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Recent Statuses

18 days ago
Current "pschlopschlopschlopschlopschlopschlopschlopschlopschlopschlop" - my very thirsty dog
1 like
30 days ago
the world is a materially worse place without mid 2000's alt rock and more bands should rip off snow patrol
7 likes
1 mo ago
inshallah its next attempt shall succeed
2 likes
2 mos ago
what's a little gay romance between bros
2 likes
2 mos ago
it's a little known fact that every fictional character ever made is actually gay and trans, as dictated in the official fiction writer's handbook written by john books
2 likes

Bio

udon
18 y/o from ireland, he/him
new to forum RP, but i’ve roleplayed for somewhere around a decade now on sites like twitter, chatzy and discord. i prefer "advanced", detailed roleplay: i can do what's considered "casual" here, but in terms of anything below that i get absolutely nothing out of one-lining lol. as well as ocs from both canon and wholly original sources, i can also play a variety of canon characters from various franchises, such as:
(bolded text marks franchises i'm especially interested in)

bayonetta
jojo’s bizarre adventure (parts 1-8, plus other araki works e.g. baoh the visitor)
persona (1-5)
shin megami tensei (and it's associated spinoffs, eg digital devil saga)
• shovel knight
• guilty gear
team fortress 2
• half life
• portal
doctor who (this is a big one. includes all doctor who related media, even spinoffs, even the weird spinoffs like faction paradox)
• the office
• breaking bad/better call saul
• fallout
• marvel cinematic universe (tentatively)
• deltarune
• hades
• pretty much all the 1st party ips in smash bros


and probably a few more i’m forgetting.
for ships, i generally prefer m/m (im gay lol). Will sometimes do f/f, but pretty much never m/f. i have some experience with combat rp, as well as managing, moderating and running rps for decently sized groups on Discord. i prefer public/group rp over private/dm rp bc anxiety lol

discord is udon#3934

testimonials:
"udon you are my hero" - duskkyy
"Soooo like. Udon right? Love that guy!" - Icarus
"I want to talk to Udon about the fall of Constantinople" - Cloaked
"an udon sandwich is EXTREMELY possible" - David
"bearing in mind here udon is a massive homosexual" - megar
"udon do you ever stop to think about the things you type before you type them" - Igloo
"Udon the kinda fella who exhales unnecessarily loudly after having a drink" - Lava
"IMAGINE I just walk into a shop and I see udon there. I’d just freak out. I’d flip it. It’d be bonkers. It’s mental. I’d go insane. Totally crazy." - Icarus, again
"udon isn't human" - RoseWolf
"I frankly don’t even know if Udon exists." - SomeMekBoy

Most Recent Posts

here's my character! i had a lot of fun writing his bio, especially when it came to researching rwandan myth.


a little confused—is the thread proper open for all, or just those who were mentioned in the post? i wasn't aware it had gone up at first.
interested! seems like a fun concept.
just checking in to say i was waiting for martian to post with wolverine and darkhawk before i did anything more, but they seem to have been MIA for the past week. if there's nothing by the end of the day i'll move on with harley and jasper.

"Boss?"
Harley groaned, squinting as the lights in his visor flickered back to life.
"Boss? Boss!"
"F.R.I.D.A.Y....?"
She chuckled, dryly. "Who'd you think?"
Harley shook his head, grimacing as he felt the shooting pain his shoulder. "Where am I? What...the robot things...?"
"They captured you, boss. I dunno where we are now, but we've got no wi-fi or phone signal, which means we're either in a Faraday cage, or..."
"Space," Harley interjected, sighing. "Ooof course. Ugh, I should have finished that Starwalker suit before I started the Iron Legion..."
"Vital signs stabilising, boss. Rise and shine."
Gritting his teeth, Harley pushed himself up and out of the cryo-pod."Yeah, yeah, alright mom, I'm going, sheesh..."

