragraph post is the extent of your comfort level… well, basically… run. These take me somewhere between 2-6 hours to write, so if the stars align I can sometimes use the words “reply” and “daily” in the same sentence without sarcasm. I’m definitely more confident in weekly posts for roleplays that are presently in this state, but you still shouldn’t count on that.
  
  My average post length is generally closer to 6-10 paragraphs. We’ll say 650-1200 words. We’re still doing back and forth at this point, but the dialogue/interaction isn’t as intense so we can stay in our character’s perspective for a bit longer without rambling about nothing or god-modding the other character—which are obviously very bad things we want to avoid. They’re very manageable to write, but I have the space to be more detailed and descriptive—and I can explore my character’s inner world without concern. This is my comfort zone. If you can match this post length, you have a pretty good chance at being compatible with me. These generally take me 8-12 hours to write. Best case: once every few days, 2-3 times a week. More likely case: once every 1-2 weeks. Worst case: several weeks to months.
  
  My longer posts are generally 12+ paragraphs. They start at about 1500 words and go upwards of 2500 or 3000 at longest. I only do these when I have a lot to write about. Something very important is happening. There’s some major development going on. My character is having a catharsis, there’s a flashback, he’s backed into a corner, a conflict is reaching its climax, there’s super intense emotional turmoil, he’s having a bout of mental instability, etc. I’m also prone to doing these when my character is alone or not directly interacting with your character. I don’t do them all the time—and I certainly don’t expect you to feel obligated to write them. However… if you’re comfortable receiving some novella-length posts and also find yourself prone to writing them when you’re inspired and the situation permits it, well, there’s a good chance I’m going to adore you. Maybe even consider you a soul mate, depending on other factors. These can take 15-30 hours to write. Best case: two weeks. Average case: 3 weeks. Worst case: months, as always.
  
• 
  I never do slice of life or anything involving a school. I also don’t like teen-based roleplays. I generally prefer characters to be 20 or older. There are exceptions… but yeah, generally. It’s also rare for me to do stuff set in modern day—it does happen occasionally… but there’s always a catch. If you’re in love with modern day or fancy the character that’s currently living in modern day… we can talk about specifics. I’m also somewhat prejudiced against supernatural roleplays with vampires or werewolves. In my experience they always become kind of cheesy.
  
  I don’t double. I can generally only manage one main character at a time—and I try to keep side characters to a minimum if I can help it. That being said… I’ve been known to swap out one main character for another at times. I also like doing the occasional time skip. I like to keep things interesting. Sometimes another OC of mine might crossover to be a side character for a brief amount of time.
  
  I don’t do fandoms. I’ll gladly use books, movies, and TV shows as inspiration—but I change too much to call it a fandom. I never do canon characters. I never do OCs that exist in the same universe with the same general plot. I use the general feeling of a character, setting, or plot. Just one—not all three at once—and I make sure to put a spin on it so it isn’t just a copy of the source material. I prefer original roleplays.
  
  Settings: fantasy, historical, dystopian, false utopia, derelict sci-fi or futuristic, and apocalyptic.
  
  I prefer low fantasy and more subtle forms of magic… but I can occasionally be convinced to venture into high fantasy. Historical settings or period dramas don’t have to be historically accurate. I wing it and avoid obvious nonsense like pulling out a phone or gun in medieval times. I usually mix historical and fantasy so we can be plausibly flexible with the details of the time period.
  
  Keywords: medieval, Vikings, slavery, fights for freedom, kingdoms, pirates, revolutionaries, war, psychological disorders, survival, twisted psychological games, torture, interpretations of various paranormal creatures, angels and demons, overcoming adversity, succumbing to adversity, descent into darkness/corruption, molestation/sexual assault, self-esteem, etc.
  
  That’s not an exhaustive list.
  
  I almost exclusively play males. It’s been… ah… 6-7 years since I’ve played a female character. Damn. That was a reality check. Um. I exclusively play males. I might possibly play a female character at some point… I have a female OC that’s, um, almost in the planning stages—but honestly it kind of scares me. All my OCs inherit some aspect of myself. That’s what allows me to go all method and channel them. I feel like I can do anything with males because there’s a level of disassociation that protects me.
  
  With this female OC, however, she’s kind of my worst nightmare. I push her away every time her voice creeps up on me because she has these aspects about her that… they’re my worst qualities. The parts of me that I’m not comfortable with. The parts I always strangle half to death and shove in a basement somewhere in the back of my mind. But it’s worse than that—it’s a more intense version and there are other things mixed in. It’s like, “this is what you could become if you ever succumb to those things that happened. This is what will happen to you if you fail the already questionable task of putting yourself back together.”
  
  And that’s fucking terrifying.
  
  I’ll do it at some point. It’s necessary. These things must be faced or they eat you from the inside. But it’ll likely be a few months down the road, at best, so if you’re holding out for me to play a female character… you’d best get comfortable.
  
  I do MxF and MxM. Obviously FxF could be a thing when I have my female OC.
  
  All my stories feature some sort of theme or deeper meaning… they explore the idea of something and how it affects the characters. Redemption, relationships, isolation, guilt, coping mechanisms, justification, sadism, memory, death, traumatic events, addiction… What are the basic elements of humanity? What does it take to make someone irredeemable? Why do some people seek out abuse? Stuff like that. I know I’m beating a dead horse at this point… but everything has to mean something.
  
  I love taking really horrible characters and justifying their actions to make you love them. I like challenging stereotypes. I like doing bad things for good reasons. I like taking traditional good v. bad storylines and reversing them—the good guys aren’t fully good, the bad guys aren’t fully bad—everything exists in a grey area. I like doing different interpretations of angels and demons. I do that a lot. I’ve successfully justified kidnappers, serial killers, one-off murders, and Satan. I’m pretty good at it.
  
  Honestly… I like messed up things. I don’t have many boundaries… you’ll probably reach the extents of your comfort level before I reach mine. There are limits, though. For instance: I would be perfectly fine with child rape as a subject—as something that’s referenced—but I would never actually write out a scene where that was currently happening. You can, but I won't. It’s not particularly necessary, to say the least. A fade and time jump with subtle or even obvious hints of what happened gets the job done without a lingering feeling of complete disgust. For me, it’s about the aftermath and exploring the affect it had on the character. It’s not about the act itself. Although.... I think that's my one boundary. I never show children being raped. Everything else is fine. Consider me a monster if you will, but hold that thought until you read the next tab.
  
  
  Bottom line: there shouldn’t be anything wrong with a story about someone trying, or even failing, to find a way to overcome something that should destroy them. No topic is off-limits. Boundaries come into play when we decide if we should actively show or allude to or simply reference a traumatic scene. That depends on both of our comfort levels, so we can discuss this individually. I absolutely adhere to the comfort levels of my partner.
  
  I only write about something if I’m personally experienced with it or at least informed enough to do it justice. If someone that’s going through something similar reads what I’ve written—I want it to be realistic enough for them to relate to it… not be like, “Well… she obviously didn’t know what she was talking about.”
  
  Romance:
  I love romance, any pairing, but I would never categorize any of my roleplays in the romance genre.
  
  First of all, romance has to develop naturally over a long period of time. This is non-negotiable. My characters would have an absolute fit if I told them to fall in love with a stranger. That’s not how that works. I can’t command them to do anything. No, no, no. They command me. That’s how that works. Due to this natural approach to romance… it’s entirely possible that it’ll never develop at all. I’m 100% okay with that. I love platonic roleplays. Especially platonic MxMs. Like, holy shit—the character dynamics in a platonic MxM can become absolutely brilliant. Think Sherlock + Watson or Arthur + Merlin or James Flint + John Silver.
  
  I love doing “platonic” relationships that will never progress to sexy time but have romantic elements to them. I like teasing romance. I like creating a dynamic that fangirls would ship and give a pet name and write fanfic about despite the lack of an explicitly romantic relationship in canon. I like misunderstandings. I like when characters care intensely about each other but try to play it cool—and maybe they do it so well that the other one doesn’t realize the extents of their feelings. I like the conflict that arises from that. I like little moments of vulnerability. Jealousy. I like having one character sort of vaguely romantic towards the other—especially if they don’t mean it romantically, they’re just bad at expressing themselves or hiding behind mannerisms—and the other one comes to care intensely about the first one but resists showing it because they don’t want it to be taken as that sort of love. I like when romance is hindered by a bunch of complicated road blocks. I could go on and on… but I’ll leave it at that.
  
  Romance will never be the primary focus. Assuming it develops at all, it will always be a subplot. I’ve read romance novels. They have their place and I do thoroughly enjoy them, but I think they can be prone to clichés and lackluster character development. I don’t think romance is enough to carry a story on its own. It’s good for spicing up something that’s already great. You need to be the sort of writer that likes to develop interesting and intense dynamics between characters before adding romance to the mix.
  
  Historically, it’s been a red flag for me when someone says they only do roleplays with romance. Their plots always have a predetermined love story or some heavy-handed setup that pushes romance. Besides earning some choice words from the OCs that live in my head… it makes me question their capacity for character development. In my experience, people often use romance as a cheat or crutch to give the illusion of a developed relationship between characters without having to work for it. I’ll give you an example… but first: this is not to say that everyone who demands romance or focuses on romance or predestines romance has a limited capacity for character development. I’m not saying that. I’m just generalizing based on my own observations and personal experience.
  
  
  
  In all honesty… Michael was having an absolutely terrible day. The executioner was about to relieve him of his head, after all, and he found himself rather attached to it. He didn’t want to die. Especially not like this—going out in a blaze of glory was one thing, but having his light doused by that dissolute little weasel of an executioner? Being killed by that fucking idiot—and dying on his knees, restrained like an animal, disgraced in front of everyone, and leaving only a dismal legacy behind… well, that was unfortunate.
  
  But it didn’t matter how unfortunate the whole thing was—it didn’t matter what reservations Michael had. The blade drew ever near despite them, tormenting him and everyone else with the promise of what was to come. The waltz of a sharpened edge and a dead man’s head as blood turns flagstone sickly in a crimson moment. Everyone present held their breath as though they were of one collective consciousness, Michael included, as the blade settled heavily into position. Waiting impatiently for the climax to unfold.
  
  Yet as the seconds passed it became clear that holding one’s breath was indeed an unfortunate decision. It made it difficult to gasp when the unthinkable happened. When the blade failed to deliver its promise and the head refused to roll and the crimson moment ceased to be a possibility that could ever occur in the near future.
  
  Amasa, the executioner, seemed to have forgotten his place in the world—his role as wielder of an impatient blade—for instead of ending Michael’s life, as he should have done, he convinced himself to risk everything to save it.
  

  
  
  
  
  Okay. Amasa is risking everything to save Michael. Awesome. We need a motive for that. There has to be some sort of justification for everything… otherwise, the reader calls bullshit and it isn’t a very good story. We can assume that our readers are wonderfully clever. They know that people don’t risk everything for other people without a good reason. So what’s the reason?
  
  It’s easy to start with a predetermined romance and say, “He loves Michael. That’s the reason! That’s why Amasa risked his life to save him.”
  
  Honestly… you generally wouldn’t even have to prove that Amasa actually loves Michael. People take your word for that. Love is strong enough to justify that level of devotion and sacrifice, so it only takes 3 words to convince our wonderfully clever reader to believe the validity of Amasa’s actions. It’s ridiculously easy. Most people take advantage of that.
  
