✷ PAGAN POETRY┊ RP SEARCH/HUB

[Lycanthus]

{pagan ✹ poetry }

i'm a 21 year old rper who's been in and out of the scene since 2006. i love rping, but frankly it takes a lot of time and energy to do, what with Adult Life going on and stuff (and a bazillion other things that need my attention) so i'm generally looking for low-stress rps with partners who 'get it' so to say. most of my basic preferences are listed in my rp resume, but i like elaborating. so here we are.
if you're interested, please post here: don't pm me.​

✹ about me
✹ preferences
✹ samples
✹ characters
✹ wishlist
✹ roleplay archive

STATUS: NOT (REALLY) SEEKING RPS

(but open for discussion)

[ click here for a tldr; version of this thread ]​

 

[Lycanthus]

{about . me}

i'm lysander! like i said, i'm 21. i'm also a nonbinary-but-mostly-masc-identifying queer asian living in the suburbs of dallas, texas. i'm a narcissist who loves to talk to myself slash hear myself talk, and i do it a lot. i have a personal vendetta against capital letters and i type like an absolute fuckin tool if i'm comfortable with you. i tend to use rping more as a way to meet cool people these days since tbh i can be tired/busy/lazy/etc. i love love love talking about ocs and plotting and the like with people who click with me. andddd i'm pretty laid back unless you do something really shitty or you just kind of rub me the wrong way. i'm nice though, i promise :')

i also have a lot of personal projects and stories i want to tell, so i'm also always looking for someone to bounce ideas and stuff off of, given that we click! my other hobbies usually help me in my various endeavors. i compose really shitty electronic music, kinda dabble in gamedev, draw a little. i really like using different mediums to tell stories and experimenting with them.and i LOVE interactive fiction. not reading it because i'm way too lazy to do that, but writing it (because writing it is supposedly less energy consuming???)

i tend to gravitate towards relateable characters, character interaction, character development, themes of self-discovery, trauma, or just plain ol' fucked up shit in general. the more my ocs cry, the better. i thrive off of their delicious tears. also, i almost exclusively play lgbt+ characters, since i'm like... lgbt. i don't really do smut or romance either, but i'll entertain ideas. i like my steamy bits to be organic.

to give you an idea of my taste in stuff, here's a lot of things i like: house of leaves / dorohedoro / homestuck / off / yume nikki / middens / gingiva / oyasumi punpun / blame! / steven universe / evangelion / undertale / mawaru penguindrum / akira / ghost in the shell / earthbound / serial experiments lain

even if we don't end up rping, please feel free to talk to me! i'm really bad at keeping up with people though, so just remember that! it's almost always not you; i just get really lazy/tired and don't feel like talking.

 

[Lycanthus]

{roleplay . preferences }

█ ▹ conduct

if we agree to rp with eachother, i expect some level of decency at all times. i don't think i have to really do this but to be thorough, i expect you to not cause drama. we're all mature folks here who happen to enjoy the occasional penis joke. act like it! also, communicating with me rather than being passive-aggressive about possible frustrations will make both our lives a LOT easier! i don't think i'll have issues with people here, but i have in other places in the past. so let it be said that lysander stood here on this day and spoketh: dont fuck with me dude​

█ ▹ expectations

i expect you to have a good grasp of your characters, most importantly. they should have depth to them, even if you're still fleshing them out. rules of grammar apply, but i won't throw a fit if you make mistakes. with writing skill, i'm pretty flexible. you don't have to be the best writer for me to enjoy myself, but i do expect that your writing style is at least developed and i'm not cringing. i get that we all have off days though, so don't beat yourself up if you feel like your post quality varies; so do mine.​

█ ▹ posting schedule : slow : -6 cnt

i may post at or possibly slower than the speed of molasses. let's be clear: a lot of things are vying for my attention at any given time, so i am literally. so. slow. be warned. although if we're doing something casual and relaxed, i might be a little faster. it kind of depends. i'm still figuring out my schedule for this year, so i'll update this as necessary. i'm a night owl though, so i'm usually up past midnight until morning.​

█ ▹ post length : mirrors : 200-1000+ words

part of the reason why i'm slow like molasses is because i like to mirror posts, and people usually give me hefty posts, or my hand slips and i accidentally spit out something longer than i intended. frankly, i don't really give a shit about post length. yes, i'm looking at ya'll hoity-toity rpers who secretly feel good about your 2k+ word posts. i mean, i would too, but that's an awful mindset that we all need to Stop. that being said, i also can't write less than a paragraph (like that's physically impossible) and as long as i'm on my pc, you'll get at least 3 paragraphs. like, at least. it kind of just depends on what you give me. don't make me stress out, and i won't make you stress out. ok? ok.​

