#bones like bare roots rp

[dr-sunshine-md]

Surprise! More of them.

(Based on this)

#warrior cats oc #warriors oc #blbr #bones like bare roots rp #skinkthorn #quailfang #skink is a council member now #pray for them.

[galaxymooing]

Last of the sewer cats. --- My NPC Ash has met his end. Thanks @boneslikebarerootsrp for the excitement, this plot line has been so fun and it's amazing to see plans coming together now.

#warrior #warrior cats #blbr #bones like bare roots #blbr rp #bones like bare roots rp #WHAT DO YOU TAG THINGS #cat #my art #ash #blood #gore #nnnot really but just in case #sorry for burying your gays it was destined for him

[prpfs]

Hey! I’m 24 and looking for anyone 21+ interested in a MxM roleplay. Recently I’ve been really loving getting down to the bare bones of a character, unwrapping all their trauma and everything that makes them who they are. I love love love writing out men being vulnerable, and showing raw emotion - which is something I’m looking for in this roleplay. 🗑️

It’s probably going to be a slice of life rp, and a bit of a slow burn so I’m sorry if that’s not your thing. But I’m looking to play a younger (late 20s), unstable, and slightly unhinged man who’s riddled with deep rooted trauma which he refuses to address, against a softer and kindhearted older man (40+) who has his own trauma but deals with it in a very different way (literally however you want). I don’t want to use the dreaded dom/sub words but I’d love to write the younger guy as a top, or at the very least a switch leaning top. Maybe he’s someone who at first is sort of taking advantage of your character’s good heart but then they form a genuine really strong bond.

I’d love to plot something out together and hear your thoughts too! Leave a like and I’ll reach out to you. Thank you.

give a like and anon will get back to you

#oc roleplay #oc rp

[findyourrp]

Hey! I'm 24 and looking for anyone 21+ interested in a MxM roleplay. Recently I've been really loving getting down to the bare bones of a character, unwrapping all their trauma and everything that makes them who they are. I love love love writing out men being vulnerable, and showing raw emotion - which is something I'm looking for in this roleplay. I'm looking for lots of crying and lots of hurt/comfort from both of them Imao

It's probably going to be a slice of life rp, and a bit of a slow burn so I'm sorry if that's not your thing. But I'm looking to play a younger (late 20s), unstable, and slightly unhinged man who's riddled with deep rooted trauma which he refuses to address, against a softer and kindhearted older man (40+) who has his own trauma but deals with it in a very different way (literally however you want). I don't want to use the dreaded dom/sub words but I'd love to write the younger guy as a top, or at the very least a switch leaning top.

I'd love to plot something out together and hear your thoughts too! Leave a like and I'll reach out to you. Thank you. ✨

.

#rp finder #18+ rp #fandomless rp #oc x oc rp #mxm rp

[findroleplay]

Hey! I'm 24 and looking for anyone 21+ interested in a MxM roleplay. Recently I've been really loving getting down to the bare bones of a character, unwrapping all their trauma and everything that makes them who they are. I love love love writing out men being vulnerable, and showing raw emotion - which is something I'm looking for in this roleplay. I'm looking for lots of crying and lots of hurt/comfort from both of them Imao 🗑️

It's probably going to be a slice of life rp, and a bit of a slow burn so I'm sorry if that's not your thing. But I'm looking to play a younger (late 20s), unstable, and slightly unhinged man who's riddled with deep rooted trauma which he refuses to address, against a softer and kindhearted older man (40+) who has his own trauma but deals with it in a very different way (literally however you want). I don't want to use the dreaded dom/sub words but I'd love to write the younger guy as a top, or at the very least a switch leaning top.

I'd love to plot something out together and hear your thoughts too! Leave a like and I'll reach out to you. Thank you.

-

#roleplay #rp #oc rp #original rp #fandomless rp #mxm rp #slice of life rp #age gap rp

[blue-hamble]

Cold drizzle enveloped the Squat Frog Coffee House. The day was heavy with a dark, almost blue layer of thick fog. Mist wrapped itself around ancient trees and obscured the view of the neighboring cliffs. The coffee house lanterns barely brought any light to a passing eye. In this remote spot, time seemed to slow down.

