Why do I roleplay?

Honestly… I roleplay because I love to write and I know my partner at least will be reading it and that they’ll care what happens next in the story. They’re a part of it, so they’re every bit as invested as I am. When I write alone, I don’t get that same feeling. In fact, I start feeling despair the further I go on by myself that everything I’m writing will forever be left unread and it’s depressing. Like what’s the point?

Most of the things I write aren’t things the people around me in real life care about so I don’t show them what I’m writing or get any input. It’s lonely. Roleplay allows me to do my number one favorite thing: write–and it matters to at least the one person I’m writing with. That’s all that matters and all I ever wanted. Being rich and famous? Not really and that’s why I become less motivated to spit out novels as time goes on.

I still call myself a writer because I usually spend most of my day writing and I get to define myself the same way anybody else does. I write, therefore, I am a writer. I don’t get paid to do it, but that doesn’t make me any less of a writer.

And that’s what I was thinking about today when asked the question: “What makes you RP?”

A rant on the fear of old roleplay sites

I suppose there’s no real way to get stubborn people outside their comfort zones. I mean, we did just get three new members on Somnia in the last week, which is pretty amazing after months of nothing. But two of those members are new to RP and were brought in by one of our older members and a long time RPing friend of mine.

Also… People say things like they never want to join older sites but how are they going to feel when their site is five years old and it’s like pulling teeth to get new members? I’ll bet you anything they’ll be saying the same things I am. My members are pretty excited whenever somebody new shows up because it hardly ever happens. They’re definitely not shunning or hazing anybody. In fact, they usually go out of their way to present them with plot ideas.

We all have a huge number of characters, as well, so when there’s a new member, it’s another opportunity to further plots with characters who have been neglected by the rest of the member base. I personally have quite a few characters who aren’t so beloved by the other members and they get ignored. Any time we have a new member, I have new hope that I’ll be able to tell a story with that character. So they aren’t shut out of stories, they in fact become integral to brand new ones, even if the characters they are playing with are old. I have a character who’s been on the site since it opened who’s got a whopping NOTHING going on because the two members I plotted him with before disappeared.

I guess shit can happen on any site but it’s honestly pretty hurtful to keep hearing it over and over again, everywhere I go. I hear the same old excuses. “I feel like an outsider. Everybody already knows each other and I don’t know them.” Like it’s any different on a new site? Chances are you don’t know anybody there, either but somehow it’s better because the site itself doesn’t have a lot of history? I dunno. I’m just sick of it.

People like that don’t even try my site, they just base their experiences off other sites, which is like saying you don’t want to eat at Chili’s because your experience at Applebee’s was bad. Sure, they’re both restaurants but the owner, staff, and menu are completely different. The experience won’t necessarily be the same. It’s a kid refusing to eat anything green without ever tasting it. Meh.

I’m sick of it all. The excuses not to try something new just because there are other people experiencing the setting before you did. I’m sick of how self-centered people are. They cry clique the second a subject comes up that they don’t understand because what? They expect the previous members to act distantly with one another? Act like they don’t know one another? Not every conversation is going to be about YOU, I’m sorry to say and they won’t always be on subjects you can chime in about. That can and will happen on any site, not just old ones.

Anyway, I had to get that off my chest somewhere… It’s annoying trying to get people to try a site that is not only older but also on a software people aren’t used to and sometimes, I just need to rant about it.

Sibling Prompt

Another prompt, this one about siblings. I wrote two separate entries. They both use roleplay characters. Here’s the first:


“Leeeoonnn,” Jenna sighed as she stared up at the ceiling from the bed, one knee propped up. Above her head, she held an old ratty rabbit that she dragged everywhere when she was a little girl. It was her favorite thing, that stuffed rabbit. Now its head teetered to the side and the bow around its neck was faded and dingy.

Leon didn’t answer her. Instead, his attention remained fixed on the computer screen. Figured. Jenna rolled over onto her stomach, hugging Eleanor to her chest. She kicked her legs back and forth, fixing her own gaze on Leon’s back. He was sitting at her desk with his laptop. Jenna pouted.

“You’re being a jerk,” she said. “I thought you came over to visit me.”

“I did,” Leon said, finally, though he still sounded distracted. He flicked his gaze over at her. Then he quickly looked down, apparently startled by the cat rubbing his head against his ankles. Jenna heard the swear that Leon probably thought was under his breath and she smirked before she sat up and patted the side of the bed.

“C’mere, Kimba.”

“Why do you even bother calling him? He’s deaf.”

Jenna stuck her tongue out at her brother. So what if Kimba was deaf? He still came because he felt the vibrations of her hands against the bed.

“What are you even looking up?” Jenna asked as she leaned over and traded Eleanor for Kimba, hugging him to her chest instead.

Leon looked over at her, smirked, then turned the laptop screen toward her.