  It’s a lot harder to justify Amasa’s actions when romance is completely off the table or simply hasn’t developed to that level of intensity yet. He doesn’t love Michael; he simply cares about him. That’s not as intense. There are many people that I absolutely care about but would never risk my life for. Ever. The reader probably feels the same way, so simply caring about someone isn’t not enough to justify Amasa’s sacrifice. Not without something backing it up. You have to prove that Amasa’s feelings are strong enough to justify his sacrifice. You have to rely on actual character development and dynamics. You have to show the relationship being developed—and you have to do it convincingly—or the reader won’t believe you.
  
  Hopefully that gets my point across. I love romance when it’s done right—when it accentuates already strong character development. When it builds so gradually that you don’t even know it’s a thing until some sort of emotional reality check slaps everyone in the face. I don’t like using it as a shortcut and I definitely don’t like focusing on it. As I said: romance will never be a major plot point with me.
  
  Regarding the scandalous bits of romance… I adhere to the preferences of my partner. Most people prefer fading to black so I do that most of the time, but I do have experience writing out the scene. Obviously, I have preferences—just to be clear, I’m on the more subtle and tasteful side of scandal club, not the super detailed erotic side—so if you’re in the same boat just let me know and we’ll discuss specifics somewhere appropriate.
  
  One caveat: I can’t write out a scandalous MxM. Just can't do it. I’ve done research on it and it’s apparently really common for people to make mistakes and portray it in a really inaccurate way… I know a lot of the common mistakes and I’ve read different takes on how experienced men describe it—but as someone who can never have first-hand experience I’m not yet confident enough in my knowledge of the matter to do it justice and not look like what I really am: someone who has literally no idea what she's talking about. I don't want to be like the men who write scandalous scenes from a woman's perspective and... uh... well, I'd rather not look like that much of an idiot, thank you. I’ll fade to black or stick to teasing romance and kissing. I can write out MxF and FxF due to my experiences as a female. Yay.
  
• 
  This could be a trigger. Fair warning. I don't describe anything in detail but... still.
  
  Have you ever had something happen to you where you can just feel yourself shatter? Like… you can pinpoint the exact moment where you’re completely ruined as functional human being?
  
  I have.
  
  I was molested. It was a very close family member that did it—to this day I still see the bastard damn near daily—and I was only 12 at the time so I didn’t have the life experience to handle it how I probably should’ve. The whole thing was just… sickening. He was so smooth about it. Played it off like he wasn’t doing it at all—like he was helping me. Like he was doing something for me. But I was too smart for that. I knew what he was doing. I mean, shit… it was like something reached down and seized the core of my being and just squeezed. I’ve never felt my heart drop so intensely as it did the first time he touched me. There was no relief from it. When the whole thing was over and that feeling went away it was too late—there was no repairing myself and I knew it. I resorted to coping mechanisms. I transformed into a completely different person.
  
  I started roleplaying around 2 months after it happened. It was the only way I could talk about it. I’d take aspects of myself and put them in my characters so I could talk about it without consequences. I swear to god—writing is probably the reason I made it through my teen years without committing suicide. That’s hard to admit. I’d like to think I was smarter than that as a teenager, but… I thought about killing myself a lot with a sort of side note that I would never actually do it—that it would be stupid to do it—but I don’t think that side note would’ve existed if I didn’t have roleplaying to take the edge off.
  
  I remember once I was in the bathroom with a steak knife pressed against my arm… tears were dripping onto the counter as I eyed my phone to see how long I’d have to bandage myself up before school. I told myself that I would either do this and keep doing it or put the knife down and never consider cutting again. I didn’t do it. I put the knife down and picked up my phone… typed out a reply for one of the 25+ roleplays I used to distract myself from myself. I wrote every fucking moment I wasn’t occupied with something else. In class. At lunch. On the bus. In passing. At home. At night until 3 am. In the morning while I was getting ready for school.
  
  A few years ago I had actually reached the point where I started healing. I wrote about my feelings so I could have the strength to suppress them… but somehow roleplaying had taught me how to confront some of those feelings instead of ignoring them. I started smiling again. Seriously. That seems so stupid and ridiculous… but it was this huge accomplishment. It meant so much. I didn’t think about suicide anymore. I felt like I finally reached the surface after spending years underground.
  
  But then it started again. He started doing it again. And it wasn’t just one time—it was lots of times—and it was worse now because I was 19 and still not telling anyone and it made him bolder every time he did it. After months of being molested a couple times per week—each incident often lasting 20-30 minutes at a time—he got drunk and followed me to my room one night. No one else was around. I tried to talk him into leaving but he just kept coming closer. Pushed me on the bed. Stood between my legs. Leaned towards me. I did the only thing I could think to do—I got a hold of my phone as fast as I could and just started dialing. I don’t know how I managed it, but… that scared him off.
  
  I made damn sure he never had another opportunity. I locked myself in the bathroom if I had to. He wasn’t going to touch me again. I’d decided. And he didn’t. He stopped coming around all the time… but I found out a few weeks later that he was caught molesting another little girl. She was 10. What’s really heartbreaking is she was molested about 5 years prior by someone else and she was just starting to open up and be a bit like her old self.
  
  Damn it, guys. I didn’t do anything wrong… but part of that was on me. I was already fucked up. I could’ve taken more abuse and maintained the same level of damage. If I had just let him have his way with me no one else would’ve gotten hurt. I know—okay? I know thinking that way is ridiculous and it wasn’t my fault and I was just doing what any human would’ve done… but that’s the thing about sexual assault. It isn’t the physical part of it that gets you. It’s the psychological torture you have to endure afterwards. That’s what kills you. Your own fucking mind.
  
  Bottom line: writing got me through tragedies that should’ve destroyed me. That’s why I put my everything into it. I owe my everything to it. So yes: I’m an intense, intimidating mess and I always cross the line with my writing because that’s how I learned to deal with everything that ever crossed the line in reality.
  
  To end this on a positive note… a lot of stuff happened and it’s been two and a half years since the last time I was molested. I should still be a mess right now. But dammit—I’m proud to say that I’m a functioning human being again. I’m myself again. I fucking sparkle! It’s awesome! I’m smiling probably 60% of the time now. It's still a battle. I'm still fighting... but I'm winning at the moment. That's something.
  
  I still touch on sexual assault a lot in my writing because it’s still very close to my heart—but it’s no longer a coping mechanism. It’s more like a survivor story or just trying to find answers to the last few loose ends I never figured out. If anyone is going through some shit and wants to talk about it with someone who gets it, or you want to hear the specifics that I left out to avoid triggering people... well, I'm all for swapping war stories. Safely letting it out really helps. It's like psychologists knew their shit or something.
  
• 
  I’m a pretty damn good roleplayer… but I’m also a total mess.
  
  I’m not one of those people that create characters. They find me. I go about life until part of a person stumbles over my consciousness—confused and curious—displaced from their worlds that seem as real as the one I inhabit. Sometimes they tell me their stories. If it pleases them. Often playfully—reveling in the game they make of it. Amusing themselves with my impatient posturing when they mock me with cliffhangers and wander off… returning at some unspecified time to indulge in yet more pitiless teasing. They have all the control. And damn, they’re usually well aware of it. Coaxing details out of them takes time. Editing the mess of pieces they give me into a somewhat cohesive picture takes even more time. The process can’t be rushed. It can’t be changed. I’m entirely at its mercy. My partners are also at its mercy. Just another reason why I’m slow and play favorites.
  
  It's a mess, people.
  
  Really. I don’t think you’re going to fully grasp just how much of a mess I am. People normally don’t. They’re all, “Oh my god! You’re such a fantastic writer! How can I ever compare?” and they don’t realize what it took for me to refine my thoughts into something even remotely comprehensible—to say nothing of attractive.
  
  My creative process is crazy. I can’t just pull things out of my head and stick them on paper and marvel at how it all somehow makes sense. No, no, no. I deal in fragments. Okay? Fragments. They don’t make sense. Ever. And they don’t appear in chronological order. I mean—they’re not even fragments of the same puzzle! I always have half a dozen word documents open at any given moment—and I get whiplash jumping around and putting pieces into what I can only assume is the appropriate place. It’s a mess. I put a lot of energy into discovering minutiae and theories that will likely never be revealed over the course of a roleplay. I have to put a bunch of little things together to see a complete picture. It’s just—I’ve got this whole mess of little details… fragments of memories and entire universes running rampant beneath my skull—this subconscious flood of unrelated nonsense—and it’s amazing, but I can’t just snap my fingers and make sense of it. It takes a lot of determination. And that’s what people don’t seem to understand about me. I’m amazing because I work for it.
  
  I often have people refer to me as some super elite, godly writer... and damn, it's crazy. They get this idea in their heads that I’m only available to collaborate with my own godly kind. And I'm not permitted to decide for myself who belongs to this mythical master race of writers. I've had a number of partners that I absolutely adored, but... for whatever reason they ranked themselves lower than me in some... roleplaying hierarchy. They ran away because they couldn't handle the pressure of "doing right by me." Oh, dear. Insecurity stands right next to sexual assault as something that's close to my heart. It's the antithesis of my soul. Do you understand? Please do not use me as a stepping stone to advance its cruel conquest of humanity. Do not define me in such a way that my determination becomes a weapon for you to belittle yourself with.
  
  Let me be the one to decide if you can stand with me as my friend on equal footing. I'm apparently much more lenient than many of you tend to be on yourselves.
  
  ... wait a minute. HOLY SHIT. God FUCKING damn it! I'm supposed to be terrifying right now! That was the whole point of writing this thread... the scariest recruitment thread in existence! When did I stop being scary and move on to uplifting nonsense!? Shit. Damn my fucking idealist INFJ-ness. You've got to be kidding me. What am I supposed to do about this? Fuck it. Whatever. I'm just gonna go down with the ship.
  
• 
  I've seen many roleplay creators say something like, "talk to me before starting any big drama!"
  
  I never liked that. I understand why people do that—I really do—but I just… that’s not how life works. It’s not realistic. It’s not reasonable. Your characters can do whatever they want—just like real people do whatever they want. A serial killer isn’t going to ask your permission before killing your family. You don’t get to decide what other people are permitted to do! Everything is fair game when you roleplay with me. I take pride in the fact that my characters are developed enough to react to something that I didn’t anticipate. Even if it’s something horribly dramatic that would be shot down in other roleplays.
  
  I take this whole philosophy to such an extreme… I don’t even mind if you kill my character. I’m serious! I will find a way to make it work and get you back. Especially in my current multiverse—depending on what character it is, he might not reincarnate into a different person, so he could come for you unexpectedly in the future. And it will be great. Really. It's okay for your character to betray mine. Stab him in the back. Rip his heart out. Torture him. Kill his loved ones. Break him. Leave him for dead. Whatever—you don’t have to ask me. Just do it and watch me freak out and squeal in excitement. I do love extensive communication. I encourage it and expect my partners to talk about the roleplay with me… but if you’re into this sort of thing—I’m totally okay with you keeping secrets to screw my character over with later. If you like being challenged and engaging in battles of wit and deception… well, bring it on. I’ve had some great fun with this in the past.
  
  If it isn’t obvious, I’m a sucker for tension and conflict and emotional turmoil.
  
  
  
  I already told you that while I am looking for roleplaying partners, I’m not looking to start any roleplays right away. I want to talk to you first. Befriend you. There’s really no point for me to put up a bunch a plots and OCs at this point… but I do want to illustrate what my plots and OCs tend to look like—so I’m going to include one of each. Don’t you dare look at them before reading this tab in its entirety. There’s stuff you need to know… or you’ll probably freak out.
  