█ ▹ genres + themes

i enjoy most things since it's pretty easy to twist them all into something of my own, but here's a list of a bunch of things put into categories to help you determine what kind of sinner i am.

shinji gets in the robot

✔ ocs ✔ post-apocalyptic ✔ survival ✔ modern fantasy ✔ urban fantasy ✔ psychological themes ✔ tragedy ✔ slice of life ✔ dystopias ✔ horror ✔ dieselpunk ✔ cyberpunk ✔ inclusive fantasy ✔ strong aesthetic ✔ sci-fi ✔ surrealism ✔ crime ✔ corruption ✔ rigid social structures ✔ caste systems ✔ character interaction ✔ character development ✔ genre fusions ✔ fandom-based oc rps ✔ rps with rpg elements ✔ dark themes ✔ trauma ✔ delicious angst ✔ gays being gay ✔ lgbt+ characters ✔ etc.​

shinji is contemplating whether or not he should get in the robot

⊚ historical ⊚ supernatural ⊚ romance ⊚ school ⊚ combat over characters ⊚ angels/demons stuff ⊚ victorian ⊚ mythology​

shinji ain't getting in no robot bitches

✘ steampunk ✘ furry/animal rps ✘ rping as canon characters ✘ really blatantly white-washed western fantasy that for some reason only has europeans and nonhumans​

with all that said, talk to me about your ideas first. this is by no means a definitive guide, and no matter what the genre, i'm willing to hear you out or build something up with you.​

█ ▹ rp mediums

i am flexible with the mediums we can rp over. since we're on an rp forum, threads are most preferred, but i've also roleplayed on tumblr, google docs, other forums, email, IM and kik. i don't usually rp over kik or IM, but if we're doing something kinda lazy and short, it's fine with me. talk to me about what you prefer.​

█ ▹ dropped rps

i drop threads a lot. i'm the person who drops threads. this is due to a lot of silly reasons, but most notably laziness, anxiety, and my interests shifting to other things. i juggle a lot of hobbies that i switch frequently between, so if i drop our rp, it's not you (usually)— it's usually because i feel like doing music or something else for a while and just don't want to write. if you constantly pester me for replies, i will probably just quit replying altogether. sorry! i can barely manage my life as is so rp doesn't need to be another headache for me. that being said, if we continuously talk and get along, i might start replying again out of the blue if you're down for it. so there's the flipside of that.​

█ ▹ fcs + post styles

i DO NOT use fcs, and kind of don't really care for them. i have plenty of art of my ocs for the most part, but even then i highly prefer no faceclaims. i prefer aesthetic imagery and stuff like that. if push comes to shove, i'll use anime/2d fcs, but almost never RL ones. also, i don't like super complex post styles because it's distracting and a pain to read sometimes, so my post styles will likely be pretty simple in comparison to some of the fancier ones here. as for you though, you do whatever you want. i don't care that much.​

█ ▹ mature content

i'm going to save the libertine specifics for a libertine thread, but it's kind of not all that relevant because i very rarely roleplay explicit sexual content anymore. if you're interested though, i'm still open to hearing ideas— head over to [this thread] which does not exist yet. WARNING: I AM A DIRTY SINNER. otherwise, i love violence and gore and a bunch of illicit activities, so throw anything down. there is a 99% chance i will pick it up. and obviously, i don't rp sexual content with minors. i know it's in the TOS but juuust to be clear.​

 

[Lycanthus]

{roleplay . samples }

some of these are rp samples, some of these are general writing samples.
my actual rp post quality varies a lot, so be warned as you read these.
posts are marked by genre and character featured.​

1| fantasy * lilya

The clock struck twelve. Lilya Diallo listened to the bells chime, counting the seconds between each one. One, two, three, ring. One, two, three. She loved the bells. When she heard them, she could imagine the fireplace she and her sister gathered around in their childhood. The blistering cold under the tent. Huddling under blankets with what little clothing they had. And telling stories.

Her sister loved to tell stories, she remembered. Stories crafted with the delicate artistry of a weaver, each thread a sentence and each sentence a world in which magic lived, thrived, and flourished. Places where their kind roamed free without fear. Where people danced upon staircases of water, walked cinder roads and their every breath spoke of life.

In Koel, things were different. They lived in the outskirts before, in the slums that evaded the clergy's watchful eye. But further inland, things changed— structures sprung out of the permafrost like trees, pointing their jagged edges towards the sky, as if threatening it to never fall apart. They seemed to lean forward, over her when she walked the streets. It reminded her of how the clergy looked when she was small— tall men, pale as death, dressed in long black robes.