Inside, a couple of dimly lit lanterns cast delicate shadows everywhere. The air was cool and moist, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and coffee. Lute pulled a tray of freshly roasted cliff lion roots from the tiny kitchen oven. He wrinkled his nose at the color. "Hmm...a touch too light." There was a voice that rang out, clear as a bell. "Lute, my boy! Are you in? Something smells delightful." (forum thread: https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/3238950)

Cloud Brush's courier, Shira, stood at the doorway, peering around for other patrons. The middle-aged skydancer quickly took off his rain poncho at the threshold and shook it free of cold droplets. He was dressed in sealskin and linen, and had a well-aged leather satchel around his waist. "Always, uncle!" the coffee house owner called out, already setting a kettle of water out to boil. He stepped out of the kitchen and grinned. "Done with your deliveries for the day? Come sit and rest your wings." "Hardly done at all. Can't see my own beak in this heavy fog! My bones aren't as resistant to the dreary days as they used to be. You still got some coffee? I've got a good bit of treasure for your best stuff. I could use the energy." "Clan is family, and I don't charge family," Lute said firmly. "You taught me that and I will never let you forget. Make yourself warm and let me handle things. You take honey with your coffee, right?" "You're a potash peach, Lu," the skydancer laughed. He took a seat at the counter and set his bags down. "Thank you, and just a spot of honey is enough." The spiral looked at his customer carefully. Shira seemed more careworn--the lines on his face were more pronounced. Instead of taking up space and splaying his elbows on the counter, the courier kept his hands folded under his crossed arms. Even the gleam of his sharp eyes were somewhat pensive that day. "Would you like a special pick-me-up? I think I've got just the thing, if you'd like to try it." Shira didn't answer right away--Lute watched him stiffen in his seat a touch. "You don't have to, if you don't want to," the spiral appended. "But I think it will help with today." There was a long pause before the skydancer visibly softened. He released a long, tired sigh and leaned back in his seat, eyes glassy. "Oh, damned by the doldrums," he smiled apologetically. "I must be more under the weather than I thought, for it to be so apparent. I'll give it a go, my boy. Might as well get it over with, ey?" Lute nodded and turned back to the kitchen, returning with the kettle of water and a mug. The mug was one of many novelty choices--it had a knitted yarn print and the words "holding it together!" comically painted on the side. He set it down solemnly in front of the courier and placed a filter of cliff lion grounds over it. The spiral's gestures seemed almost choreographed as he poured hot water over the fragrant grounds, creating intricate patterns of swirling steam. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee intermingled with the mist, mixing the scents of droplets and roasted cliff lion root in nostalgia. Both dragons took a deep breath of the aroma as the coffee steeped.

After a few minutes of silence, Lute asked his first question. "You hid something. What are you hiding?"

"My grief," Shira replied, almost blandly. "Been thinking about my other kids today. Small grace from the Windsinger that they didn't suffer. Can't help but think of them on days like this." The skydancer could almost see them in the mists hovering over the cup, against the light of the lanterns. Jira, his eldest and bravest, proud of his scrapes. Ailean, his bashful little boy, with a sweet face that could melt the strictest heart. He felt his throat constrict and his chest drop, but talking was a reflex still. "I have my mate and my son, and the clan, and clan is family. I have nothing to fear when grief comes, by all means. It ought to be easier. But I flee all the same. I fly faster and turn sharper, and memorize all sorts of things like routes and escapes, but it doesn't ease any of this...pain and guilt. It's silly, my boy." For a split second Shira's face crumpled and he sniffed as if to cry. Lute turned away graciously to select a sweetener from the shelf. When he turned back to the counter the skydancer had regained his composure, though his eyes were a touch less glassy and still transfixed on the mist. "It's not silly, uncle," the spiral frowned. "I don't think most could do much better. I mean, look at the clan patriarch." "That's not comparable," Shira answered sharply. His face was suddenly stormy. "Lofty's been through trials that could only be shade-sent. Not just children lost but body and mind torn apart! I won't have you minimize his suffering for my comfort!" "I'm sorry" the spiral amended, apologetic. "I don't intend to at all. But you both carry a similar grief. Just because you're flying and walking and talking doesn't mean you're unscathed, uncle." He took the filter of grounds off and spooned a bit of honey in the mug. It glittered and dissolved in the heat with a couple of brief methodical stirs, disturbing the steam. It was a tense few minutes before Shira huffed and took the mug. "I understand your meaning, Lu, and I'm sorry too. I know you don't mean harm. It is a difficult thing for everyone, but the past is past. I should be doing better." The skydancer brought the mug to his lips and took a drink.