  Uh... I would love to find a partner for the Ascension roleplay. It doesn't matter if you prefer to go roughly the direction I outlined or try something different. I'm also open to doing a different version of it as MxF. If anyone is interested in it let me know!
  
  Oh. The "big picture" setting is consistent throughout all my roleplays. That's my universe.
  
  Okay. Moving on:
  
  There are two extremes.
  
  Some people like to get super detailed and plan out as much of the roleplay as possible. They’ll talk and talk and talk about potential character development, plot points, specific scenes—everything. Things might naturally deviate from the original plan—but that’s okay—they’ll take it in stride and plan out more things in the new direction. Rather than get their enjoyment from surprises or spontaneous developments, they get enjoyment from crafting a cohesive story that flows beautifully from beginning to end. “It’s okay if we know the steps and the destination. It’s the journey and the details and the sights we see along the way that make it worthwhile.”
  
  Other people think those people are lunatics. They don’t want a detailed plan—that’s way too constricting. And it’s too much work. They would rather sit back and let the story unfold. Wing it. Detailed plans are like spoilers to them—the journey is ruined if they know the steps and the destination. These people get enjoyment from spontaneous developments and surprises. They want an impromptu road trip. It doesn’t matter to them if the parts don’t flow together as well. It’s what’s going on in the present that matters.
  
  I’m a slightly lopsided balance of both of these types. I greatly prefer the first option, but I do like throwing surprises in here and there. I’m capable of immersing myself fully into either extreme… so let me know your preference and I’ll stick with that for our roleplay. Story planning and roleplay discussion can be detailed or vague or something in between. Your choice.
  
  If you’ll recall… I’m going to show you a plot to demonstrate what you can expect from me. I’m going to be EXTREMELY heavy handed when I explain it. I’m doing this on purpose. I want to sort of give you an idea of what an “ideal” roleplay with me would look like. I want to show you what I’m capable of and how developed my stories usually become. I want to give you an idea of what sort of plot arcs or scenes I come up with. Hopefully you’ll be able to figure out if you’re interested in that level of development—because whether or not I spell everything out before the roleplay begins and tell you the plans inside my mind… those plans still exist. You need to be comfortable with that level of detail because I’ll do everything I can to draw it out of the story.
  
  Rest assured: I would never give you this level of detail in a roleplay proposal unless you specifically requested it of me… and even then, I likely wouldn’t be giving you so many details about your character. That’s your turf. Not mine. I'm really skittish about giving suggestions for my partner's OC. I do it sometimes after my partner heavily reassures me, since some people actually want my suggestions... but If someone started mapping out my character without my explicit permission, even if it was just a suggestion... I would feel really weird... like they were infringing on my very soul. I'm sure most people don't see it that way, but... seriously. I don't want to just... walk up to someone's soul and tell them what I think it should look like.
  
  This is an INFJ thing. I don't want to lead people to the destination, to their potential... I want them to figure that out themselves. I don't feel qualified to tell people what they should do. Even if people seem to think I really am qualified for that... it's just not my default setting.
  
  I want you to think of the proposal as something you and I would brainstorm together. Read it with the understanding that you would be contributing to the side of things that concern you. You’d be making your own character and we’d figure out dynamics together. You would have input on plot points and scenes. You would have a say in everything. I’m just one person, and I’m typing this as a demonstration, so I had to take on the role of me and my partner. This makes it look like I came up with everything myself—because, no shit, that’s what I did. It looks like I created your character for you and typed out a perfect plan for you to just follow. And I did, for demonstration purposes, but that’s not how it works in real life. Pretend the proposal was created by two people working together. Don’t freak out on me and think that it’s my intention to control every aspect of the roleplay. I want to collaborate with people to make something better than either of us could’ve managed alone.
  
  I’m not one of those people that want to force a roleplay to go a certain way—that have everything planned out like a novel and just want someone to write out the other character according to plan. I understand that I can definitely give off those vibes, believe me, but… no. I’m the total opposite of that. I will gladly throw anything out the window at any time no matter how detailed it is or how long I’ve worked on it. I encourage complete creative freedom. I love it when people bring their own ideas to the table. I LOVE IT. The problem is… well, most people don’t. Brainstorming is very one-sided in my experience. If you have a thought or opinion or idea about anything—for the love of god, please tell me. Feel free to pitch something radically different from the plot or vague character notes I pitch to you. And while you’re at it—please marry me. I’m pretty sure I might be in love with you.
  
  I used to be extremely vague when I would explain my ideas to people—I didn’t want to say anything that would influence their character. I liked giving them complete control to do whatever they wanted because that’s what I personally prefer… but most people freeze up when they’re handed a blank page. They aren’t like me. They don’t get excited by endless possibilities. It’s odd. It’s probably not odd—I’m probably the odd one, but… it’s odd. Despite my efforts to get ideas and opinions and original thoughts out of my partners, most of them pushed everything on me. I was responsible for damn near every idea in my roleplays. Sometimes I couldn’t even get people to make their own character without pointing them in a specific direction and telling them what they should do. It’s crazy. I fucking hated it. I tried to get around it by giving them vague ideas or several different options for everything, but… that just overwhelmed them. They’d run away or stare blankly and ask me for more input. God. I gave up, people. I’m a battered woman. I no longer expect anything from my partners in the planning stage. It’s sad. I don’t speak in possibilities anymore. I speak in single absolutes and repeatedly scream THAT I’M NOT TRYING TO CONTROL YOU OR HINDER YOUR CREATIVE SENSABILITIES AND YOU CAN SUGGEST CHANGES TO ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING.
  
  … Not that it matters, anyway, because so few people offer creative sensibilities that are pronounced enough to hinder in the first place. I have a plan, though, to sort of… uh… fix that. Anyone that roleplays with me is going to have to adhere to my brainstorming process that’s a bit different from the norm because the norm has done a pretty shitty job in my book. The normal way of brainstorming is boring, often lopsided, and prone to making people disappear. Let’s try something different.
  
  Please be someone who can make a character (or even parts of a character) without a lot of guidance. That’s literally all I ask.
  
  Do you want to know what my definition of a plot is? It’s the initial reason for our characters to meet up and interact. It’s the starting point. That’s all it is. Plots can be simplified and summarized in a sentence. Sherlock and John became flat mates and solved crimes. That’s an accurate description of the first season of BBC’s Sherlock. What makes a story fantastic isn’t the initial plot description—yet that’s what people tend to focus on when they’re brainstorming or looking for partners. They come up with a plot synopsis and they’re good. Sometimes they don’t even make a character sheet or talk about characters at all. Yet it’s the characters and the relationships between characters that make a story fantastic. It’s Sherlock and John and the relationship between them that makes that story fantastic. You could put those characters in any setting or situation and I’d watch the hell out of it.
  
  If a show has an amazingly interesting plot, but you don’t like any of the characters because they’re boring, or unrelatable, or just unpleasant, or whatever… well, you’re probably going to stop watching the show. But you’ll probably keep watching a show with amazing characters despite any plot-related issues it may have. This is a known phenomenon.
  
  I make roleplays backwards because it fucking makes sense. I create characters first and then make a plot for them. People are born into this world FIRST. Then they have experiences and the plotline of their lives becomes a thing. I’m following the natural order of things and I’m the backwards one. Wow. I’m done catering to the other way, okay? It doesn’t make sense. It’s prone to making characters a mere accessory to the plot. When you make the plot first and base your character off it, you’re more likely to bias your characterization based on what’s going to happen. Who I am presently has nothing to do with what will happen to me in the future. You’re going to get on board with my logic, okay? This makes perfect sense—there’s no reason why making characters first should be viewed as backwards or strange.
  
  Brainstorming. This is how it’s going to go down. Characters first. They’re absolutely the most important part of the roleplay, after all. They have to be amazing. I’m going to explain my character to you and you’re going to explain your character to me. I don’t care what that looks like. I don’t care what your character sheet looks like—I don’t care if you use quotes and songs instead of detailed descriptions, and I don’t care if you prefer to just explain the details of your character in regular conversation. As long as you can look at your OC and know who they are… it’s fine if you don’t want to type out a character sheet. You just have to somehow relay to me what kind of person your OC is. After that, we’ll work on character dynamics. We’ll look at your character and my character and figure out how they’re going to interact—we’ll get an idea of what their relationship will look like. That’s the backbone of the roleplay. That’s what drives the story. We can do fun little things like character chats or throwing out hypothetical situations and figuring out what they would do. It’s a method writer’s dream—and it’s pretty hard for this method of brainstorming to become one-sided. We’ll finish the brainstorming process by finding a starting point we love (if one hasn't already become apparent at this point) and optionally fleshing out the plot more—doing things like pitching scenes or plot arcs based on our character dynamics. And that’s it. We have our roleplay proposal and we can either go for it or make additions/revisions as needed.
  
  I don’t really care how long this process takes. I’d rather take my time and build a strong foundation instead of rushing into things and slamming into the 94% mortality rate.
  
  If we already happen to have a plot in mind first—whether that’s because it’s based on a show or a pairing or an idea just popped out of nowhere—I’m totally fine with that. However, I’d prefer to put the plot idea on the backburner and focus on the characters as though the plot wasn’t currently a thing.
  
  One last note: I reserve the right to set all of that aflame and throw it out the window and start with a plot just like everyone else because, you know, sometimes shit happens and my brain decides to do things backwards from my perspective and all the fragments I find are plot fragments.
  
  
  
  About the OC:
  
  My character sheets are generally different for each character. I kind of try to portray the general feeling of a character instead of a thorough but bland data file. I’m extremely likely to use songs, quotes, character monologues, and scene excerpts instead of writing pages of detailed description.
  
  My character sheets are a total mess—so I revise and abridge them before posting them. The raw sheets are usually 20+ pages long. I don’t think they’d make sense to anyone but me. Most people use character sheets as more of a snapshot of where their character is currently—but mine are more of a timeline. I have little pieces of their entire lives spread out in a single sheet. They have several different conflicts and resolutions and transformations that occur throughout their lives, so there can be a lot of variation in the same character depending on where he’s at in his life—it’s basically like several character sheets for the same character at different points in time… but I only revise one version for public use, so… you only get to see the snapshot. Because of this, the specifics of the character could be different depending on what roleplay he’s in.
  
  I haven’t even started creating a public character sheet for my other OCs—so it’ll likely be a few weeks before you get to see any of my other characters. You’ll have to drool over Amasa for now. ❤
  
  Amasa is my precious. I went through a long period of suppressing my emotions—I put my true self in a box and turned my back on it. You know, I did everything I could to become someone else because I thought my true self wasn’t capable of coping with everything after I was molested. I had to learn to be comfortable with myself again—I had to learn to love who I was and not view my emotions and personality as a weakness that I had to hide. I accomplished all that with Amasa. Most of my characters mirror one or two aspects of myself… but Amasa is mostly me. I didn’t even plan it. It was like, I knew I was doing something wrong. I knew I had to change something within myself for the better, but I didn’t know where to start—I didn’t know what to write about because I couldn’t diagnose the problem.
  
  Something deep within me told me to make a character. I try to make a habit of listening to my instincts, so I threw myself into this endeavor. Like I said, I’m a method writer—so Amasa just stumbled into my thoughts and I spent months discovering all these little nuances of his personality. I exclusively worked on Amasa’s character sheet throughout this entire process—I refused to write about anything else because I was so enamored with him. I wanted to find out everything I could about him. I was determined to make the most complex and detailed character I’d ever created—a character that I loved with the entirety of my being.
  