She hated Koel with all her heart. She hated the footsteps of soldiers, the sound of cavalry making their rounds. The silence. The occasional cry. She hated the ground on which their king walked, each step damning the dirt beneath it. And oh, how she hated the king.

"Lilya," said the king. "The towels, for god's sake?"

She bowed her head. "Forgive me, my lord. I will fetch them immediately."

She left the room, heart drumming quietly in her chest. They prepared for this day extensively. Working her up the ranks through a series of strings pulled taut. And how little the king knew how few allies he truly had— the entire council had their eyes on her and she knew they were waiting. They waited years for this. Decades. Far too long.

In the service room, they were already prepared. Another maid nodded to her in greeting, leaning in close as Lilya entered. "It's between the folds. You'll feel it," she whispered. Lilya nodded. She ran her fingers underneath the first towel, running the scenario through her head. He could retaliate. She was agile, but not strong— and the king could easily overpower her. She imagined straddling his corpse, panting, with blood spattered on her dress and on the pearlescent tiles. It would be a death sentence regardless. She didn't care.

She was ready.

She held her breath as she walked down the halls, back to the baths where the king reclined against the edge of the pool. The room was hot; moisture hit her face as she opened the door, the smell of salts and lavender flowing around her. She took off her shoes, stepping into the shallow layer of water that washed the floor, then walked towards the king. Slowly. Deliberately. Her hands trembled, one holding the towels, the other hidden— tucked between them.

The king opened one eye, glancing at her before closing it again. "You look pale, Lilya."

"Felt a bit faint earlier, m'lord. I promise you it is nothing to worry about."

"That's what I like to hear. Now, please, would you?" He rolled his shoulders, groaning. "Here."

She pulled her maid stool over, placing the towels in her lap as she sat behind the king. With a gentle touch, she caressed his neck, let her hand slide down to his neck, then shoulders. She kneaded the muscle there, tightly knotted, and felt the tension melt slowly. The king relaxed, closing his eyes once again.

And oh so quietly, Lilya drew her knife. There was no struggle. The king choked. Lilya pushed his head down into the water.

Blood blossomed underneath the king's body. She dropped her knife and stood. Stepped back. And ran.

2| fantasy * rafar

Kaj sweeps away the crumbs from his shirt with the delicacy of an artist, Rafar thinks. In truth, it seemed that anything he did was wrought with such a gracefulness that one might assume he was royalty, at first glance. The only things to betray him were the very clothes he wore on his back— tattered, off-white, and worn from months of continuous travel. As Kaj always said, it never did him any good to waste money on new things if they were not broken. Rafar was sure he'd wear those rags until they quite literally began to fall off his body.

Clapping his hands together, Kaj stands, stretching in satisfaction. "The bread was good today, don't you think? I thought the poppy seed was a nice touch."

Rafar is still sitting down at the table as he watches. He only takes a sip from his canteen, eyes diverted— now zigzagging through the marketplace crowds as they pass by en masse. Kaj catches this, smiles a little, before leaning down to block his line of sight.

"Hello. You're deep in thought today."

There's no avoiding those eyes of his, golden and sun-flecked. It's almost embarrassing how much Rafar likes them— how often he catches himself gazing in his direction, as if enchanted by a spell. And the idea that Kaj could be blind to it all seemed to be the most impossible thing; how could someone so wise for his years be so completely oblivious?

And yet, maybe it was just another reason why Rafar could not bear to leave after months together. In retrospect, it was silly. He merely agreed to escort him from Arkaios to the next town over, in order to ensure the young man's safety would not be compromised enroute— and yet, here he was, months later and miles away from his guard post at the palace.

In truth, he was a deserter. He trained his entire life to assume a position of importance as a palace guard. All those hours toiling under the desert sun, skin nearly blistering with the heat, with water barrels propped against his back— solid and heavy. The burns underneath his feet from every step in the sand. And the endless meditation— priests chanting in harmony as Rafar would bite back his howls of pain, each crack of the whip demanding the same thing: clear your mind. breathe. rinse and repeat.

All that, thrown away on a whim as soon as he saw Kaj walk alone, hungry and tired, past the palace gates.

"Are you thinking about the palace again?" Kaj asks, tilting his head to the side. "You know… I never did insist you come with me. That was entirely of your own volition."

Rafar plugs his canteen. No matter what he did, Kaj could read him like an open book. "No, I am not thinking of that, thank you very much."