Harley's iron sabatons hit the ground with a weighty thud, the inner mechanisms stabilising his would-be stumble. Turning towards the blinking life signs on his display, the jaw of his mask slid open. His faceplate pulled back to reveal his true face, blinking as he brushed his fringe aside.
Oh, crap, yeah. The armour.

"Um...Hi," he waved sheepishly, the servos in his suit whirring with each movement."I'm...Iron Lad, if we're doing our made up names—" he gestured towards 'Origami' and 'Speed'. "From Earth," then towards Terra. "—And I know this," and then gestured down across his suit, acutely aware of the similarities between it and the Sentinels. "—Might be setting of some alarm bells in your heads right about now, but trust me, I've got nothing to do with them. Frankly, I don't even know what they are. Although if I were to make an educated guess from what you've said, I'm willing to bet they're belonging to one of my, or my predecessor's, variants. Just...spitballing here. So..."
He clapped his metal hands together, flinching slightly at the sudden loud clang.

"Since Tommy's got clothes now, I think it's fair to say the most pressing matter we have to attend to here is getting out. I mean, we've got plenty of time to work out how to stop the Beyonder when we aren't being ferried straight to him, right? So, I know we've just met and we could all be literally anyone, but I think if we've got murderous, thieving or otherwise unsavoury tendencies, we can agree to just leave all that at the door and concentrate on not dying or being imprisoned right now. Who's with me?" He grinned, disarmingly, sheepishly.
"Aaaanyone?"






As he had suspected he would, Jasper awoke later than the rest with a horrible pounding in his skull. Christ, that hurts. His fault for fiddling with his metabolism, he supposed—all that ethanol was hitting him at once. A hangover was like a full-scale war against his body: Endocrinal, vascular, gastrointestinal—it was like doing your A-Levels with someone doing you in the A the whole time. So much biology bullshit, so many reasons to collapse into a pile of misery and impulsivity and scream into the floor until it passed naturally.

Oh, terrific. He could see again. Thank god—he’d regenerated eyes once before, and now he needed contacts.
Clutching his head, Jasper grit his teeth and heaved his heavy body out from the cryo-pod. His steps were laboured, his feet heavy, his guts doing their own little performance of fucking Riverdance from the feel of it. There was a lump in his throat, the floodgates ready to open.
He wasted no time. He didn’t readjust to take in his surroundings, nor greet the strange blurred shapes that he was pretty sure were people. “Washrooms” and “adjacent to your cryopods” bounced around his skull until they hit a brain-cell not drowning in Carlsberg, and that was his cue.

Sluggishly, he darted to the side, awkwardly staggering past anyone in his way and straight for the restroom. He headbutted the door, pushing it open with his forehead, and stumbled in.
There was a soft thud, like something hitting the ground, a horrid retching, and what sounded vaguely like the great cascading of a mighty, malt waterfall. There was a brief panting, and a sigh of relief, and then a flush.
It was quiet for a moment, and then Jasper heard the most cringe-inducing flirty back and forth he’d had the displeasure of being present for. Quick to come in after Kid Hulk fired back his response, the washroom door swung open with a kick. In the doorway stood Jasper, head back up to heaven, leg holding the door open, and mouth open.
“AAAAAAAaaaaauuuuuugghhhhhh,”
he vocalised his displeasure quite plainly, head rolling on his neck back down to its usual angle as he grimaced.
“Guh.”
There was no way he was holding that in.

Patiently, Jasper cleared his throat and kicked the washroom door fully open, stepping out from the door-frame as it slowly creaked shut behind him. He reached both hands into his jacket pocket, producing a well-worn flip lighter from one and a hand-rolled cigarette from the other. Clutching it between his pointer and middle, he slipped the business end between his lips and flipped his lighter open. He brought the flame up and lit, and took a deep puff as he pocketed the lighter.

He stared at them for a moment as they—presumably—stared at him, taking drags of his cigarette. Finally, he relented, taking one last puff and slipping the cigarette out with his two fingers.
“Jasper,” he declared, his francophonic baritone hoarse from a dried throat.