  Eventually, I learned enough about him to make him a permanent fixture in my head… and I started working on other things. But he’d always be there. I’d go through my day and he’d make comments on things. We’d have conversations. I know it sounds crazy, but… it’s not. I was going through his character sheet and making an abridged version to show potential partners, and as I revised and formatted everything I just kept thinking about how much I absolutely adored this character… and, sure enough, his voice chimes in and…
  
  “Who do you think I represent?”
  
  I learned to love myself wholeheartedly without even realizing it.
  
• 
  It took a few seconds to recover from his sudden heart failure. Or maybe it took a few minutes. He wasn’t exactly sure, since he was dizzy from the lack of oxygen running circles through his veins, and what little concentration he did possess was desperately trying to rid his face of a horrified expression. There wasn’t a monster behind him. It was just Alexandria. Not that it really made a difference. Actually, it did. He would’ve preferred the monster. They don’t ask for words, after all. They just hurt you physically. He could take physical pain. He had a sturdy build, after all. He could take it. But words never hurt you physically. Not on the outside, at least. They were shards of glass mixed with acid that forced its way up in a sort of emotional word vomit that left you scarred and bleeding for longer than anyone could really take. Those were words. His words. And when she announced her presence he knew it wouldn’t be long before she forced that plague on him, demanding him to speak a painful truth to somehow satisfy her. He could never satisfy her.
  
  But he was prepared for that. Well, as prepared as he ever would be. He always knew the day would come when he’d have to answer for what he’d done. Reveal what no one had learned despite their countless attempts and roughness. It was amazing just how terrifying an army of angered archangels could be, but he’d known that before he killed their god. It was a death sentence to a living hell. A living hell in heaven. That was obvious. He knew the cost of killing that old man. The bastard had spelled it all out for him before the deed was done. But he accepted that price. He deserved to pay it. So even though there were times he was selfish and just wanted the pain to stop, and times he cringed away from the blow that approached, he would always come back to this. He would always come back to his pain. He deserved it.
  
  He deserved to turn around and face her and do whatever it was she said. This was part of his punishment. She was just another catalyst to open old wounds. And he hated her for that. But at the same time… he was relieved that she was there. He hated this, all of it, but he felt incomplete without the agony. The older he got, the more he was starting to think that maybe it was better to live in constant pain than lie broken and bloody, paralyzed with a sort of numb emptiness that just feels worse than anything. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe the pain was worth it if he wasn’t completely alone. So as she spoke her words, her insults, and finally demanded the rest of the story, all he could do was stand silently, preparing for the oncoming horror that was always guaranteed, because he knew that even this was better than wandering around aimlessly with only his thoughts to destroy him. It would be over faster if others shattered him. It would be so much easier. So much faster. All he had to do was stop resisting the siege and open the gates. He just had to start handing out weapons for everyone to stab him with.
  
  If only it wasn’t so hard to do that. Admitting what happened was like taking a blade and sawing off his tongue. It isn’t easy to do that to yourself. He just—he couldn’t do it. But he had no choice. The reality of that became gruesomely apparent when her guards seized him. Removed him from the safety of his chains and dragged him into that horrible room—carelessly hauled him into that horrific place—where she perched just like a goddess on her judgmental couch ready to break him more than her father ever did. Why did he have to answer in the throne room? He preferred the cell. They were on equal footing down there. He could’ve said it if she treated him more like an equal. If she got down on his level instead of gazing down at him like he was a wayward child or some feral beast. Why was she reminding him what he really was?
  
  He kept resolving to stutter through it as steadily as he could, to figure out a way to force himself to say it, to give his master what she wanted and what he ultimately needed, but it… it was just so hard. He kept thinking about it and then he was seeing it and then hearing her screaming and pleading and crying and then he felt the fire on his hands and in his throat and smelled the blood dripping down and it was just too much—he had to forget it all, he had to forget but he couldn’t and he knew it. He could never escape. He could never be anything but wretched ever again. And that terrified him, but it also disgusted him. He hated himself for being so unable to just accept his suffering. He just wanted to stop wishing he could escape.
  
  As the world came back into focus, and he stood there breathing heavily with distorted eyes aimed firmly at the floor, he heard his master say the one thing he never thought she would. He heard her words—smooth and easy, so dissimilar to his own—purring falsehoods… trying to manipulate him. Trying to get him to admit the truth. Her truth. What she wanted to hear. He heard her say that he could be forgiven. He could be forgiven. And it was at that moment that all the agony and dread he’d felt dissipated into nothingness. It was completely evaporated by the heat of sudden and unequaled anger.
  
  Forgiven. She said he could be forgiven! How could anyone dare to throw that word at him? It didn’t matter how much of a lie it was. Actually, the fact that it was a lie made it even worse. That word was forbidden to him. He had no right to even begin to think about the possibility of ending his suffering and being… forgiven. So why the hell was she voicing this nonsense about forgiveness? If he couldn’t forgive himself—if he felt like there was no chance for him to ever remotely accept himself again—there was no one in this universe that could possibly have the right to do it for him. That word carried so much weight. He couldn’t believe that she would release it so carelessly. So easily. She was a monster.
  
  It physically hurt him to stand there, baring his teeth against the hurricane that had been raging for all these years, trying to keep it from ripping its way out into the open. It really hurt. And he was so exasperated, with her and himself and everything, that for a moment he snapped, and the reinforced iron door he couldn’t bring himself to open cracked. He eyed her with an intensity that matched her own, but while her gaze was a calm, focused dagger that pierced holes through everything it touched, his was a pack of wild dogs that hungrily shredded without regard or mercy. Because that’s what he was. A savage dog that had bitten all his masters.
  
  “You wanna know everything, do you? Well that’s really too bad. I refuse to accommodate a haughty brat that throws empty lies like forgiveness around to get what she wants. You’re a god now, Anna. A fucking god. You’ve got to get your shit together and start acting like it. Billions of people are depending on you now, and you’re just—“ he took a moment to throw a hand in the air, frustrated that he couldn’t find the right words to explain what he saw, “You’re just like the rest of ‘em. I can already see you’ve inherited his flaws. Except you’re young and you’re stupid, so you don’t know how to hide 'em like he did.”
  
  Roughly two seconds passed before he realized that he’d just reprimanded his master—and called her stupid, on top of that—and that she was actually a god now so it was a pretty ill-advised thing to do. He only partially cared, though. He had stood up to her father countless times, spewing blunt and heated rants just like this one, and as a master he was much scarier than his daughter. It’s true it didn’t end well in the long run, but he figured he’d probably get away with yelling at each deity a few times before it came back to really bite him.
  
• 
  
  A sharp string of curses rang through the air as the needle continued to weave in and out of her torn skin, paler than usual but also stained red with blood. The wind clawed at her long, dark hair, whipping it this way and that like paint splattering on a wall. Or, if you’re a darker type, like the blackened blood of a demon spraying as a slayer devours it. Of course, she wasn’t sure if demon blood was, indeed, black in color. She had never killed one herself. Did they even have blood? Where they even alive? She didn’t know. Of course they’re alive. They can die, can’t they? They appear somewhat humanoid in structure, as well, indicating they possess some substance comparable to blood. Honestly—
  
  Bits of profanity continued to pierce the surrounding atmosphere, jolting her from her tangent, and now being conscious she gritted her teeth as another stitch formed. Jackson continued to curse with each new stitch he stitched. She glanced down tiredly at his handiwork, eyeing the pitifully uneven stitches with some weak amusement. He was trained by the best, obviously, but he was still an absolutely terrible medic. She would’ve been better off with some old lady with a quilting hobby. How pathetic is that? She wondered why they even hired him.
  
  “Can they drive any faster? I’m sure I’m late,” she said, voice strained but overall even. She was trained to tolerate and conceal pain, but it took concentration and she had her limits. “I’d rather them not drive any faster, at least not with us in the back,” he muttered, stitching the last stitch. He did have a point. Their entire schedule had been decimated today, and she found herself unable to drive independently to the drop site. They had to pick her up using the only spare company vehicle: a polished black truck with merely two front seats and a bed. She needed medical attention, and refused to go to the medical wing, so she and Jackson were stuck in the back, becoming frayed as dusty projectiles and dry wind continuously assaulted them.
  
  She hated the idea of being late. It would be a terrible representation of her agency—regardless of the fact she had a good excuse. No one would care that she was caught in an explosion that morning. One always prepares for the unexpected, for the mission that goes terribly wrong, but it always screws you over in the end. Always. Luckily, she only had one large laceration on her thigh, about 5 or 6 inches long, small cuts and bruises scattered throughout, a few minor burns, and a small gash on her forehead. The thing on her thigh was the only wound that needed stitches. She was lucky. Good agents died in that attack. Although… at the moment… she might’ve preferred to take the place of one of those good deceased agents. With one last passionate fuck, Jackson knotted the string tightly and reminded her to keep the rag pressed firmly against her head. Skylar only nodded in response. God, this all hurt like hell.
  
  Making a mental note to sneak some pain meds later, even though it wasn’t smiled upon, she heavily stood to look up the seemingly endless road. Her head felt light and the world seemed to spin at a greater speed than reality condoned, but she did not show it. She wouldn’t show it until she was alone. Hopefully her new acquaintances wouldn’t take long to greet so she could get the fuck out and not look weak. Her boss had told her she couldn’t show any weakness. Humans had to prove their strength to these creatures, and she was going to be the one to do it. Like hell she would. They’d probably kill her as soon as the threat was downed. If not before. God.
  
  Squinting, she noticed a small building somewhat on the horizon. As the vehicle moved closer and closer, the building grew, and she noticed a slight discoloration. They came closer. It wasn’t just a discoloration… there seemed to be movement. Unless she was hallucinating or something. That was certainly possible. Sighing irritably, she shoved a hand in the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out her glasses. Would glasses help her if she was hallucinating? Probably not, but her head was throbbing far too much to process such divine logic. The glasses themselves were damaged just as much as Skylar was—the left lens was substantially shattered, missing a few pieces… and the right—though faring better than the left—donned a thin diagonal crack. They were only marginally helpful. She eventually realized the discoloration was actually an overturned truck. Ducking behind it, there was a tall figure. Presumably male. Or a very manish female. God, she hoped it was a guy. Emerging from behind the obstacle, he continued his blunt strides to the building. It wasn’t long before the truck slowed, and they came up close behind him. A file passed through her mind.
  
  Playing a fun little game of connect the dots, she connected physical appearance to file data and pegged him as DeKnight. The slayer. Fuck. Leave it to her to run across that one first. Not that it really mattered; they were all inhuman monsters that could kill her in a second. They were all enemies. Once again being jolted from a mental tangent—her balance was interrupted as her ride came to an abrupt stop well before the building. “What the hell?” she hissed. The drop point was the fucking building over there, not beside the monstrosity that was likely to kill her. The driver opened the little window between the cab and bed, spewing some bullshit about letting her walk with her new playmate so she could better adjust and make friends. Patronizing bastard. Asshole. Skylar was overwhelmingly annoyed, more by his tone than anything, at this idiot driver that treated her like a kid being dropped off at kindergarten. She wasn’t going to kindergarten. She was going on her second suicide mission of the day—but this time she was teaming up with an actual demon... and fuck it, the demon was the least terrifying member of the team.
  
  Glaring at the foolish agent with vengeance—and making a mental note to frame him as a terrorist or something if she lived through the week—she jumped over the side of the truck and landed with a generous thud on the sandy ground. Pain shot up violently at the impact, but the cringe lasted only a moment before her face was more or less blank. She cursed the brief moment of weakness and walked a few steps forward to the passenger seat, where she retrieved a massive black canvas bag with many pockets. Her ammunition bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she shoved her hands in her pockets and trudged on towards DeKnight and the building. She showed no discomfort in the slayer’s presence. No outward fear of his supposed superiority. Honestly, she didn’t care after the day she had. She hoped her insolence bothered him.
  