Lute cast a watchful eye out the window before asking his next question.

"The past is past. What remains undone?"

"...I don't know. What is their left to do? I've buried my dead and remember them well. I try to make peace with things. Not much else you can do, really. And I'd rather not resort to things like necromancy. We've seen what that can be like." "You have," Lute winced. "How Allie and Nick manage are nowhere near as amiable as things I've seen before. It's a good thing they get along so well--it's definitely one of the healthier kinds of undead bond. If such a thing even truly exists." "There are stranger things in the world, you know," the skydancer nodded. "Nicky's got a breed change scroll on his person at all times in case of any ill circumstance of the emperor variety. That's one way of coping, isn't it? I find it quite an idea." "Auntie Jil wouldn't appreciate that sort of thing easily without her approval." "Indeed she wouldn't! She's a strong dragoness, my Jil. She holds half my burdens and the whole clan in her hand. Decisive in ways I am not, and brave. I would be lost without her. She has heart enough when mine is heavy, and I gladly try the same to be for her." Shira savored his drink, thoughtful. He felt the soft mist that always lingered in the coffee house touch his cheek, like an almost scolding caress. With the deep melancholy in his chest, he wondered if his mate felt the same way today. In that instant, he had an irresistible urge to fly off and be with her. He sniffed again, eyes watery, and he finished his mug in a few gulps. "Home with Jil sounds just what I need right now. I believe that's what I'll do today, my boy. I'll have to postpone the deliveries a day." "Zareen wouldn't mind and you know it. Lucky--the fog has cleared up just for you." In the past half hour, the deep dark fog had indeed receded--leaving only the familiar mist that always surrounded Squat Frog Coffee House. The foreboding weather had become quickly pleasant in record time. The skies were a clear and vivid blue, dotted by softly colored clouds--the air currents even flowed toward home. The skydancer's surprised laugh was a sparkle of sound and relief. "Indeed it has! Thank you for the coffee and the company, Lu. You've got a true gift." The courier was reinvigorated, almost humming in anticipation of the flight home. He jumped to his feet and moved around the counter to give the somewhat nonplussed spiral a warm hug. "When you've got time, you should come over and have dinner," he murmured. "Don't forget you have home now, Lu. Clan is family, and Jil misses you. Shij would never admit it but he does too." Lute laughed and returned the squeeze. "I'll try my best when I can, uncle. Give my best to auntie and Shij." With a quick salute and a flash of feathers, the skydancer dashed outside to spread his wings. It took but a moment for him to take off--a hallmark of Shira's strength and endurance in flight. The coffee house owner waved goodbye from the doorway, used mug in hand. The fog was sure to creep in again after an hour at most, but an hour was all Shira would need. Thank goodness for the cliff lions, even if they were roasted a touch too light. The spiral blinked at Squat Frog, who didn't return the gesture.

"Not too bad, all things considered, froggy. Let's hope we'll be helpful still the next time."

#flight rising rp #fr rp #clan cloud brush #squat frog coffee house #fr clan lore #flight rising clan lore

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 16: A Long Time Ago

Prompt 16: Deiform - FFXIV Write 2022 Characters:  The Unspoken Ones.  (This is based on player-created alternate Gelmorran history accepted by the group I RP with regularly.)   Content Warning: Body horror, blood, punishment.  

“Come here,” The Sleeper commanded.

And he obeyed, crawling on hands and knees across the cold, grey stone.  Bare skin held no protection against the scrape of the rocks or the seeping dark.  Blood smeared the ground in his wake like an offering.  His lips trembled when they met the hand lowered for him to lick.  The water droplets still adorning his skin had a crisp taste to them.

“Present.”  The Sleeper’s voice is unhurried, liquid and smooth even when resonating through the cavern chamber.  An viper’s head rose from its pile of coils near the Sleeper’s feet, sapphire eyes far too bright and attentive in the darkness.  The viper’s hiss burned into the elf’s ears, pricked at his mind, his heart, whispered of truth but never of mercy.