His gaze flitted towards Origami, a brow quirked inquisitively. She seemed to be just as pleased with the whole situation as he was—good. They could both suffer in silent solidarity. His acknowledgement would remain unspoken for now, though: He'd have to feel things out first before he went buddying up with anyone. Unless they had French people in space, he figured his accent was sufficient enough proof of his earthbound status. "Does anyone have any plans for 'Iron Lad', or shall I start flushing bits of myself down the toilet?”

Considering the gravity of the situation, Jasper remained remarkably calm about it all—Partially because this wasn't the first time he had woken up somewhere strange with no memory of how he'd gotten there, and partially because that cigarette wasn't just tobacco.
This was tits, as far as he was concerned. Wicked way to spend a Sunday morning.
coming in once again to confirm i'm committed, and i'll mark my character's role in the group down as a frontline fighter: he's mainly in the thick of battle throwing hands with enemies to create openings for the specialists to do their thing—protecting the healers, causing diversions for spies or infiltrators etc. he'd be well rounded and good in a fight, but he lacks the specialised talents of other roles. as for his specific combat role, he'd tackle up close hand to hand combat rather than long ranged.


<Snipped quote by udonoodles>

Any ideas you might already have we could doodle with? :P


in terms of characters, i was considering a burnout who recently graduated from high school and is looking for a purpose—they'd willingly throw themselves into the thick of things, possibly at a detriment, and their more malleable and proactive personality could be shaped by the people around them. as for powers, i'm not sure yet: i generally like to see what other people do first and create abilities that can synergise or bounce off of others well. i was considering a more conventional fighting style for them, however, which would lean towards more passive abilities like enhanced strength or speed rather than psychic powers or super intelligence.

ultimately, though, i'm big into cooperating and synergising with other players, so my ideas will definitely start to solidify as more characters begin to form.
posted for iron lad and jasper—i think that's all the characters accounted for!

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., what’s my schedule for today?”
Harley’s yell bounced down the hall and into the living room, where one of F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s many base stations was set upon the coffee table.
“Meeting at 9, boss,” she responded with an added boost from the television’s sound system. “The one about funding for the second Iron Legion.”
“Aaand what time is it now?”
“8:24.”
“Aaaah.”
Harley paused mid-scrub, the shower sponge that had blazed a trail of suds across his chest now still in his soapy grip. He could already tell it was gonna be a long day, wasn’t it?

Hurriedly, Harley rinsed himself off and hopped into a towel, clutching it closed as he dashed down the hall for the safety of his bedroom. Pants would be a big help, for sure. Funding meetings were pretty snooty, but not too snooty, so a pair of jeans would probably do. White button up too, maybe? Sort of a business casual type thing. And the sunglasses, so he didn’t look like he was trying too hard with the whole proper presentation business.

The shades were halfway up his face, resting on the bridge of his nose, when F.R.I.D.A.Y. called out to him once again.
“Boss? Multiple high power energy signals outside the building. Directly outside the window, actually.”
Harley paused. He chewed his lip, brow furrowed. What the hell was that all about? With his pointer and his thumb, he pushed the shades up his nose and turned towards the door. Buttoning his shirt as he went, he skidded around the corner on the heel of his plimsoll, turned to face the balcony doors.
He knitted his brow and drew his head back in confusion.

“Is that the Iron Legion?”
There were at least a half dozen of them, hovering ominously by the balcony. They stared their hollow, lifeless stare straight through the doors and right at Harley. No, this couldn’t have been his Iron Legion. The design was different, for starters, and his were only in the prototype stages—nowhere near this numerous, or this functioning.
Slowly, they each raised one hand, pointing their palms towards the door.
Ah, nuts.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y.! Wardrobe Malfunction Protocol, now!”
Taking one step back, Harley darted forward, tucking into a roll as the Repulsor fire sailed over his head and shattered the table behind him.
“Armour’s on its way, boss!”
First came the legs and hands, and that was just what Harley needed: Immediately, he hopped up and threw his hands down, blasting off from the living room and straight past the Sentinels. The robots pursued, and so too did the rest of the Mark X, each armour piece accelerating towards their wearer until he was finally fully suited up.