"Well, you must certainly be thinking about something important. You had that look in your eyes again."

"That look?" Rafar asks.

"You look like a lizard when you think too much."

"A lizard?"

"A lizard."

Rafar looks absolutely unamused as he crosses his arms and reclines against the table. "Care to explain how I resemble a lizard?"

Kaj taps his nose a few times with his index finger. "When lizards sit very still, they look like statues. Always wearing that serious expression on their faces."

"Lizards can't make any other faces."

"Yes, and so they always look serious. Like you."

What a curious feeling. Rafar came to know it intimately— indignation, embarrassment, exasperation, adoration —all astir underneath his careful decorum. He would always turn away, make some show of annoyance, then Kaj would always laugh as if he knew that his companion secretly enjoyed his constant teasing. And he would not be wrong— Rafar did indeed turn away, and Kaj's gentle laugh caught his ears like a string of bells in the wind.

It seemed as if Rafar's fate was inevitable: he was to fall madly, deeply in love.

3| comedy/romance * keith

The thing about knowing yourself is that you never actually know yourself. This was something that Keith didn't understand until? until now, actually. Because right now, he was faced with the very real and very troubling reality that he was, indeed and in fact, gay.

Okay, so like, it wasn't a big deal. Being gay and stuff. That was like, really chill, and Keith definitely didn't have anything against gays or anything? Heck, his best friend was gay. Trace. Trace was just about as gay as it got. But that wasn't the issue here. The issue was that Keith, himself, had discovered something he didn't know before, and was completely ill-prepared to address it.

He was gay.

This revelation came about during one of his study sessions with Trace. Trace was his roommate, so it was natural for them to be in close quarters. Not only that, they'd become fast friends as soon as the school year started. But apparently something was going on that Keith'd been missing. Maybe he should have noticed the way Trace leaned over his shoulder when helping him with English homework. Maybe even the way they developed this terrible habit of wearing eachother's clothes out of sheer convenience ("What's mine is yours," he recalled Trace announcing when he moved in.) Or perhaps it was the way Trace's eyes seemed to linger on him for just a touch longer than what was necessary.

Of course, it didn't mean Trace was interested in him.
Actually, it was the opposite.

Keith found himself with a terrible, terrible crush.

He confirmed it, too, when he walked into their dorm and caught Trace pulling off his shirt like it was no big fucking deal when internally, Keith's entire system was screaming like kids on the fucking Titanic. Forget the Hollywood interpretation with all its staged lines and hokey-pokey fakeness. This was the real fucking deal.

And all Trace did was turn to look at him, casually saying, "trying to catch a glimpse of this prime real estate?" He grinned, winking. "I'll let you touch for the low price of $50 a cop."

Normally, Keith would've rolled his eyes, closed the door, and probably say something along the lines of "you stink. Put your clothes back on before someone goes blind," but this particular day he did not. Instead, he felt blood rush to his cheeks, turning his ears red with tell-tale signs of embarrassment.

Trace paused, his smile disappearing. "Dude. Dude? Hello? Keith? You okay?"

Keith made a weird noise, then quickly walked to his bedroom and shut the door, where he allowed himself to take a deep breath and slide down against it.

His first thoughts: What. The. Fuck. Was. That.
His second thoughts: Oh boy! Gee. Wow. The floor is really cool, like, get a load of this. There's boxers on the floor. Oh. Wait. Those are Trace's.

To Keith, it was as if the sky fell and Yellowstone erupted in the span of five minutes and all Trace had to do was take off his shirt.

4| horror * cade

This was bad. This was really, really bad. Cade was not at all prepared for a situation like this, nor had he ever encountered one like this in his entire life. He was from the city. There were police there and stuff. He didn't own a gun before. He also was perpetually afraid of causing a ruckus or otherwise drawing attention to himself. He wanted a quiet life— to silently live out the rest of his days in his modest home on his modest salary and die quietly, perhaps by some stupid accident involving painting his ceiling and a ladder, and then he'd be done, and maybe someone in the world would be glad for his passing. He did not want to be where he was right now, waiting in the dying light from his window, gun drawn and finger on the trigger, ready to aim at whatever the hell was tapping at his door.

Keith backed up behind him. "This is some Poe type shit. Holy fuck. What is th—"

Cade shushed him. Now was not the time for literary references. "You two… there's a back door through the hall. It leads to the garden. You can get out that way. I don't know if it'll be safer out there, but… while it's here at the door, you should leave."

Cade was scared. He hated conflict. But… if he could allow these two a chance at escaping whatever danger was here, maybe it'd be a good use of his pathetic, wasted life.