“My Lord,” The Justicar stepped forward, hand to his heart, head bowing in deference.  These Gelmorrans were vicious, the ones that served the Sleeper and his kin.  The Unspoken Ones, the devout called them.  “This beast attacked one of the High Priestess’s maidens.  She has suffered greatly at his hands, and the people call for his sacrifice to atone for his slight against you.”

The beast lifted his head and dared to stare up at the Sleeper.  These entities they unearthed without intention.  Gelmorra lies sprawled between the Shroud ruled by the elements and the depths haunted by the Unspoken Ones.  Those that dwelled in the lowest reaches of the City came to revere these old entities they’re digging had awoken. Some were more zealous than others, pandering for position and power, coming to rule this sector and reaching beyond to claim more.  All in the name of the Unspoken, all according to the song sung in the Dark.

The white and black wings of an enormous moth fluttered in the leafless branches of the Ebontree the Sleeper’s throne was fashioned from.  In the early days when he was newly arisen, the Sleeper had commanded the roots and trunk to twist themselves into a seat for him to rule from.  The black wood was unlike any other tree the beast had seen, that any of them had seen, growing out of the charcoal rock and soil surrounding the lake of water so dark it stained any hand placed within it. Some spoke of souls lost to its depths, sucked clear out of them with mere contact.

“She offered herself to me.  I wish to bind my life to hers for all of my days.”  The beast clutched to the hand his lips peppered kisses on.  The cold, ashen fingers withdrew like water he couldn’t hold on to.  “No, no!  Please, my Lord!  I beg forgiveness.”

The skittering of the Spider echoed through the cavern, emerging alongside the throne to cast her multitude of eyes on the pitiful beast.  They had all come to watch, to see the commotion, but none spoke to save him.  This man had proven himself a beast.  The cavern filled with their whispers, their contorted language maddening to those non-devout.  The beast wept and collapsed on the ground, hands outstretched, his back hunched.  Begging, praying.

“A beast you have been marked as.”  The words came down as judgement.  A black tentacle seeped outward from the base of the throne, the flesh smooth and slick snaked around the beast’s throat, suckers imprinting themselves into the man’s flesh.  The constriction was absolute.  Eyes widened and lips spread on soundless pleas.  No more breath for useless prayers.  The Sleeper wanted to hear no more.

“You will serve the rest of your days as you have shown yourself to be.  A dog.”  The man’s figure bent in half, limbs snapping and shifting.  He couldn’t scream past the tentacle holding him.  Bones cracked and refused, flesh crawled and reformed, fur burst outward, coating the beast entirely.  By the time he was tossed to the ground, his tongue couldn’t bend around words, merely snuffles and growls, whimpers and soft woofs.  Penitent.  Belly to the stone.  

“Call the Hunter to collect his new hound.”

“Yes, my Lord.”  The Justicar clasped his hand to his heart once more, head bowing as he backed away from the Unspoken.  

#FFxivWrite2022 #Prompt 16 #ffxiv writers #writers on tumblr #The Unspoken Ones #The Darkness Sings #The Secariots #The Roches #Those whose names we do not speak

[webclan]

But is he WRONG tho 🤔

#warrior cats #wc ocs #blbr #warrior cats oc #these are two of my cats from bones like bare roots rp but I’m not gonna tag the blog for my silly meme lmao #fluffy man with claws and bug necklace is Helsing #concerned art man is halcyon

[fulmine-art]

Halcyon was approved to @boneslikebarerootsrp and he made a.. friend(?) in Will on the way there!

#warrior cats #wc oc #warriors oc #blbr rp #bones like bare roots #cat #digital for once

[dr-sunshine-md]

Clearly Skinkthorn is excellent at helping.

Referencing this from Parks and Rec.

Moose (orange cat) belongs to Helen!

#skinkthorn #moose #blbr #bones like bare roots rp #wcrp #warrior cats oc

[galaxymooing]

in november 2022 i started working on a PMV for my bones like bare roots characters, hyssop and ash. it was fully thumbnailed and i completed the first ~20 frames

than i hurt my wrist from how much work i did in such a short time span and got distracted by other projects and never went back to finish it

i'm still SUPER proud of it though, so last night i decided to put it all together and upload it :) i love this rp and i love these characters. it was a great learning experience making this and next time maybe i'll even finish something! enjoy

#warriors #warrior cats oc #bones like bare roots #blbr #ummm thats enough tags i think i dont think this works for an animation tag lmfao #my art #stomping #Youtube

