Recent Statuses

3 days ago
Current There was a shooting at an art show where I had a painting hanging. I'm so shook.
19 days ago
I'm back and I'm crazy.
1 mo ago
currently creatively bleh. mok malfunction. brb!
1 like
2 mos ago
I'm a total noob, but gonna attempt to mod a voice-chat FATE campaign because why not? Drop me a note if you wanna come laugh at me stutter! :D
2 mos ago
1 am and I don't feel like sleeping. Work in 8 hours. Booooo.


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^ paint by me

Most Recent Posts

Yeah I know, I'm a GM, I mod a ton of group RPs, wtf am I doing here in 1x1? Aren't 3-5 ongoing group threads enough?! I hear ya, but I can explain I swear.


GMing is great. I love creating new original worlds around other people's characters, letting them ignite ideas and worldbuilding that would never otherwise have existed, and watching them grow -- but dammit I love my own characters too much, and I'm too bullheaded and impatient to join someone else's RP. The solution? The quick fix? 1x1, of course. I'm needy for attention, and NPCs are too temporary.


Shit man, I just want some meaningful character interaction. To be engaged in a meaningful original plot, with a cast of meaningful characters who mean something good/bad/ridiculous to each other, where I can focus on developing characters and relationships. Because honestly, who even cares about any story without character relationships? I don't just mean romantic; I mean full-on hate, bickering, japes and hijinks, and especially personal character development.

An epic awesome plot doesn't hurt either. (I tend to inflate small foreshadowing into world-ending epic battles, personally)


I'm 100% an original RPer.

.... ok, 90%.

Ok, look, I don't play fandoms. I used to write fic, it was cool for awhile, but right now I'm more into taking ideas from other things and molding them to my will. I'll directly and blatantly steal a character from a show or video game, change that character's name, shove them into a totally original setting and see how vastly different they turn out. I find this hilariously fun.

I used to play fantasy/medieval exclusively. Lately, though, my RPs have branched out to basically every weird genre: surreal sci-fi, carnival-punk, underwater clockwork, modern ghosts & aliens. The characters and the plot potential matter most to me. (Plot potential is key here. I tend to dislike historical RP simply because I feel like there's a limit on creative license. I don't like being stuck in something rigidly established.)

Just for a glimpse of mood, here's some stuff I'm kind of into right now -- though I will stress I don't want to RP in these fandoms, but may lift ideas from them given the chance: Detroit: Become Human, Phantom of the Opera, Pirates of the Caribbean, Trigun, MushiShi, Sherlock, Undertale, DBZ, Doctor Who.

Also, here is my art collection tumblr where I collect ideas for RPs and stories.


Somebody who's read this stuff and is thinking we might be on the same wavelength here. You know who you are. However, I feel I have a knack for knowing when a collaboration won't work out, and I'm not afraid to tell you. I'd rather let you know we're not a fit right away, so neither of us waste our time. I know my bad habits and the ways in which I frustrate other people -- I'll try to save you from that as well. If I end up telling you no thanks, please assume you've just dodged a bullet.

I'll RP over whatever: thread, PM, email, google docs, your mom's zetaboards forum, pictures of hieroglyphic graffiti ... just lemme know. :)
So just lemme know when you'd like mod interference, cuz you guys are killin it on your own. x3

*munches popcorn*
@Vaelin150 hey no sweat, rl always comes first, no apologies! We’re here whenever things calm down again. :D
@Rabidporcupine@Lady Squee@Not Fishing@Briza@lady horatio@Zoro@DJAtomika

First post is up! This one's just a short and sweet setting for the purpose of character introduction. :D
The Fed Zone
10:49 am, Saturday
November 6th

A lively murmur of conversation accompanied the aroma of maple syrup, frying eggs, bacon and coffee. Dishes clinked, silverware clattered, the front door squeaked as patrons came and went. The yellows and oranges and warm browns of the interior -- the old diner's original, lovingly maintained design -- almost made the room seem sunny, even though the wide windows looked out upon a chill gray sky.

A waitress tacked another MISSING poster alongside the others on the cork board by the front door. The usual business cards and tear-off phone numbers and event flyers had of late been smothered by black-and-white portraits and detailed descriptions of places last seen -- except a few ads that only started appearing recently:

Make contact with passed loved ones, professional and discreet: 846-5317

UFO sighting party, Mill Creek Park, Nov 6, 10 pm -- free to attend

Protection charms, crafted and enchanted by the Green Sisters' Coven, available now at Ivy Arts on Brightwell

Town Hall meeting, Nov 8, 6 pm: Duskwick Sheriff Chang will give an update on ongoing missing persons investigations

A shiny blue dragonfly buzzed overhead. It lighted on the edge of the pie display -- but after a waitress waved a napkin at it, the insect flew out over the heads of the seated patrons. It landed gently on a hanging light.