  Looking at her… she was a complete mess. Her jeans, already casual for an agent, were completely shredded to almost shorts on her right side, fully exposing her terribly stitched laceration. The left leg fared better but was still torn and stuck to a minor burn on her calf. Her black tank top was also quite torn, though it was barely visible under a fresh military jacket she had practically ripped off Jackson. She walked with the slightest limp despite her efforts to conceal it. Her hair was windblown and streaked with blood, even matted in its chaotic bun. Dirt and blood—both dry and oozing—covered her like an art project, mingling with debris and the smell of gunpowder. The truck backed away as she moved forward, turning and taking off swiftly back to base. She listened to the tires roll over the dirt as she approached the slayer, appearing to have the goal of walking past him without a glance. Her vision wasn’t helpful in this moment anyway, erratically blurring due to blood loss or shock or some other injury she was bent on ignoring.
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  Known Names and Titles:
  
  REDACTED
  This is his true name. It roughly translates to extremes in fortune. He will either achieve greatness or suffer absolute misery.
  
  REDACTED
  This was his known name when he lived among his own people. He revoked it when he swore fealty to the King of Asimah. It means fighter in his native tongue.
  
  REDACTED
  Condensed/informal version of REDACTED #2.
  
  REDACTED
  This name is a huge source of shame. I'll drop a hint at an appropriate time... and you can confront him about it and watch his turmoil.
  
  Amasa – ((Ah-mahs-ah))
  The new name given to him after he revoked his former names. It means burden in his native tongue. This holds a double meaning—his official title, Executioner Amasa, obviously means executioner of burdens… but it’s also a personal insult against him. Though he was once a proud warrior that fought to protect his people, he is now only a burden to them—to their legacy—and the name Amasa is a constant reminder of that.
  
  
  Spoiler: Theme Songs

  
  
  
  
  Race and Cultural Beliefs:
  Dryad // General Guidelines:
  
  Human appearance. Skin tone varies. Their hair is usually kept long and styled with dreadlocks or braids. Partially shaving one’s head is also common. Eyes are exclusively green, blue, black, or grey. They have lean, athletic builds—usually standing no taller than 5’2”—and they’re known to be extremely quick on their feet. If left to die of natural causes, Dryads have long life spans. There are a few that have lived to over a thousand. It’s exceedingly common to die brutal deaths at a young age, however, with most dying well before they reach 100.
  
  Children are conceived in the same manner as humans, although Dryad women only carry their children for 5 months. Then, their reproductive systems undergo a period of rest before they’re able to conceive again. The exact length of time varies from woman to woman, but one can expect to wait 2-6 months between pregnancies. Most women conceive multiples. Dryads don’t usually form traditional family units, preferring to treat the entire community as a single extended family. All responsibilities are shared.
  
  They possess average human strength. No magical or spiritual ability. Dryads are generally quite intelligent and quick learners. As a formerly nomadic tribe, they often assimilated knowledge and technology from other cultures into their own. The Dryadic language is roughly 30% comprised of loan words from various languages. Though they transitioned from a nomadic to a sedentary lifestyle—and then transitioned further to raid and conquer—they continue to cherish the ideals of their ancestors and devote their lives to the pursuit of knowledge. As a testament to this, most children become fluent in an average of 6 languages before they reach adolescence. Their diet consists mostly of meat, cartilage, blood, and salt. Evolution has made recent generations unable to properly digest most vegetation, and they suffer ill effects if they attempt to. They can eat fruits and animal products such as eggs and milk. Cannibalism is a common occurrence in Dryad society, but they prefer to eat other species and creatures.
  
  Freedom is essential to the Dryad identity as their people were enslaved for several generations. Dryads are highly protective of nature—having come from nothing, they appreciate the nourishment and quality of life it provides. They’re wary of having resources taken from them and terrified of returning to the life they used to endure.
  
  Dryads are proponents of Darwinism – natural selection eliminates anyone weak, unintelligent, slow, or unable to survive on their own. Their culture revolves around individual pride and self-worth. No one has a right to exist in the world unless they earn their place. There are two distinct factions within Dryad society—those who have been accepted into the community and those who have not. Dryads have an extremely strong sense of loyalty and kinship within their respective factions. If they prove worthy, young Dryads are accepted as kin a year before adulthood. The rejects are eaten.
  
  
  
  1. Children are born nameless and have no right to exist in the world.
  
  2. Names signify a person’s right to exist. A child receives a name when he proves he is worthy of existence.
  
  3. If a child does not receive a name, he continues to be treated as an object until he’s eventually eaten.
  
  4. In recent generations—due to the Dryad’s enslavement—females do not earn names in the same manner as males. Their worth is based solely on health and fertility. Dryad tribes are largely matriarchal.
  
  5. If a child does receive a name, it must never be spoken. It’s known only to the child and the Mundoo (manifestation of the universe/divine spirit) that bestowed it. It signifies the child’s pride, confidence, self-worth, and his status as someone who is entitled to life. It’s his right to exist in his own mind. It’s his very heart.
  
  6. If this name is spoken to another, the dryad is offering himself completely to that person, and they are entitled to do as they please with him and all that his name signifies. When the name is spoken it is given away, and the name is the only thing that prevents a Dryad from being nothing. There is no greater vulnerability than giving up one’s name at will. And no greater humiliation than having it taken away.
  
  7. If a Dryad further proves his worth after receiving a name, he will receive a second name. This name may be spoken to the ends of the universe because it’s a Dryad’s right to exist in the minds of other people. It’s the right to have a legacy and further validate his existence so no one could ever question he had a right to survive in this world.
  
  8. Dryads may receive multiple names throughout their lives if they gain enough acclaim.
  
  9. Dryads must always place great importance on learning and mastering new skills. Skills help them prove their worth and maintain it—as those who cease to earn their place in the world will return to the nothing they once were.
  
  
  
  When the name is received—it literally equates to the universe saying, “Yes—you’re important. You belong here. You mean something and I want to see what you become.” It’s symbolic for one’s own self-worth and confidence. For Dryad children, who are abused and treated like objects from birth, the ability to overcome insecurity and gain confidence is their coming of age trial.
  
  The idea behind giving up one’s name is as follows:
  
  If the name is kept to yourself, you are entirely responsible for it—you have absolute power over your own self-esteem. If you protect it from outside influences and avoid doubting yourself… it’ll essentially remain forever. If that name is given away, however, you’re allowing other people to have power over your own feelings of adequacy. They get to decide whether you’re worth everything or nothing. If they decide you’re worth something—that’s a powerful feeling. You’re better off than you were. And if you were doubting yourself and they decided to build you up—you’re much better off than you were.
  
  However… if they decide to destroy you—that’s it. The damage is done. It doesn’t matter that you still have your name inside your heart—they’ve used their power over it to render it meaningless. The words of those that broke you will always be there. You’ll start to recite them yourself. I’m not good enough. I’m not smart enough. No one cares for me. I can’t do this. And so on. It’s detrimental. And those words only matter if you gave them the power to matter. That’s why your name must be protected. Once it’s given away, it’s difficult to bring it back under your protection. It’s difficult to overcome that vulnerability once it’s exposed.
  
  Dryads aren’t equipped to deal with their vulnerability and the aftermath of “returning to nothing” because of their culture. They aren’t taught about emotional health. Children must be confident and happy and stable to survive, but they’re not granted the tools and the environment to naturally achieve that… so they’re forced to pretend. They suppress their pain and mimic those who are worthy—and if they suppress and pretend well enough, they’re rewarded. As such, they don’t gain a deep understanding of emotion. They’re taught that suppressing it is the key to survival. To make matters worse, once their value as a person is established, it’s treated as some fragile treasure that can never be repaired once it’s broken. Doubting oneself—chipping away at the edges of the treasure—that can be tolerable… but allowing it to shatter completely is a fate worse than death.
  
  Dryads are only shown love after they prove they’re worthy of it. And while the effect of love and acceptance after an entire childhood of neglect is unbelievably powerful—it doesn’t erase the damage from those years of literal torture they’ve endured. That pain becomes a deep-rooted fear of depravation. They fear losing their newfound sense of belonging. In some cases, it might even manifest as a fear of losing anything.
  
  How could they possibly return to nothing after experiencing what it’s like to have “everything?”
  
  If they don’t know how to heal the wounds they already have—they couldn’t possibly bear to endure more. That’s why a Dryad protects his name above all else. That’s why their names are literally their hearts.
  
  Assorted Character Notes:
  -Amasa’s voice and accent = lead singer of Banners.
  
  -Often symbolized as a weasel
  
  -Relevant Topics = self-esteem, abuse, sexual assault, repressed emotion, decent into darkness…
  
  -Has a very eloquent and philosophical manner of speaking, but often with an air of vulgarity. He’ll occasionally speak in broken English to mock people who treat him like an idiot.
  
  -He fears facing his pain and losing to it. The thing about Amasa is… his own mind destroys him. He can’t be strong for himself. He can only be strong for other people. When people rely on him, he has no choice but to keep himself together. He does it for them. When he was with his people, it was easy to stand at the forefront to distract himself. As Amasa, he’s struggled to find external forces to keep his emotions controlled… but it’s still infinitely preferable to being left on his own. He’s terrified that he won’t be able to survive with only his own power. With only his name to protect him from his feelings…. because he’s been doubting himself and his name is slowly losing its power.
  
  -He’s deeply sensitive to the feelings of others and doesn’t want to see them suffer. He doesn’t want to hurt people, but he realizes that people are often at odds—and he isn’t strong enough or wise enough to change the cycle of pain the universe is caught in. He realizes that he must choose a side. Inaction isn’t an option. He chooses his people and does terrible things to protect them. Ultimately, he will always do what he feels must be done… but at the same time the things he does goes against everything he values in his heart, so he tears himself into pieces trying to figure out why everyone thinks of him as a monster when his heart is nothing like that. He feels like no one ever sees the real him. He feels so much remorse over everyone he’s hurt and all that he’s done, so he has this conflict over being a monster and realizing he’s a monster and choosing to be a monster despite the fact it kills him inside.
  
  A Related Note for the Ascension Roleplay: Then you have Michael, who instead of calling him a monster says he’s weak and pathetic and just this embarrassment of a man. And even though he means that in a terrible, completely insulting way—Amasa’s takes it as the highest compliment anyone could ever give him. He’s just like, holy shit—he’s not calling me a monster. He’s seeing me as the peaceful person I am! He can see my heart! And he devotes himself to Michael because of that.
  
  Personality: INFJ
  
  All or nothing. Passionate. Extremely emotional. Strong intuition. Empathetic. Views the world in terms of its potential. Feels like an outsider. Craves deep connections with people, doesn’t know how to get them. Values honesty above all else. Strong set of core values. Believes he’s always right. Sacrifices himself for others. People pleaser. Kindhearted. Warm. Compassionate. Idealist. Envisions the world at its best but acts upon the reality of the situation. Neither a leader nor a follower. Notices the darkness in the world, but often chooses to see the best in everything despite it. Poetic. Romantic. Colorfully describes things. Creative. Flirty. Outrageously silly at times. Doesn’t want anyone to feel inadequate. Dislikes conflict. Fiercely loyal. Trustworthy. Overprotective.
  
  Relevant Quotes:
  “Sometimes the bad things that happen in our lives put us directly on the path to the best things that will ever happen to us.”
  