And something told him that the thing tapping at his door was not a force to be toyed with. In fact, he was sure of it, for soon it began to whisper something that made his stomach stir with fear.


" C a d e … "


The hairs on his neck stiffened. The voice was inhuman. To the boys, he only said two things:

"Leave. Now."

5| romance/nsfw * ruben/jonah

He doesn't seem to know what he does to you. How his skin feels on yours. The smile always ready to curl at the corners of his mouth. He keeps himself well groomed, supple and smelling fresh like the shampoo he uses. And of course, his clothing. He always takes great care to frame his hips, his legs, his shoulders, the back of his neck.

He chooses the colors he wears carefully– black makes his skin stand out. Pink makes him look soft, vulnerable– and it works wonders.

He smiles when he sees you. The same expression he always seems to have on. He automatically wraps his arms around yours while carrying a conversation with another bar goer before waving to them as they walk away. And then, he pulls you gently out the door– to your car.

You lay down on the backseat. He's too tall to straddle you, but it doesn't stop him from trying– sliding his body against yours as he grinds against you. He's done this a million times but the feeling is the same as the first time he's ever done it. Back then, you were drinking alone in a bar, five or six beers sitting next to you and you were too drunk to make it home. He saw you, sat next to you and started chatting you up and you were too drunk to give a fuck at that point. And too distracted by the little ways he'd make contact– whether it was sitting a little too close or the faintest of touches as he reached across the bar counter. His hand on your thigh. Somehow yours found its way to his, and you noticed he didn't push you away.

One thing led to another and you were fucking in your apartment, driven home by taxi.

Now he brings your awareness back to the forefront of your mind. He's doing that coy thing with his mouth again, biting a little in such a way that makes you want to bite it for him. You pull his head down on top of yours and press his mouth against yours and he fills it with soft, pleasant noises that go straight to your dick. He's too cute and you can't stop yourself anymore– not unless he says no.

But the never does. He keeps smiling, as if he didn't know how to stop in the first place.

"Ruben," he whispers. Your name. "I wanna fuck."

You tell him you're both in a parking lot. During business hours.

"Then let's get out of here."

6| modern fantasy * keith

The strangest thing about this particular night was its absolute irrefutable ordinariness. It rained often in April around these parts, and for the last few weeks it'd seemingly been pouring for weeks on end. A few days only, in actuality, but then again, Keith supposed that time would slow to a crawl before one of the most important days in his life.

It was 11pm. He told himself he'd get a good night's rest, go to bed early so he'd be properly prepared for tomorrow, but instead he found himself staring up at the ceiling as he did many nights before. And yet, it seemed a little surreal. Like everything was shifted just a degree off-center. Raising his hand, he repeatedly drew shapes above him, light following his finger as he let pictures flow from his hand into the air. He drew a dog. A cat. A few birds. He was not a good artist. And yet even that did little to unravel the unease that made his entire body feel tense.

Trace was close by. By now, he and Keith'd been working together long enough to recognize the subtle characteristics of each other's magic. Much like a fingerprint, each person's energy felt a little different. Keith's own had the quality of fire— usually not quite as wild as a roaring flame, but something tamer, like the sun— and Trace? Trace felt more elusive— like water running through your hands. Mutable, yet constant. At least, that's how Keith felt. It was true that you didn't really need to get to know someone to get a feel for their aura. And it was also true that despite being friends with him for all these months, Keith never quite felt like he knew Trace.

But it probably wasn't his business anyway. Things like that didn't matter as long as he knew he could count on his partner when it counted.

Keith turned towards Trace, who was also in bed, awake just as he was. In the darkness, he could see the talisman— the good luck charm —that Keith made for him glowing softly with a faint blue aura. He remembered well— could not forget even if he wanted to —the reason why he gave it to him. It was a week after the academy was overrun by shadows with monsters hidden inside them, tearing students apart limb from limb. It'd been over a year now, and even so— Keith could still remember the smell of blood. Just take it, he said. It's for good luck.

It made Keith feel a little more at ease knowing that the charm was still hanging securely around Trace's neck.

"Are you still awake?" he asked. He didn't really need to; Trace always fell asleep after him.

"About that test. You know. The one. Tomorrow."

7| modern fantasy * august

So these were the students of the organization. The future agents who fought against the spread of chaos and destruction in all its forms. August always thought the idea was a little silly— after all, chaos didn't necessarily need to be chaotic, in a sense. Ordered chaos. A systematic destruction of the constructs that held society together. It was something he believed in more than the make-believe notion of good and evil.

You either did things for yourself or for others. The former was natural, the latter silly at best. This was what August believed in.