Opposite Sides

All business now, wasn’t he? Raziel was so accustomed to the Blue that latched himself onto him and looked at him with warm eyes. In the darkness and distance, he couldn’t make out Blue’s eyes but he had a feeling they no longer looked to him so fondly. His voice said it all, but so did the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders, the way his brows were lowered. Even if Raziel couldn’t see his features in great detail, he could see all these things–and they made his heart sink, the guilt deepening.

What did he come out here to tell Blue? To give him the keys or else? Was this a declaration of war? They were on opposite sides, should it come to that but Raziel couldn’t see himself hurting Blue, not any more than he already had. If it came to war, could he really sink his blade through Blue’s throat and watch him take his last breath? The thought alone sickened him.

He didn’t know where he stood anymore, that was his problem. His blind loyalty and faith in Charon had been shaken. The man seemed to be losing his humanity. He was caving into the monster inside him. Blue was so obviously repentant and yet he was exiled, left to die out here. They knew he would be attacked and gave him no provisions and no way to protect himself. They even stole his ability from him, leaving him helpless, wounded, and alone.

Raziel saw it happen more than once to others before Blue. He saw their friends and family fight for them, he saw them spit on them, he saw them cry for them. Once or twice, there were deserters shortly afterward, those who decided their love for the exiled exceeded their love for the community. “Let them go,” Charon said bitterly. “They’ll die beside them. There is no room here for bad seeds.”

Slowly, Raziel dropped down on one knee and lowered his head, heart thumping hard in his chest. He stared at the leaves beneath his boot.

“…Blue, I’m sorry.”

Error, Error, Error

Please note that this scene involves abuse. Read on at your own discretion.

You failed,” Angelo said, striking him with the back of his hand. Heavy gold and silver rings bit into his jaw and cheek and Shin Il had to fight the urge to smile. Clearly, Angelo wasn’t thrilled about what happened. He sent the word down to kill that bastard, Myo In Sung and here Shin Il was, unable to kill him. No, he got away. Sneaky bastard. Somehow, he managed to get away and although Shin Il tried to hunt him down for a good few hours afterward, he couldn’t find him. The city was too large and even though Shin Il knew the area well, he still wasn’t able to ferret out any possible hiding places. He deserved every smack he got, every derogatory term…

But he couldn’t smile. No, he couldn’t smile at all.

“You know what happens to failures… I know you do,” Angelo said, gripping his hair tight in his hand as their eyes met. Yeah, yeah. Failures got punished. Now this was the tricky part because he couldn’t enjoy the punishment too much or they would catch on. The look in Angelo’s eyes was hard this time, though, and there was something new and dangerous there. Had he caught on now? Did somebody tell him something? His gaze was sharp as a hawk and Shin Il stared too long–he was rewarded with a hard shove back and away. The harsh movement wrenched his neck and shoulder and he didn’t have to hold back the seething little hiss of pain that elicited in his still broken arm. Ahh…

“This is your third strike,” Angelo said, looking down at him with flat eyes, disappointed eyes. Yes, this was the third guy who escaped. But of the other two, he did eventually get them when punished and given a second chance. Besides, his work usually went well. Three out of however many he had been given since he became a hitman? Better than most! But Angelo looked dead serious, his jaw tense.

“We can’t afford this many errors at this point in the game, little Shinny. I don’t think you get it. That asshole’s been taking down some of our best and there’s just no way we can allow him to live. You had your chance and you blew it. So…” Angelo brought out a gun and pointed it at Shin Il’s head, between the eyes. Even Shin Il knew what that meant but death and pain, those weren’t the same. He had too much left to just let Angelo blow him away now.

Gathering together whatever water he could, he flung it hard in the direction of the gun. Just as it went off, the water hardened and sliced through the air, cutting Angelo’s hand clean off.

“FUCK!” Angelo shouted, immediately grabbing for his bleeding stump of a hand. Wasting no time, Shin Il dropped down to grab the gun, prying the hand from it and taking it in hand before he aimed the gun first at Angelo’s shoulder, his chest, his knee, and then finally smirked as he pointed it at his nose. The last thing he heard was Angelo’s cry as he ate lead and dropped to the ground in a pool of his own blood. He heard voices down the hall, however, and he had no time to waste. They had to know something went wrong when they heard so many voices. Damn it. Why did he have to relish the violence so much?

Skidding out of the room, he went down the hall and through the first door he saw. Lucky day. It led to the stairwell. He moved up rather than down; they would be expecting anybody running to go down. Up, up, he ran until he made it to the rooftop, where he shut the door behind him as quietly as he could. He threw the gun over the ledge and heard it clatter into a garbage can. He looked over the ledge himself. He was six stories up. Jumping wasn’t an option if he actually wanted to make it alive. So he turned his gaze around to the building next door. The jump was dangerous, too but… It was about his only option.