  “If you don’t terrify people a little bit… then what’s the point?”
  
  “I keep it all inside because I’d rather the pain destroy me than everyone else.”
  
  “A man touched by constant tragedy, shaped by it, and yet still retaining a pure soul to rival almost all on earth.”
  
  “I try to make people feel loved and wanted because I know what it’s like to not feel loved and wanted.”
  
  “I’m tired of fighting. For once I want to be fought for.”
  
  Words from Amasa:
  “Doesn’t it bother you that they get to decide who we are? I don’t want them to decide that. I want to decide. I want to be the one to say I mean something.”
  
  “I’ve accomplished so much. Even though the universe said I wasn’t worthy of existing—that I wasn’t capable of being anything more than a burden—I’ve come so far and done so much. It makes me think that it was stupid after all. That the universe really didn’t know what it was talking about. I know my people’s customs and traditions were bullshit. I know I won’t pass them on. But… every time I’m alone I can’t help but think about all the things that’ve happened… and I think, maybe there’s a reason I wasn’t named. Maybe it’s not that unnamed people can’t accomplish anything… maybe it’s that their accomplishments are better left unaccomplished.”
  
  “I was born unto this world nameless and naked, with no right to exist and no expectation to ever earn that right. I was an object. Less than worthless in this grand expanse of a world. I possessed nothing. No pride. No purpose. Nothing. I’m not so arrogant as to believe I could never return to that state… nor am I so inclined to become bitter the closer I come to it. Do not mistake me—I will resist it, always and with every breath—but should it ever occur, I’m at peace with the possibility. More so than you, at least, my lord.”
  
  “You bid me to fight for all you cherish… yet I find myself unable to discern any meaningful feeling for anything beyond your stubborn pride. What would you do to protect all this from danger? What lengths would you go to? What humiliation would you endure? You declare yourself so much better than me, lord… but I don’t imagine you could’ve suffered the indignity I’ve suffered for my people. You’re consumed with pride and it binds you heart and soul.”
  
  “You posture and whine as though I were your rival—but how could you ever hope to overcome me when you can’t even overcome your own heart?”
  
  “We didn’t have a white flag. Do you honestly think we could’ve surrendered? You think if we just bowed our heads and crawled back to our hellscape they would’ve left us alone? No—it was win or die. It was always win or die. I stood with my brothers and built an empire from the blood and mire underfoot... but we were always just an instant away from losing it all. We had to fight for everything we had. Do you understand? Everything. We fought and fought and fought for things that other people were just given… and then we fought you lot and look what happened. The empire fell.”
  
  “Wha—” he scoffed in utter amazement, “WHAT FUCKING UNIVERSE ARE YOU LIVING IN WHERE YOU THINK I’D JUST BEHEAD YOU OUT OF ANGER!?”
  
  
• 
  Details at a Glance:
  
  MxM​
  
  
  Details are flexible and TBD. Talk to me about it. Available Options:​
  
  
  Platonic // “Platonic” // Potential for Romance, but you’d have to work for it.​
  
  
  My OC = Amasa. Please see the [Character: Executioner Amasa] tab for details.​
  
  
  Your OC = Michael. Amasa calls him Mika so I’ll often refer to him as Mika.​
  
  
  ((You can change the name if you want. 100% creative freedom. As always.))
  ​
  
  
  Amasa is a sexy little shit, so he’s probably—okay, definitely—going to flirt with Mika. That doesn’t mean he’s in love with Mika. He’s not. At least not presently. He could certainly be convinced to fall in love with Mika—you’d have to work REALLY HARD for it, but it’s possible. Let me know if that’s something you might be craving. The flirting is meant jokingly in a very innocent way—it’s a cultural thing with him—but most of the time it doesn’t come across as innocent. Presumably, it’ll be a situation where Amasa is improperly trying to express how much he cares about Mika in his sort of you’re part of my brotherhood, I would die for you type of way—but Mika doesn’t acknowledge his attempts—so Amasa just gets more and more outrageous as time passes until eventually Mika has to react. And he presumably acts on a mistaken notion that Amasa’s outrageous “passes” are indicative of romantic interest.​
  
  
  
  
  Genre: Fantasy​
  
  
  Setting: Dystopian/derelict futuristic setting with knights and shit and other medieval/roman elements. Potential to morph into other genres + settings as the roleplay progresses. See [Setting] for details.​
  
  
  ​
  
  
  The RP ridiculously simplified into pairings for those of you that like that sort of thing:​
  
  
  Michael x Amasa​
  
  
  “Somewhat God” (in training) + “Demon” (sparkling poster child of demon rehabilitation)​
  
  
  Future King (hopefully) + Former Slave (more or less a slave again, but the food is better so fuck it)​
  
  
  Cares what people think of him (except for Amasa, his opinion is irrelevant) + Mostly doesn’t give a shit (except for Mika’s opinion—that matters)​
  
  
  Insecure dominant + motherfucking INFJ that doesn’t fit into either of those dom/sub stereotypes​
  
  
  Okay, okay. I know I’m not doing this correctly. Fine.​
  
  
  Knight + Attendant​
  
  Setting:
  Big Picture:
  The short explanation: it’s a spider web with dew drops on it. Each droplet contains a universe—for instance, one droplet would contain Earth, our solar system, and everything beyond that—and each strand of web is a gateway world that connects these different universes. Within each universe there are portals/gates that lead to gateway worlds. Basically, it’s a way to connect characters from vastly different backgrounds and allow them to logically experience different settings. It allows total creative freedom for each character because they don’t have to adhere to the rules of whatever setting/world the roleplay is in.
  
  The entire web of universes = the multiverse
  
  The individual universes = realms
  
  Realms are stable/complete. They adhere to a constant set of natural laws. These can differ from realm to realm—but within one realm the rules are constant. Gateway worlds tend to be unstable. They either don’t adhere to constant natural laws or the laws themselves are inadequate when compared to a full-fledged realm. Basically—gateway worlds either morph into completely different environments or maintain a consistent environment that’s incomplete/inhospitable.
  
  
  
  Here's the cinematic explanation:
  
  People think the universe was born of darkness. Nothingness.
  
  It wasn’t. Light can never be created from darkness. It existed of its own accord, right alongside the swirling pitch of emptiness. The universe wasn’t born of black or white. It was born of grey. A thousand everchanging shades of grey. Particles of light and darkness mixed together. Churning. Colliding endlessly in a vast expanse. Time passed, and then it wasn’t just shades of grey. Look closely and you’d see streaks of blue in the shadows. Flecks of yellow in patches of white. Bits of green at the threshold. Spots of purple floating alongside. These are the particles of the universe: the spectrum of colors from which it was born. All it took was time. An absurd extent of time. Particles sought each other out, hunted each other down and devoured one other—gradually forming something more than just particles. An existence. A consciousness. A tangible element. And eventually… an entire world. An entire universe.
  
  But it didn’t end there.
  
  Time fathered another world. And another universe. And another. Each different from the last, but vast and miraculous all the same. The particles became spheres of wonder, floating alongside each other in a sea of grey. And between them were more particles, eager not to be devoured by the universe fate had placed before them. They latched on to each other—forming a gateway between one universe and another. Then more came together… and they became a web. A maze connecting every universe that time had created.
  
  The particles themselves are the very fabric of existence. When they devour one another, they become one entity. They can be broken, but they’ll still be shattered parts of what they were. This is how souls and pure elements are made. When particles bind together, they’re separate entities. They can be broken apart and the parts will be different from the whole. They aren’t as stable. These compounds are what give the universe form.
  
  There are a fixed number of particles in the universe. They can’t be created, but they can be destroyed with great difficulty. When a particle is destroyed—or shattered—the grey separates into light and darkness. This is the only source of pure light and pure darkness in the universe. These fragments no longer possess the ability to naturally form a consciousness like the particles; however, particles that have formed souls can gain the ability to absorb these fragments and alter their composition. In some cases, it can alter the state of their consciousness.
  
  The multiverse contains several smaller realms within it, each connected by gateway worlds that aren’t as complete or consistent as the actual realms themselves. They’re arranged in more of a web than a progressive line, so it’s possible to revisit or skip realms. When a conscious being (animal, person, creature, or otherwise living thing) dies in one realm, their essence passes through a gateway world and on to another realm. There are a limited number of souls in the universe. Generally, when an essence travels to a new realm, it binds to a new form and has no memory of past experiences. It’s a recycled soul. A form of reincarnation. They lose themselves and become new beings, completely unaware that any domain exists beyond their own. These beings are called transients.
  
  Living creatures can pass through world gates and gateway worlds without dying—but they have to physically traverse the gateway worlds themselves. They retain their memories of it. Dead transient souls undergoing reincarnation don’t have a physical form in the gateway worlds, so they just sort of float through it like a specter. They don’t retain memories of the experience.
  
  If a transient being is subjected to enough trauma throughout its many lives, it’s possible for it to become corrupted and evolve into a ravager. This transformation isn’t instantaneous and occurs at various rates. Ravagers have a chance to retain their memories or sense of “self” after death. In late stage transformation, it’s possible for the bound particles that form the ravager’s body to fuse with those that form its soul, so they travel through the gateway worlds and universe with varying amounts of their “original” form. Because of this, ravagers differ greatly in form and ability. When ravagers are in a state of transformation, their souls can absorb fragments. While they can absorb both, it’s more common for them to absorb an excess of darkness. They dwell on the negative energy in the multiverse and it seeks them out. Over time ravagers have a tendency to become cruel and unfeeling—until eventually their essence is so unrecognizable that they become stranded in the gateway worlds, unable to pass through the portals that connect the realms. You can think of ravagers as the manifestation of evil in the universe. They’re considered demons in many realms.
  
  It’s possible, though extremely rare, for a ravager to absorb an excess of light fragments, becoming something called an amarok. The word stems from two contradictory roots—meaning everlasting light and unstoppable annihilation. Like ravagers, their final form and abilities are unpredictable… but they possess one extremely powerful ability—they’re the only creatures in the multiverse that wield a force strong enough to shatter particles. They can destroy a person’s soul.
  
  Ascendants form when a newly created transient soul, by pure chance, has the ability to absorb light fragments. Instead of passing through the gates to live their endless string of lives, they’re granted the chance to live a single, extensive life… tasked with glorious purpose. They’re created to offset the ravagers. Ascendants are created in the gateway worlds of Asimah: the realm in the center of the multiverse. The first realm. Their forms and abilities are consistent—though individual strength differs like any other species. Ascendants are gathered and educated to perform specific duties. They’re warriors. They fight to maintain order in the multiverse. They fight for their King. Ascendants can sense the energy that radiates from world gates, so they’re able to locate them at will. This gives them a greater ability to navigate the universe. Ravagers and amaroks don’t have this ability. Ascendants are akin to Archangels.
  
  In the center of the universe there’s a realm called Asimah that rules over the extents of the multiverse. The King or “God” of this realm has a rare ability (I’m calling it a Conquering Aura or just Aura for short) that gives his words power. He’s able to project his spirit or will to compel other beings to obey him if his will overpowers theirs. His power is so strong that even particles—the building blocks of the universe—listen to him, giving him the power of creation. No one knows if he was the one who created the multiverse or not, but everyone who knows of him certainly considers him the King of it.
  