Still, it never hurt to grease some hands once in awhile. It was easier to be liked and respected than feared and hated. People would put your trust in you, and the more trust you had the more you could manipulate them. And somehow this was a thing that came naturally to August— he was exceptionally talented at bending others to his will and getting them to like him.

Liking others himself was an entirely different story. Especially when it came to the naive youth that the organization somehow brainwashed into throwing themselves straight into danger. Such as the ones he chose to target during their examination.

Of course, it wasn't a solo operation, and it'd taken months of careful planning to infiltrate the academy, but the result was well worth it. Ruining the organization's reputation was central to their ultimate goal. And no one said August couldn't have a little fun while he was at it.

Something curious happened though. A report by one of his correspondents told him of one student with exceptionally frightening potential. One that clearly did not know his own strength, and was picked up by the organization to convert him into one of their soldiers. His name was Jonah Grey.

It was at this point that August realized his brother was still alive. And thus, he decided that Jonah wouldn't suffer the same fate as the rest of the students. No. Jonah was special.

He was going to be August's right hand.

8| fantasy * mal

Time passed slowly for the witch. It always seemed that way when every day in the woods, alone in her modest but ornate tree cottage, she spent her time idly, doing whatever she pleased in the comfort of her solitude— day after day. First the morning came with the gradual rising of the sun, light filtering through the leaves above her home. She did not like the sun very much. No— correction. She did not like the sun at all. She considered herself nocturnal, if anything, preferring to rise with the owls as the sun sank underneath the horizon, but her sleeping schedule was far too erratic for that to be the proper term. In fact, she usually slept very little— usually opting to read, write, experiment, or otherwise fiddle around. Outside of her short, infrequent naps of course. Even so, despite the rumors passed amongst the city folk (usually about how she eats naughty kids or something like that,) mornings were usually the time visitors travelled to her home in the woods, seeking out her services— whether it be commissioning some sort of concoction (aphrodisiacs— poisons— she preferred the illegal sorts,) asking for a fortune, or whatever else she was apparently well-known for. The afternoons, she preferred to nap in the branches of her tree, with her fox companion (usually) not far from her. She loved the quiet of the forest, the gentle wind, the smell of grass wafting along with it, and the hum of life which was a lullaby to her ears. Meanwhile her evenings were spent collecting various materials for her own more or less nefarious purposes, taking her to the far reaches of the forest for fae wings, dog teeth, amanita extract— whatever she found. And she would take these, place them in jars, bottles, parcels, and hang them from the branches of her tree.

This was probably one of the reasons she found a good number of her ingredients missing. Usually her bones. Such thefts could be almost always attributed to a certain swamp-dwelling priest who Malistra had the displeasure of knowing. She'd been watching over the young man for quite a long time, and yet, even so... he was always a bit of a mystery to her. Not that she tried to unravel him. Mal preferred to keep out of others' business. But she remembered, years— no, centuries ago— when the priest was first abandoned in the marshes in his infancy. She never really intervened directly, but she did her part to make sure the serpents did not get to him, or any of the other less-than-friendly inhabitants of the wetlands.

Nevertheless, she seemed to have unintentionally endeared herself to the swamp prince Chiwen. And that meant she would always be in short supply of bones.

Recently, however, she felt a strangeness in the air that she couldn't quite put her finger on. News from the cities came by rarely to her, and she usually cared very little about the insignificant lives of those filthy, short-lived humans, but sometimes tidbits of information piqued her interest. She had a keen sense of fate, and regardless of whether or not she gave a shit, she could feel the threads tighten and slacken beyond her control— and she noticed a few snapped unexpectedly not long ago.

But more important where the threads that were now inseparably tangled.

She had no idea how long ago it was when Chiwen last sent her a message. Something about taking care of the swamp, leaving on some kind of journey— something like that. She found this to be incredibly odd for the priest, who spent the vast majority of his life in near constant solitude, with only herself (sort of) and the marsh life as his constant companions. Not that it was any of her business, of course. But she figured it couldn't possibly hurt to have her familiar check on him— just to make sure Chiwen wasn't dead, or dying, or trapped in the stocks, or otherwise being a severe inconvenience. And now, to receive news of his return— and with a strange man in tow, no doubt— well. Mal felt a distinct sense of… something. Something she didn't understand. It was a feeling somewhere between annoyance and concern, except it made her want to throw a couple rocks at Chiwen's head for being such a dunce and bringing strange people into their sacred land— and also, she had to wonder exactly how and why her fox came back to her in such poor condition. It was annoying. Nate was hardy, but he wasn't immortal, and frankly, only she had permission to do those sorts of things to him.