“Brrrr,” Harley trilled through pursed lips, shaking his head to stave off the morning sleepiness. “There’s a wake-up call for ya. Beats a room full of dead-eyed execs, anyways.”
Darting to the side, Harley barely dodged a hail of Repulsor fire from the pursuing Sentinels, earning a hiss through clenched teeth. “What are those guys? Are we gonna have to sue someone for plagiarism?”
“Not ours, boss. I scanned them: All I can tell is they’ve got some serious power readings—it knocks the Arc Reactor out of the park.”
Oh, that really wasn’t good.

Flipping around midair, Iron Lad returned fire with a volley of his own Repulsor blasts, aiming true for the dead centre of each Sentinel. Though their relentless pursuit was slowed somewhat, they were nonetheless undeterred, pushing through the fire with not a scratch on them to show for it. Soon, they returned fire of their own, far too much for Harley to dodge it all: A blast to the shoulder sent him tumbling back, struggling to regain balance midair.
“Serious damage to the armour’s structural integrity, boss! Servos are knackered in the right shoulder!”
Alright, enough of this. He’d have time to figure out what the hell these things were when he put them down. He had hoped to use his blasts as a distraction to gain further height above the clouds, but he had barely managed to clear the tops of the highest buildings. Looks like he’d have to stay and fight, then.

Pushing himself back upright with his palm thrusters, Iron Lad puffed his chest and faced down the oncoming battalion. Gradually, a glow began to grow from the Arc Reactor, energy crackling across the bright blue surface. Surely, this would do it.

The Sentinels stopped, lining up single file before him, and held out their palms. More and more energy began to coalesce in the middle of Harley’s chest, power levels rising further as it sparked and shone and…
Spluttered, hissed, and went dark.

The Sentinels lowered their palms. The inside of the Mark X was plunged into darkness, the displays disappearing and F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice now silenced. An absence most notable, though, was the hum of his propulsion devices—the propulsion devices that kept him in the air.

“Ahhh, nuts.”
Powerless as the suit seized up, Harley plummeted down from the Los Angeles skyline—and the Sentinels rocketed downwards alongside him, preparing a Cryopod.







Elsewhere, Jasper was passed out in someone’s garden.

Of course, if someone asked him, his story would be far more glamorous: He’d defeated the Sentinels, he’d say. Kicked their asses and hopped on board their ship to kick the ass of their boss. But the only one kicking any ass was the frankly asinine amounts of alcohol Jasper refused to metabolise, against his liver’s better judgement.
To be fair, he had kicked ass moments ago, at some party he had found his way to. He wasn’t really sure what it was for, or who was hosting it. An invitation sort of worked its way down the social chain of higher-ups to Jasper’s…sycophants, he’d call them if he knew what the word meant. Inevitably, he looked at someone funny, and they looked at him funny, and a few insults later they were punching each other out on the dance-floor.
Jasper won, of course. Because of course he would; he could take his arm off and slap it around like a prehensile baseball bat. But decorum demanded any brawlers take their fight elsewhere, so they had adjourned to the garden.

It was a very nice garden. From this angle—half-face down in the dirt—the primroses looked lovely. So nice a garden it was, that—through a combination of enrapturement by the petunias, and an inescapable sense of awkwardness that threatened to emerge should he walk back into the party—Jasper had decided he’d stay here for an extended smoke break. And then a smoke break became a drink break, and a drink break became a drinks, plural, break, and then he was half-face down in the dirt.
But no one had to know that. Because Jasper’s made up story was definitely what would have happened had he been awake.
Certainly.

And so, scooped up rather from his resting place in a bed of daffodils, Jasper was mercifully transferred by the Sentinels to somewhere more comfortable. Which, at this level of inebriation, was really all that mattered.
Well, at least someone was enjoying all this.
interested! seems like a fun idea.
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