[wolfdogjaws]

Storm and three cats quite important to them

#left belongs to @boneslikebarerootsrp right to @dr-sunshine-md #oc: Storm #oc: Galefrost #Storm #Galefrost #bro this HURTED #spades' shading is more subtle which i regret but i am not opening this 100+ layer thing and changing it #finished #may #may 2020 #2020 #ocs #rp ocs #bones like bare roots

[summerspectre]

/rp

tubbo's hair is naturally blonde.

tubbo meets tommy when he runs through forests

starry eyed and sleeping in boxes,

when he's barely old enough

to remember his own name.

luckily he has,

it's on the unique side.

he doesn't much want to lose it.

tubbo's hair is naturally blonde,

but he dyes it brown at the start of a new faction,

one where tubbo will be free to run,

when the sun shines bright, and he needn't worry,

about pain or suffering to come,

new hair, new him,

he remembers dancing about in his uniform,

laughing as he salutes the flag.

tubbo's hair is naturally blonde.

the bottoms of his feet are always tough,

until they shift into hooves,

and oh prime, isn't it painful?

to go from a human to a satyr,

to change species,

to grow horns and to feel bones break,

to make a man out of him?

tubbo's hair is naturally blonde.

many don't know of that when it all dies,

the dream, the goal, the ambitions of many,

tnt decorates the dusk, tubbo feels his heart ache,

it was all never meant to be, wilbur was right,

he's failed,

perhaps that is for the better in the end,

but it certainly doesn't feel that way.

tubbo's hair is naturally blonde.

his roots grow in around christmastime,

as usual he gets the dye to fix it. to make it better.

he remembers when he and tommy would do this,

and dye their hair as a team effort,

it was funny,

time changes so rapidly, too rapidly,

he has so much more to do, with or without tommy.

tubbo's hair is naturally blonde.

his newlywed spouse has no idea of that,

tubbo keeps many things close to his chest, secrets,

and maybe a man shouldn't lie to his partner,

but why would the color of his hair matter?

tubbo doesn't matter.

he wonders if he is holding on too dearly,

to l'manburg and what it stood for. it is gone.

tubbo's hair is naturally blonde.

when he notices it this time, he sees it fully.

he just hadn't noticed how blonde its gotten,

and he's been too busy to dye it. far too busy.

has ranboo noticed? they haven't said anything.

present day. here he is.

he reaches for the brown dye again, but stops.

he sort of likes the sunshine in his hair.

tubbo's hair is naturally blonde.

he's going to keep it for a bit.

#thats right its in stanzas #tubbo #tubbo fic #/rp #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #ranboo #tommyinnit #wilbur soot

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #1: First Day of Spring

((Unsung Prompts are a series of writing challenges given in my RP community. They center around my character Charlette Bellamy’s life, thoughts, community and adventures)) The flower crown rested lightly on Charlette’s head, the slight weight of it and the tickle of long petals against her temple the only tell that it was even there. Cold moons lay just behind the people of the Shroud, and this was a tradition, to weave the first flowers the blooming times had born. It slipped at an angle, weighted unevenly, and everytime it did she shifted it back. Like a tick, again and again, it pulled at that unconsciously practised need to be as perfect as possible. Nevermind the sweat on her back that stains the dress she wore. Thin fabric only so helpful as the light blistered on her skin on this particular sun, chosen specifically for the blazing midday.