So Mal promptly sent a message over to the priest and his… human. Summoning them to her immediately. When she heard the knock on her door, she opened it just a little, to examine the unfamiliar male from the comfort of her shadows.

"Chiwen," she started, opening the door just a crack more. "He smells strange."

 

[Lycanthus]

{character . roster }

i'll be putting up a real character listing somewhere on iwaku soon, but here's a quick summary of the ones i'm most comfortable rping with and in what genres and other prefs i have for them. for an out-of-date but more complete listing, check out this link.
note: ages and backgrounds change depending on the rp.​

█ ▹ alex | 26 | male | capricorn

hot, but so socially awkward you'd probably die of second-hand embarrassment just from being in the same room as him. anxious about everything. extremely lawful good, but also really loves to mix his alcohol with his meds. loves dogs more than life itself. also hilariously oblivious to things sometimes. usually roleplayed as a knight or paladin in fantasy rps. support tank for rpgs. associated imagery: mountains, stone, ice, evergreen forests. usually a sad, pathetic joke in modern aus, but can be very serious in others. german-russian american.​

█ ▹ jonah | 21 | genderqueer | gemini

flamboyant gay trope personified. loves sex, socializing, and using his charm to pawn money or gifts off his rich sugar daddies. mostly a facade though; he's actually really fucking sad. but you'd never be able to tell past the constant innuendos and dick jokes. usually written as a squishy mage in fantasy/rpgs. way more intelligent than he lets on. associated imagery: flowers, gardens, abandoned houses, darkness, candlelight. swedish american.​

█ ▹ keith | 16 | male | leo

a rough and tumble kid who's so pure and selfless, i'm actually surprised he hasn't accidentally martyred himself. kind of dumb, rash, stubborn to a fault. the most basic white boy you'd ever find. also pretty fuckin' naive. loves the outdoors. usually written as a thief or gunslinger in fantasy/rpgs. high speed, agility, and luck. shoddy strength and endurance. associated imagery: dirt paths, forests, gravel, rooftops. russian-irish american. ranges from chaotic good to neutral good.​

█ ▹ mal | 17 | female | scorpio

there is so much anger stored in her tiny 4'11" frame that i'd describe her as a living, walking death grips album. hates everything and everyone, including herself. loves plants, fungus, botany in general. and also bugs and snakes. also likes dark, damp places she can crawl into. quiet unless provoked. operates by the phrase, "an eye for an eye." hidden beneath all that wrath, she's actually very quirky and playful. usually written as an assassin, witch, necromancer, huntress, or any combination of those classes for fantasy/rpgs. high attack and magic, low defenses. associated imagery: static, pen scribbles, black whirling masses, eyes, teeth. cambodian-chinese american. ranges from chaotic neutral to chaotic evil.​

█ ▹ lain | 35 | female | scorpio

alex's mom in canon. a clever, charismatic, charming rich daughter of a formerly-powerful russian bloodline. loves people as much as she loves teasing and manipulating them. always sweet, but not always to be trusted. would do anything for her son, though, and lands herself in the true neutral zone. definitely an assassin type. fancies herself a femme-fatale to all genders. also, she really, really, really, really loves to drink. russian.​

█ ▹ august | 21 | male | gemini

he's a doozy. supposedly dead in canon. a clinical sociopath. a very kind person at first glance; quiet, calculating, but enjoys meeting and conversing with people. he finds them fascinating at most times. cognitively understands morality, but does not actually "get it" so to say. operates on his own set of values that don't always coincide with society's. not actually a bad person, usually. is jonah's twin, and shares his capacity for charisma and charming others. wizard or priest type. shares jonah's high intellect, but actually utilizes it. swedish-american.​

█ ▹ alan | 23 | male |

why the fuck is this guy so sad? pines eternally after alex, who is too oblivious to even so much as notice his feelings. otherwise, just a spoiled rich boy who suffers from chronic depression. has no motivations, dreams, hopes, nothing. he wastes his life with flings and showering his dates with his inheritance. smokes a lot. i bet you're thinking he's a meaty hunk, but no. he's not. he looks like he just popped out of highschool yesterday. pretty playful when he's not focused on being sad. usually a dark knight. he's chaotic neutral or true neutral. also slovakian?? turkish?? macedonian?? we just don't know.​

█ ▹ lycanthus | really old | male(?) | ???