He started at a run and he jumped. His heart was in his throat as he leapt through the air. He landed on the other side, hitting it with his knee and rolling over onto his broken arm. He sucked in a breath as he rolled onto his back and that was when he heard somebody coming up on the rooftop he just left. Quickly, he slid over to the very edge of the new roof, pressing against the side. They probably couldn’t see him, and who would think he would have jumped rooftops if they didn’t see him running like an idiot? Still, he held his breath as he listened to shouts and then heard the rooftop door close again.

Still, he didn’t move, remaining where he was, watching his own rooftop, every part that he could see. His eyes darted around from one spot to the next. Then he heard the rooftop door across from him close again. Still nothing. Nothing. He didn’t know how long he lay there before he finally got up, but there was nobody on the other rooftop and nobody on his. Slowly, he made his way to the rooftop door and listened carefully as he descended the steps.

Eventually, he made it out of the red light district but he quickly dodged into a shop where he could buy a hoodie and pull it on. Not too fishy, given where he was. He skulked through the shadows of the alleyways until he found himself near the edge of the territory. Then he was crossing over. Still nothing, yet he didn’t breathe a sigh of relief just yet. Finally, he made it to a little diner, where he edged into a hidden booth near the back. Now what? Now what?


Note: The title of this came from the song Error by Madeline Juno. I highly recommend giving it a listen. Check it out here: Error – Madeline Juno!

Want to know more about Shin Il? Check out Somnia. Be a part of his story! Please note that you have to join the site to see in-character posts. 🙂

Promises, Promises

“No… no, no, no…” Junsu shook his head, holding tight to Hyo Won. He could hardly breathe past the clenching of his heart and the tightness in his chest. His breaths came up harsh and shuddering as he suffocated on the weight of his fear. Physically, he shook from the effort of trying to hold it all together but he was failing miserably and he knew it. It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out. Hyo Won was supposed to get better, he was supposed to leave that horrible affliction behind and start living and be happy and… and… not… die.

The hope was fading fast, too fast for Junsu to collect it and try to see things with his usual brand of optimism. Now he had to stare it in the face, the way Hyo Won changed, just the way that he said he would. Hyo Won knew it was going to happen and he warned Junsu. He warned him so many times but Junsu was so stubborn, so sure that he could change his fate simply by virtue of being there. Stupidly, he thought if Hyo Won loved him enough, it would keep him here, as if it could keep the darkness at bay, as if love eclipsed everything else.

“Hyo Won…” His voice was unsteady, cracking like his heart. Even though Hyo Won was holding him back, he could feel it, too, the way he had to fight to keep the claws from sinking in. He could feel the tension in his body. He could even feel the muscles spasms as Hyo Won fought for control over the darkness inside him. It was so hard to look at him like that, staring up at him, pleading with his entire body. For a couple crazy heartbeats, he wanted it to happen, for Hyo Won to rip into him and kill him on the spot, just to make the ache stop. But then where would that leave Hyo Won?

His lower lip trembled as he tried to speak again but he could speak. Nothing coherent passed his lips, just a harsh choking sob before he leaned in and squeezed his eyes shut. He kissed Hyo Won, shivering. He stroked the side of his face. And with his other hand, he reached out and grabbed the gun. Cold. Metal. He was warned, so he knew what he was getting into. He promised Hyo Won he could do it. He promised that it was worth it just to be with him. He promised him.

“…I love you… Hyo Won.”

He pulled the trigger.

A pirate playing a gentleman

He was surprised. He had waited for the sure slap to the face–unsure which hand it would come from–and yet, she didn’t slap him. Her voice didn’t even take a sharp tone with him, though when he looked at her, he could see a definite less than pleased glint to her eyes. Why did she doubt he was a gentleman? A fine question indeed. He couldn’t help it then. A slow smile spread across his face. Caught in the act, it seemed. He had never been very good at playing roles.

“Did I say gentleman?” he asked, sounding amused that she should call him one. Or rather, question his integrity as one. He knew he didn’t look the part. He could have done with a better combing, probably should have bothered tying back his hair, at least. Maybe even wear one of those prissy wigs. Hah. I’d rather be dead than powder my face and wear a damned wig!

“I meant to say poor hard working man with no manners, but ‘gentleman’ came out easier. Not nearly so long.” He looked her over again, the pale, silvery hair, the pretty eyes set in a porcelain face. She was not his typical quarry–she was far out of his typical reach, looking for all the world like a delicate doll. A lady, not the kind he would find in Tortuga. Still, she hadn’t slapped him, and that was already a positive start. He was nothing if not positive.

“Maybe,” he suggested, leaning forward slightly. “Your feet wouldn’t suffer. If I can lie about one thing, who’s to say I’m not lying about the other?” After all, the only things she knew about him based on his words alone were that he was a gentleman and a clumsy dancer. Now that she had guessed at his first lie, who was to say the second wasn’t a lie as well?

Originally posted on Before The Mast.