Celebration, it is the first thing that comes to everyone’s hearts when the cold winds break and the warm gusts arrive. Ah, so fresh, so comforting, so good to be free of stuffy homes and thick clothing. Skin bared once more on shoulders, knees and even toes. The mud between them cooling, soft, diggable, far from how hard and chilling it can be. Even the pete smell of bogs coming downwind, heavy and hard on the nose, could not calm the clamour of welcome. “Smile on us, Shroud sun. We all are leaves, thirsty to drink. Pour! Pour! Pour onto us!” a woman, The Greyest, preached to the open sky, her grey-blue skin crinkled by the time and effort it takes to be alive. A golden chalice held in both hands and raised, empty, light winking off the polished edges. It poured in, in a sense. Charlette stood amongst a ring of Duskwights, all wore crowns of many colours, dressed to match the foliage atop their heads. “Pour! Pour!” they chanted with The Greyest as she ‘collects’ the warmth. Their hands raised together, upward, Charlette could feel the heat against her turned-out palms. Sweet in how it passed into skin, muscle, bone. The Greyest tells them it is the most intimate way they can feel the Star’s connection. “When we hold the hand of a lover, the shoulder of a sibling, the head of an infant, our warmth enters them, and theirs into us. We are held now, welcome the affection.” Charlette closed her fingers into her palms, twining them into imagined digits of sunlight. She gathered it into her palms and brought it down with all the other women in the circle. Each fist is pressed to her lips, one after the other. They all turned, first to the woman on their left, then their right, opened those warm hands and pressed them to the cheek of the other. “Life is what we hold, what it gives. And we pass it, flowing through us, to one another. To the Star.” the entire circle bent, crouched down to haunches and pushed their palms to the earth. Pressed through the overgrown shrubbery to touch soil. A tiny beetle, newly shed of its larval form and only now turning the orange that comes before their red, clambered over Charlette’s fingers. She watched, whispered under her breath “Hello…” the tiny little feet that traversed her skin utterly imperceptible. “...Dorian.” she named them “Happy Birthsun.” they stopped, turned as if to look up at her in thanks. Then their little shell parted, wings fluttered and they took off. Silence reigned as the warmth drained from their hands, cooled by the soil they dug into. “We give.” The Greyest declared, then fell silent for a long moment. Birdsong, the chirping of vilekin, the rustle of leaves disturbed by creatures and wind both. It felt like the Shroud itself had joined them. “And we receive.” all rose, fingers curled into the soft ground and pulled up earth, leaves, roots. Whatever came to be between their fingers was torn up and gathered in cupped hands. The Greyest walked around the circle, a pinch of each being plucked and placed in the chalice. Not chosen, simply grabbed. A young girl, dressed and crowned like the others, followed behind her and placed a glass jar at the feet of every woman. As the pinch was taken, the holder bent and emptied their hands into the jars, sealed them and picked them up. They are held, one hand around the neck, the other cupping the base. Cradled like newborns, and held against their navels. Charlette, grateful Dorian had escaped when he did, noticed a worm bending between her fingers. They wrapped around a digit, slithered in a slow panic to return to their home. She dropped them into her jar, with a glittering stone, a shard of bone, a strand of wild grass and Dorian’s discarded, larval shell. All gathered by chance, a spark of amazement passed through her at how much story there is in just two handfuls of her home. It was cold against her belly, the near-sheer fabric of their dresses thin. Nothing is worn beneath, this fact did not disturb the usually prudish Duskwight. This is one of the few moments it cannot. The Greyest returned to her place in the circle once more, the youngling at her side stared around the circle, found her mother’s gaze and recieved a proud nod of affirmation, a silent ‘Well done!’. Her little smile bright in the shadow she stood in, she held a bundle of The Greyest’s robe in a little hand and turned toward her once more. Secure. “Matriarchs, maidens, mothers. Caverns, canopies, canals. We will warm, as we shade. We are the keepers of our kind. For in the dark, we are the sun. in the light, we are shadow. In all things, we are the answer, the keepers, the hearts of our kin.” She raised the chalice one last time. “And this is the season of our return.” every jar is raised with it, bathed in that light. The oath, made far from Gridania, a promise all women of Charlette’s near-gone coven make. No longer taken deep in the collapsed caves of the Under Shroud, and changed now to suit their new home. But still devoid of the Elementals, pure and Duskwight. Entirely for them. Renewed far from disapproving eyes, suspicion, hatred. They will endure. The circle breaks in silence, and each woman takes her jar home to the place where the sun lingers longest. Charlette’s remained in her seemingly bottomless satchel. Where it clinked, amongst books and papers and pencils, to be taken out every sunset the Unsung saw on their journey. The Shroud, ever embraced.