  Beings who manifest a Conquering Aura are called transcendents. There are people scattered throughout the multiverse who have the potential for an Aura to seek them out and be absorbed into their spirit. The majority of people who have this potential never actually manifest the power. Those that do are either hailed as gods in their respective realms—lessor gods that answer to the King of the Multiverse, of course—or considered monsters… reviled by the people of their worlds until they’re hunted down and killed by the King’s forces. People who manifest an Aura achieve differing levels of strength. There are some universal limitations to the power, but you’d have to be omnipresent to know what those are. Just hope you’ll never have to figure it out.
  
  The King is responsible for creating ascendants. They act as his army. They’re immensely powerful and travel around the multiverse to keep and restore order. They often fight to save realms from ravagers and other threats to the multiverse.
  
  Little Picture:
  Asimah is distinctly different from the usual stereotypes associated with a heaven-like place. You look at it and wonder how anyone could consider it God’s realm—but the more you look and really notice things, you realize that it had the air of something that used to be brilliant but faded into this miserable ghost of what it used to be. Something that had the life slowly smothered out of it. A likeness captured with a shattered, filth covered lens. But no one else seems to notice… they all carry on as though this was the only way they’d ever seen it. It makes you wonder just how long the world suffered if no one noticed it was dying in the first place.
  
  It has an extremely dark, gritty tone—but there are fantasy elements that suggest it used to be something better. Something beautiful. I’m thinking a sort of ultra-modern/futuristic dystopian setting with medieval and Roman Empire vibes—advanced in some ways and archaic in others. It’s like the setting is modern and there are modern elements to it—you know, you’ve got vandals and fight clubs and a nasty underbelly of organized crime—but other than that, the culture is like something medieval. Overall the landscape is beautiful—the light carries a colored tint, the sky dances at night with the light of auroras, the forests are massive and overgrown… like this place has been here since the beginning of time… but the days are dim, plagued with overcast skies and dense fog, just slightly brighter than the night and its array of color. There are these futuristic cities… with narrow streets and buildings squished together and stacked on top of each other, plastered with mismatched neon signs everywhere—for everything—for stupid stuff and half of them were advertising crap that had died out years ago. Just another reminder that it wasn’t always like this.
  
  There’s a colosseum where they make a spectacle of warriors, ascendants, and ravagers/creatures from the menagerie fighting to the death. There’s also smaller, non-official versions of this in poorer parts of the cities.
  
  Despite the modern/futuristic setting, the general populous has limited technology. Most things are made by hand—artisans and craftsmen are a thing. Trading and bartering are a thing. There are a lot of street markets and food stalls that pop up at night. There aren’t any cars, bikes/scooters, phones, internet… or anything like that. It’s medieval in that aspect. An ancient society in a modern setting. People walk everywhere. It keeps them in their place. Keeps them from straying too far and thinking too much. Walls divide cities into rings—like something you would see after cutting down a tree—separating people so there wouldn’t ever be enough to fight back. The cities are a melting pot of different people and races that don’t remember anything outside of Asimah.
  
  I’m gonna go ahead and stop here. Keep in mind that Mika and Amasa will probably end up going through the world gate and into other realms at some point—so the setting can and will change throughout the roleplay.
  
  Synopses:
  Throughout the many realms of the multiverse, there’s a universal myth that predicts the apocalypse. The translation and details vary—but legend states that a single Conqueror will create specters of the apocalypse from the very essence of the universe—and together with these warriors, the Conqueror will defeat the universe itself.
  
  The King, believing these myths were indeed a forewarning, fashioned a plan to outmaneuver the apocalypse. He sought out those who had manifested the Aura and used them to try to create an heir that rivaled his command of the power. Through the centuries his attempts have failed—though he’s sacrificed the lives of many transcendents to concentrate the power. Anyone who fails to prove their capacity to contest the apocalypse is executed… the very essence of their soul destroyed so it can be used to strengthen the next heir.
  
  After his long string of failures, the King attempted a new tactic. He used a transcendent goddess to produce a son, Michael, who became the current heir of the Aura. Despite his concentrated potential, and his mother’s essence being used to strengthen it further, Michael has yet to present any exceptional mastery of the power.
  
  Growing impatient—the King decided to take a “forged in fire” approach, telling Michael to choose a ravager to act as his attendant. The reasoning was that the ravager would presumably kill him if he ever proved too weak to adequately control it. It would be there constantly—always in a position to run a sword through his heart. This pressure would force him to always keep his guard up and focus entirely on strengthening his power.
  
  Michael thought very carefully about his decision. He was betting his life, after all. He needed to set himself up for success. It was important to choose one that was inherently weak—one that already had its spirit broken—but not so noticeably weak that his reasoning would be apparent. His plan was to pick the easiest conquest—the smallest possible threat—and his father would certainly disapprove of that plan.
  
  There was one ravager that stood out as a favorable choice.
  
  He was once part of a group of ravagers that traveled across the multiverse, gathering allies and leaving desolation in their wake. This continued until the King and a handful of ascendants stepped in to erase them from existence. They were all but annihilated. Rather than die fighting a losing battle, the ravager abandoned his people to swear fealty to the King of Asimah. He relinquished everything he had—his name, his titles, his freedom—everything, and begged the King to spare him. The King, amused and prone to collecting prisoners from the species he conquered, accepted the ravager into his menagerie. He was given a new name—Amasa—which means burden in his people’s native tongue. After having his story spread far and wide—after having any semblance of pride he might’ve had beaten out of him—Amasa had spent the last three years acting as the official executioner. He quietly submitted to every command... even going so far as to personally execute the remaining survivors of his people.
  
  Clearly, he was a cowardly piece of shit that would pose little trouble.
  
  After considering it at length… Michael chose the executioner, Amasa, to act as his attendant. This was a terrible mistake. He didn’t know it was a mistake—and it would presumably take a while for him to realize that it was, indeed, a mistake—but he had most certainly doomed himself over an accidental misjudgment of character.
  
  In his attempt to choose what he thought was the most pathetic, insecure creature among them—he inadvertently chose the strongest one.
  
  Hijinks ensued.
  
  Brainstorming Notes - Character Dynamics:
  ((I’m going to refer to this stuff as though it’s happening/already happened, but this will obviously take time to develop and there’s no guarantee it’ll actually happen. These are suggestions. MERE SUGGESTIONS. I’m totally willing to scrap everything if you want to go a different direction))
  
  
  -Relevant Quotes that Sort of Define Various Phases of their Potential Relationship-
  
  Michael:
  
  “Your existence gives me a headache. Go stand over there.”
  
  “There’s no need to repeat yourself. I ignored you just fine the first time.”
  
  “I won’t let you close enough to hurt me.”
  
  “You smiled and all I could think was oh shit.”
  
  “It’s all fun and games until [Amasa] obliterates you from existence.”
  
  “If I let you in, please don’t break anything.”
  
  “Just because I don’t react, doesn’t mean I didn’t notice.”
  
  “Don’t you dare make fun of me.”
  
  “I don’t want you to save me. I want you to stand by my side as I save myself.”
  
  “My biggest fear is that eventually you will see me the way I see myself.”
  
  
  Amasa:
  
  “Our stupid little conversations mean more to me than you think.”
  
  “Can I at least give you an awkward hug?”
  
  “You have no idea how important you are to me, and I have no idea how to explain it to you.”
  
  “I’m a big mess, and that’s the last thing you need right now… but this mess loves you endlessly.”
  
  “I thought they’d killed you… so I lost my temper.”
  
  “You’re enough for me… but I know that I’ll never be enough for you.”
  
  “Yes, I love you. But I’m done fighting for your attention.”
  
  “I’m not used to being loved. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
  
  “Are you proud of who you’ve become?”
  
  “I get hurt. Really hurt. And sometimes when that happens… something inside me shuts off.”
  
  “You don’t even know my real name.”​
  
  
  Amasa’s song to Michael: Half Light – Banners
  
  ((This song is perfect. None of this was based on the song—I came across it after the fact—so that makes it even more perfect. The singer’s voice and accent are also exactly what I wanted for Amasa’s voice… so it’s literally like he’s singing the song for Mika. It’s the most amazing thing ever.))
  
  
  
  Amasa doesn’t see the Aura as an actual “magical” ability. He sees it as a metaphor.
  
  The Aura is tearing people down to build oneself up.
  
  Amasa views the world in terms of its potential. What it could be. When he looks at Michael—he’s not looking at the mess that’s currently overtaking him—he’s looking at what he believes Michael will become.
  
  Michael devotes the whole of his being to developing his Aura. He may not actively realize it—but he’s devoting himself to building himself up at the expense of other people. It’s a darkness that overtakes him. When Amasa looks at Michael in that state—he sees that darkness, and he sees a future where Michael will have gained the delusion of love and approval… but he won’t have any real relationships because he’ll have destroyed everyone around him. One day he’ll realize that he’s surrounded by people, but he’s more alone than he’s ever been.
  
  Even now… he doesn’t let anyone close enough to see his insecurity. He only shows his fake “good” half to anyone. He’s stated living a half-life. Amasa wants Mika to overcome his insecurity—but he doesn’t want him to do it the way he plans to do it. He doesn’t want Mika to succumb to that darkness. He does everything he can to save him from that darkness.
  
  It becomes this situation where Amasa is trying to become a moral beacon for Mika—but Amasa is completely unqualified for that. His background and “I’ll protect you at any cost” attitude makes his sense of morality completely questionable… but he doesn’t fully realize that. He thinks he’s right and always knows the right thing to do. He thinks he can justify anything if his heart is in the right place. This becomes infinitely more pronounced when he’s around Mika since there’s no one calling him a monster and making him second guess himself.
  
  Mika fully realizes that Amasa’s moral compass is totally fucked—he tries to ignore his guidance most the time—but sometimes he gets taken in by Amasa’s eloquence and has a harder time fighting it. To make matters worse, Asimah’s ethical laws are questionable as well—so despite Amasa’s advice usually leading to similarly flawed paths… he’s usually in the right when he tries to redirect Mika.
  
  You get these moments where Mika and Amasa are desperately trying to figure out the right thing to do, but they’re both wrong, so they end up bickering over who’s more wrong than the other.
  
  
  
  Amasa: “You’re completely overreacting! Some half-rate knight called you a bitch and your first instinct is a duel to the death? What—you really don’t think there’s a more reasonable way to handle this?”
  
  Mika: “I don’t expect a dissolute little weasel such as yourself to understand… just shut up and fetch my shield.”
  
  Amasa: [spends a fair amount of time being annoying enough to make Mika lose his temper]
  
  Mika: “For God’s sake—what would you have me do, then!?”
  
  Amasa: “Execute him! Obviously. I’ll behead him and be done with it.”
  
  
  
  As it stands, Amasa has no sense of external pride. He doesn’t want to cause any trouble for himself, so he submits to any humiliation with little resistance. Michael chooses Amasa due to a belief that his lack of external pride is illustrative of his internal sense of self-esteem. Amasa quickly realizes Michael’s perception of him, and once again not wanting to cause himself trouble, decides to play along with that belief. As such, Michael remains blinded to Amasa’s true character until he witnesses enough inconsistencies to question his original assessment. That could take awhile.
  
  Amasa is a named Dryad. When he relinquished his names to the King, he only relinquished those that represented his external pride and accomplishments. His true name—the name that entitles him to exist in this world—that name is still in his heart. His spirit isn’t broken. After everything he went through to earn a sense of self-confidence, he’s not going to allow anyone to take it from him. He will believe in himself. He’s entitled to that. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of him. It matters what he thinks. And he thinks that if he has his name… he can endure anything.
  
  This belief system lends itself to a strength of will that rivals the power of the Aura.
  