The light flickered.

Jeremy as played by @Rabidporcupine
Darcy as played by @Lady Squee
Gary as played by @Not Fishing
D as played by @Briza
Jill as played by @lady horatio
João as played by @Zoro
David as played by @DJAtomika

(the moon has gone down behind the mountain)

The sound of the ocean rushed and breathed behind her as Golde made her way up the rocky slope, toward the outline of tattered wind-sails turning gently in the salty breeze. Stones shimmered wet under her hands and feet as she grasped them and clambered higher -- until she stood upon a plateau overlooking the beach and Ifor sprawled peacefully below.

Across the flat landscape she could see a twinkle of lights in the darkness -- but since the moon had vanished behind the mountain, there was little light to make out more than that. One light was brighter than the others; almost sunlight, that beat a heartlike pulse as she watched it.

The windmill was aged and disused, but made of strong stone. Inside, the floor was overgrown with blue-glowing mushrooms that cast a cool illumination on the walls. The stairs wound up, slashed by dim starlight through the cracks in the stone, around the wooden machine that used to use the wind to ground grain, now gray in disrepair.

At the top of the stairs was a small room open to the stars -- the roof had rotted away long ago. This room was ... clean. The floorboards had been scrubbed, and the walls left intact gleamed like new. There was no debris, not even a leaf out of place. Against the far wall was a single wooden chest, and inside it neat stacks of identical, pristine books. Each of them was filled with the same precise handwriting, meticulous diagrams of plants, animals and imagined machines, and mechanical drawings of the view of Woondaly from the broken window.

From here, the glinting spires of the town were clear. Like something magical out of a fairy tale, the silhouetted skyline of roofs and domes was forested by precarious towers, glittered with tiny blue lights, illuminated softly by the pulse of the brighter point of sunlight.

Also in the chest, tucked into a corner, was a stoppered glass jar filled with thin shoots of a strange, winding plant that gleamed in the faintest light, like rippling rainbows on slick oil.

She would not be able to see the lone scythe that moved quietly along the beach, below the rocky cliff, toward Ifor.

The scythe, like those that had attacked the site of the obelisk, glowed a gentle violet underneath; its rider rode very close to the sand, keeping in the shadow of the rocks so not to be spotted from above. The rider snaked along the shoreline carefully -- but slowed and stopped as soon as Ifor's form was spotted on the sand. The rider hovered for a moment, uncertain, before carefully stepping down into the foam-washed sand. The scythe was quickly compacted into something that could be strapped to the rider's back ... but this was only to stall for time while he decided what to do with this new development.

He was a slight man, with an almost boyish look about his adult features, dressed in modest but very clean clothes that were nothing like the form-fitting uniforms of the Riders. He approached Ifor calmly, eyes steady on the hunchback's silhouette on the sand.

When it was apparent that there was no immediate danger, the rider lowered himself to one knee, curious, and carefully studied Ifor's unusual appearance: the strange shape of the skull, the curve of the spine, the size and coarseness of the hands. Ifor's eyes were moving behind closed eyelids ... dreaming.

With an unhurried decision, the rider reached into a jacket pocket, uncapped a small vial, and wafted some sharp-smelling salts under Ifor's nose to wake him.

"You will be drowned by the tide," he informed Ifor factually, "if you stay here much longer."


The Hollows clamored and scratched and bit and moaned, climbing over one another to reach for the struggling griffin.

The huge, ghostly fox crashed into them, flung them aside in a frenzy of ripping teeth.

The boy, his eagle-mask pushed back, stared in dumb shock at the man who had appeared in the obelisk's place.

The yellow-haired man's eyes flashed with venom at Elliot's plea ... and then a slow, sadistic smile spread upon his face.

"Please aid her, you say?" he mocked, before he cackled a cruel laugh. His smile quickly turned hateful, and suddenly his fist was curled in Elliot's shirt.

Immediately Elliot would understand that this was going to hurt.

In a fierce, powerful motion, the man flung Elliot toward the shore. Elliot sped like a bullet, propelled by the wind, across the rocks and directly into the heart of danger. The fox returned to the form of a shocked little girl, and she scrambled away just before Elliot crashed into the swarm of Hollows with an explosive burst of air.

The Hollows were tossed in all directions, some into the sea, some into the rocks, some scrambling away on the beach.

Elliot would find himself laying comfortably against the soft fur and feathers of the griffin that had broken his trajectory. The griffin was injured, scratched and partially plucked, unable to fly but very much alive.

The man on the rock glared at the sky as if it had done him a personal injustice. He glared at the boy, who startled and stammered but was too star-struck to make out a word. He glared across the water at Elliot, with a deadly promise in his eyes -- and then he disappeared in a strong whirlwind. He had far better things to do.
Ok we're going. It's like 12:30 at night but I'm in a writey mood so heeere we go!
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