a really old demon who lost a bet with satan and is now trapped in a cafe that floats around in space/time and he's forced to basically be cafe owner for the rest of eternity. he is very cheerful. also extremely done with you, your mom, and all of your kin. his nonexistent soul would have an eternal resting bitchface. but everything is fine, really. he's fine. he's great. finds humans extremely amusing and fascinating. plays house and pretends to do human things because he's fucking bored. what was the bet you ask? the story changes every time.​

█ ▹ daehyun | 20 | male | cancer

the sleepiest compsci major you'll ever meet. sleeps a lot. too much. and yet, is perpetually sleepy. very kind, responsible, reliable, but also slow. he's calm to a fault. occasionally playful with the right people. has a compulsion to take care of others. is also prone to being taken advantage of. it's not exactly that he's naive, but he would rather give others the benefit of the doubt. also a great cook. in another life, he'd be in culinary school. korean-american. neutral good to lawful good.​

█ ▹ taeyeon | 19 | male | aries

the type of person who's good at everything but squanders his abilities on memes, mostly. rash, impulsive, curious, and silly. despite his talents, he has no real dreams for the future. does really like music though; he produces beats as a hobby and plays several instruments. despite his childish nature, he's actually very responsible, observant, and intellectual. he'd just rather be a kid instead. korean-american.​

█ ▹ nero | 20 | nonbinary | aquarius

they're not someone you wanna piss off. very polite with a seemingly demure personality, but harbors an intense distaste for all people except their soulmate. an artistic soul. would do anything for a cause they believed in, and is likely to die for it. mostly apathetic until they're with loved ones; then, they're tender, sweet, and endlessly loyal. very self-assured and confident. iraqi.​

█ ▹ cade | 36 | male | pisces

the saddest gardener. appears to be gentle, kind, almost meek. had a shitty childhood and spent most of his youth making mistakes because of his skewed perception. he's hurt plenty of people, and is constantly filled with regret and remorse. he still has anger management issues, issues with control, and numerous insecurities. all he wants now is to live his life quietly and die without anyone noticing. french american.​

█ ▹ shura | 27 | female | aquarius

a wildcard. competitive, charismatic, unpredictable, and confident. everything about her is elusive, even as she acts chummy with her acquaintances. in truth, she is mostly apathetic towards all except those who can challenge her and enthrall her. can be manipulative and untrustworthy. she isn't above betraying others. however, she has her own causes she'd give her life for. chaotic neutral. probably syrian.​

█ ▹ eun | 31 | female | cancer

jonah's adoptive mother. a lazy, sloth-like artist who was formally a high-ranking member in an all-female biker gang. she's left her old ways behind to pursue art. very laid-back with a "i don't really give a fuck" attitude. despite this, she is a very loving and devoted parent, and cares deeply for her family. korean-american.​

 

[Lycanthus]

{roleplay . wishlist }

plots, settings, characters, other stuff i want to rp.
number of stars = how much i'm craving that particular thing (five max).
​

█ ▹ [✰] rps for new ocs

info pending​

█ ▹ [✰] dieselpunk dystopia

info pending​

 

[Lycanthus]

{roleplay . archive }

current and past threads i'm in.
✔ completed ✘ dropped ❍ ongoing ❏ on hold
​

█ ▹ [❍] roleplay title |partner(s)

genres ∴ characters ∴ other ∴ this is where a short summary goes​

█ ▹ [❍] roleplay title |partner(s)

genres ∴ characters ∴ other ∴ this is where a short summary goes​

█ ▹ [❍] roleplay title |partner(s)

genres ∴ characters ∴ other ∴ this is where a short summary goes​

█ ▹ [❍] roleplay title |partner(s)

genres ∴ characters ∴ other ∴ this is where a short summary goes​

 

[Lycanthus]

{tldr;}

because i know someone's gonna be too lazy to read all my bullshit.​

* i write around 200-1000+ words.
* i post slower than a snail, usually.
* i drop rps a lot. sorry.
* i like lgbt+ characters.
* i like gritty rps and a sense of humor.
* i rarely do sexual rps, but i'm willing to listen to ideas.
* i don't use faceclaims. i prefer 2d fcs if forced. never rl fcs.
* i'm pretty laidback about everything so don't sweat it.
* don't expect romance because it probably won't happen.
* sci-fi, modern fantasy, horror, survival, crime, corruption, dystopian stuff = all good. gotta love the grit.
* i don't really like steampunk or super duper traditional western fantasy.
* i do not play fandom characters.
* the more pain and angst, the better.
* mature themes are A-OK.

 

[Lycanthus]

{reserved}

 

[Lycanthus]

{reserved}

 

[Lycanthus]

{open! kinda}

still have a lot of stuff to write but this is enough for now.​