  Michael uses Amasa to discern his level of strength, but Amasa doesn’t succumb to the Aura and Michael doesn’t realize that. From his perspective, he can’t overcome this person that he views as the most pitiful and spineless excuse for a man he’s ever seen. He starts to question himself because he hasn’t formed a sense of self-confidence yet. He’s the opposite of Amasa— he’s insecure and he compensates by projecting an enormous amount of external pride. He cares what other people think of him. He believes that the only way to overcome his insecurity is to gain the acclaim of as many people as possible… and to do that, he needs to become strong and gain the favor of his father. But if he can’t even force his will on a piece of shit like Amasa, that means he’s an even bigger piece of shit than that—and he’ll never get the widespread acclaim he needs to be satisfied.
  
  Amasa has had acclaim and it wasn’t good enough to fill the void in his heart. He realized how useless it was. He wasn’t a different person after he lost it because it didn’t matter in the first place. He wants something that would change him—something that would ruin him if he ever lost it. He wants a deep connection with one person. One person who would look upon the entirety of his being and love him despite all his flaws. He doesn’t believe that will ever happen—he doesn’t believe he’ll ever have a person... so he devotes himself to people instead. Tries to become their person, and just the act of acknowledging and accepting his devotion would be enough to fill some of the void he carries.
  
  Amasa senses Michael’s insecurity. It hits him really hard because he knows what it’s like to feel that way. He’s gone through the whole prove your worth or die thing and came out alive—but it caused him to spend an entire lifetime making stupid mistakes. He can’t stand watching someone feel that way. He can’t stand the idea of someone else making his mistakes because of same stupid concept that’s already taken too many lives. He starts to feel a kinship with Michael. He starts to root for him and care about him. Add that to the fact that Michael views him as a pathetic piece of shit instead of a monster… and that’s it. He becomes enamored with Mika. Amasa chooses Michael and tries to become his person—but as it stands, a deep connection with one person isn’t enough to vindicate Michael’s insecurity. It isn’t enough to fill his void.
  
  
  Michael and Amasa have the potential to bring out the best in each other.... but the way things are now… they’re respectively the worst thing that could’ve happened to each other.
  
  Brainstorming Notes - Potential Scene Outlines, Plot Arcs, and Random Nonsense:
  
  
  -Both Mika and Amasa are dynamic characters—but they’re dynamic in opposite ways. Mika moves towards his potential and changes for the better. He's not a perfect person, obviously. He's still kind of terrible in some ways... but he improves. Amasa starts out strong but spirals downward as the roleplay progresses. The first half of the roleplay is mostly focused on Michael. The second half focuses on Amasa. Then it presumably moves into a whole different phase where they’re both completely screwed over and all they have is their broken, shitty, tense relationship.
  
  
  
  Phase 1:
  
  Mika pushes everyone away. He doesn’t let anyone in. Especially Amasa—a man who betrayed everyone so he alone could live—but Amasa pushes back and fights hard for the privilege of standing by his side. He pushes and pushes and pushes until Mika slowly starts to trust him. Inadvertently. Just a little, despite the fact that he’s the last person anyone should trust. Mika starts to gain more confidence in himself. But despite that progress—Amasa gets more and more hurt the closer he gets to Mika. Some of it is due to the inherent darkness in Mika… his quest to break Amasa and assert dominance over him… and some of it is from Mika’s defensive pushback as Amasa weasels his way closer despite his attempts to keep him at arm’s length. A lot of it has nothing to do with Michael at all. Amasa is just succumbing to his own internal conflicts.
  
  
  Scene Proposal:
  -After a long period of acting like an idiot to avoid conflict—Amasa finally loses his shit and challenges Mika. It’s bad. He uses his empathetic powers for evil and attacks Mika’s weak points. Michael, frustrated in his inability to “overcome” Amasa and utterly furious over his keen words, completely loses his shit in response. He resorts to a different tactic. He gets physical. It shouldn’t be hard to intimidate Amasa into silence—the little weasel is a full foot shorter, after all—but even after he throws his weight around and pins Amasa to the wall—the idiot just doesn’t shut up. He doesn’t back down. The verbal abuse just keeps coming. Michael does everything he can. Uses his Aura. Yells at him to stop. Threatens him. Roughs him up more roughly… but Amasa takes it all with barely a flinch. Worse—he starts getting more upset and escalates to saying things he doesn’t mean. Cruel things.
  
  Overwhelmed by a desperate determination to just get him to shut up—Michael is half ready to crack his skull open. It seemed nothing short of unconsciousness would stop the harsh onslaught… but something about that felt like losing. He didn’t want to lose to Amasa anymore. So he does the only thing he can think to do and kisses the bastard—mid sentence—thinking that he’d manipulate his feelings to get him to shut up and listen. He just wanted to have an effect on him. Just once. To see the stupid look on his face when he proved capable of overwhelming him. To see him involuntarily shudder in dumbfounded silence. And he did. He managed all those things—but not in the way he intended...
  
  
  
  Phase 2:
  
  As Mika slowly becomes someone who’s capable of letting Amasa in… well, Amasa backs off and tries to slam the door on him. This sudden withdrawal of endless love and warmth makes Michael realize how much he actually wanted it. There’s a role reversal. Michael becomes the one vying for attention as Amasa tries to keep him at bay. Michael becomes the one trying to save Amasa from the darkness inside him. But he’s not prepared to take on that darkness—just like Amasa wasn’t—so when he finally succeeds and Amasa throws open the door… he’s completely overwhelmed. Combine that with any bitterness he might feel for Amasa turning his back on him… and the temptation of his main goal in phase 1 being achievable in that moment… and it’s entirely possible that he becomes responsible for Amasa returning to nothing and losing his name...
  
  
  Scene excerpt:
  “Truthfully, Michael never felt like Amasa would hurt him. He didn’t seem like the type of person who would run a sword through his chest. That’s why he chose Amasa to have his back. But something had changed... Amasa had a different look in his eyes. It was a look that said, “Cross me and I’ll kill you,” as though he wouldn’t have a second thought.
  
  For the first time, Michael realized just how dangerous Amasa was—how fortunate he’d been to constantly provoke him without consequence. For the first time he could see why everyone called him a monster. He wanted to call him a monster.”
  
  
  
  Transition to Phase 3:
  
  Some plot-related shit happens… (what, did you think I was going to spill everything? As detailed as this is, there’s still pages of notes I’m keeping from you! I know I said I was going to be purposely heavy handed, but… damn—I’m really concerned I’ve scared everyone away at this point, so I ended up dialing it back. Just a bit. Okay, a lot. In all honesty it reached a point where this is only slightly more heavy-handed than a standard "we both like to plan things out" roleplay proposal of mine... you know, excluding the detail about your OC, of course, unless you asked for my input. I chickened out, guys! The scariest recruitment thread in existence isn't going as planned... )
  
  Mika is slated for execution sometime after having an absolutely massive fallout with Amasa and getting the INFJ door slam. You’re dead to me. You fucking bastard. I hope this whole fucking universe screws you over. You’ll have to guess who the executioner is. Did you guess? It’s Amasa. Michael is understandably at his lowest point yet—there’s all sorts of complicated feelings—and the execution progresses ridiculously far before Amasa stops the blade at the last possible moment and begrudgingly helps Michael escape certain death. Yay. Michael has lost everything except his life. His goals are no longer achievable. Amasa has lost everything except his life—again—except this time he’s also no longer entitled to existence, so that sucks. Michael is at a total loss because Amasa saved him despite apparently hating his guts. Amasa is at a total loss because he’s back in a world where only the strong survive... and he's completely unprepared for it. They’re pretty much at the bottom now.
  
  Michael: “You got what you wanted, huh? The universe really did screw me over.”
  
  Amasa might possibly be giving Michael a childish silent treatment at this point... :3
  

If you’re reading this, I’m going to assume that you’re trembling in some mixture of fear and excitement. It’s okay. I knew this was going to happen.
Go on and reach out a virtual hand in PM or reply form.

I’m going to go ahead and make a bet and say… TWO PEOPLE. That’s how many interested parties there’ll be. Although, fuck it—I’d be happy with half a person. Maybe the masochistic side of someone with multiple personalities. Oh—if one person with multiple personalities stepped forward… I wonder if I could count that as more than one person? Heh. Loopholes. I’m pretty confident in the bet, at this point.

Okay, well… I think I’m gonna shut up now.
Probably going to instantly regret this the moment I post it, so I’m stalling, but damn it… aaaaah… okay. It’s fine. I got this.

 

[salty_ moustachio]

I'm drowning in words! Save me!

 

[Blood Born Angel]

I made it halfway through "Content" before realizing... I really should go get some snacks. Luckily, I'm a fast(ish) reader and was done by 2:30 am. Hurray!
I'd like to state that I may fall into the category as using your god-like writing abilities as a measuring tool against my own paltry skills, though; I'm not insecure enough to be unable to wave some pointy sticks at my predisposition, and maybe dispel my self-demeaning thoughts.

Anyhow... I'd love to take a stab at getting to know you. Send me a message if you are also so inclined. We'll just see how things go from there in the end. ^~^ Hope to hear from you soon.

 

[ekoutrakos]

You’re right, I’m sure a million times over you scared a few people away with all those words.
Yet, I loved it. No idea, if I can come close (I’d really love to someday) that amount of work, and I admire you for typing all of that out it definitely shows dedication!!
That being said, I might be the half of a person you’re searching for. If not, that’s more than okay too; good lucky lovely!!

 

[invaderspotty]

Oh my goodness so many words, at first I was thinking that I wouldn’t get intimidated or anything but—you succeeded in being scary!! Not terrifying enough to scare me off BUT I’m sure that’s a good thing in the end.

Anywho, I adore your writing style samples and I’m intrigued to say the least. I would be very interested in trying to get to know you and discussing a possibly role play! I can’t assure you that my style of writing would be as amazing as yours but I try to write as much as I can given the situation of the scene—and I like to believe that I have exceptional grammar in my posts(?)

Either way, if you’re interested then I might be someone you would like to interact with I’ll gladly tell you more about myself n my experience as well as writing samples. Whatever your heart desires really...

Alrighty well have a wonderful day!! Good luck in your partner search

 

[Happiness Transplant]

Okay! Evidently… I lost the bet. That’s okay.

I’m back from class and willing to procrastinate on homework for a few hours… so I’m going to get started sending and replying to PMs. I’ll respond to everyone in some shape or form, but it might take some time. If you don’t get a reply today: I’m not ignoring you. I’ve just reached the threshold of reasonable procrastination… if there is such a thing.

Edit: Actually, I think I might be able to get a reply to everyone. Yay! Good times.


salty_ moustachio

From a purely logical standpoint… I feel like saving someone is a bad idea when you’re sort of indirectly responsible for them drowning in the first place. I mean—if you die, I don’t have to worry about litigation, so… I do truly hope you enjoy the afterlife.

 

[MissTay215]

This post is rather exquisite and eye-catching! From your thread, I found you rather fascinating and thrilling! I am rather fond of the idea of putting fear into others. I enjoy that thrill as well and would to share that feeling another. If you are interested, I can provide you with samples of how I roleplay and whatever you need for your heart's content.

I had the pleasure of reading such a marvelous masterpiece and wish you well in your hunt for a partner. I thank you and wish you a good day!

 

[Aridis]

I have stumbled upon a wonderful goldmine of a thread.

I'm sorry to say that your attempts to scare me off have horribly failed. If anything, I'm much more interested than I was when I originally clicked on the thread. I've never come across someone quite like you on this site, and now that I know you exist I'm extremely excited. I love your writing and your views on writing! I definitely want to get to know you better, even if our interactions don't end up in a roleplay.