#ffxiv #ffxiv writing #ffxiv rp #ffxiv roleplay #elezen #duskwight

[deadwatcrs]

⟨  tom holland  ,  non-binary demiboy  ,  he/they  ,  22  ⟩   there  goes  ARTHUR ‘ARTIE’ HART  after  the  opposing  team’s  flag  ,  the  child   of  APHRODITE  who  was  claimed  to  CABIN TEN  eleven years  ago  .  wielding  their  SPEAR  ,  and  their  inherited  TELEPORTATION  at  the  ready  ,  they’re  sure  to  lead  their  team  to  victory  .  after  all  ,  it  was  their  demigod  prowess  that  proved  to  be  vital  during  the  arduous  and  decisive  JOURNEY TO FIND DAEDALUS AND THE MAP OF THE LABYRINTH  (  demigod  18  )  they  ventured  on  in  the  past  .  don't  let  their  feat  fool  you  though  ,  it  was  during  this  quest  that  they  were  challenged  by  their  FEAR OF ABANDONMENT AND LONELINESS  .  perhaps  that  is  the  reason  they've  chosen  to  side  with  the  titan  army  .

hello hello !!! so excited to be here with everyone :-) !!! i’m mira, i’m 20, i use she/her pronouns nd i live in the gmt+8 zone, so u can expect me awake when no one else is KJEHHSEJK i’ve been a fan of pjo since like,,,, i was 12 nd was literally convinced i was a demigod so u can imagine !!!! that when i saw this rp i was like !!!! [screams] 

anyways !! this is arthur ‘artie’ hart nd they are New so i’m still working out a lot of their story, but im v excited to see where they’ll go :-) i have a few connections regarding his story nd also just ,, slapped som stuff down from the app into here HEKJHESJK 

PART ONE.    THE BASICS.

name: arthur ‘artie’ hart. prefers to go by artie, as arthur is what his aunt calls him. age: twenty-two. zodiac: born on july 21st, 1999, making him a cancer sun, scorpio moon and leo rising. gender & pronouns: nonbinary demiboy. uses he/him and they/them pronouns. romantic orientation: bisexual.

PART TWO.     THE HIDDEN DEPTHS, THE SCRATCHED LAYER.

positive traits: compassionate / perceptive / mild-mannered. negative traits: pessimistic / evasive / easily jealous. mbti: ENFJ - the protagonist. moral alignment: chaotic good. what is their motivation?: artie is motivated, primarily, by the desire to never find themselves abandoned and alone. growing up with an absent goddess of a mother, a mother deep in her memories of a lover she’ll never see again and an aunt who tried to give them a foundation to grow from meant that their life was more or less marred by the concept of loneliness, of abandonment. 

artie wants, more than anything else, for no future demigods to feel the same way they did — and if that means tearing down olympus and getting rid of the gods, then they were willing to turn the other cheek, to contribute bare bones to take on the least amount of blood and ichor. aphrodite had never made a move to acknowledge him other than the obligatory favor of claiming him as her child, and the knowledge that she too had abandoned him pushed him to the side of the titans.

the choice to do the bare minimum is rooted in the fact that they are still very much attached to camp half-blood and everyone within it, as they had been there for half their life. it is a decision rooted in wanting the best for the camp and its campers even if the decision is a difficult one. after all, what have the gods ever done for the hundreds of children they’ve brought into the world?

what was growing up like?: for starters, artie appreciates that his aunt tried. their mother was far too wrapped up in memories of a lover long gone, and aphrodite had never once made an effort beyond dropping them off at their mother’s doorstep and then claiming them as her child eleven years later. growing up was difficult. like any demigod child, there were instances that could never be explained, like the time artie was in his room one minute and the living room the next without ever having touched his closed door and the time his backpack was torn to shreds while he was still wearing it. still, they had to push through childhood, often seeking comfort in the arms of their aunt when the monsters got too close. at eleven, a satyr brought artie to camp half-blood after discovering their teleportation ability (it was a stupid incident, and one artie is reluctant to tell again, but it ends with falling asleep while their foot was in a toilet bowl while walking to class). 

camp half-blood was a haven for artie as their heritage was unraveled. aphrodite claimed him a week after he arrived at camp, and he was immediately drawn to the change in lifestyle. it was a relief for all the pieces to fall into place, for artie to realize that they weren’t different. at thirteen, they became a year rounder camper after their aunt had encouraged them to stay, knowing their mother couldn’t keep them safe. their time at camp was divided into learning how to fight with a spear (a weapon that quickly became their go-to, the one weapon they were actually proficient with) and learning how to manage their ability. however, worry constantly nagged at them, as they realized they were only putting off a life alone. artie may not have been different, but there were very few people who lived like they did.

PART THREE.     THE EXTRAS, THE CONNECTIONS.

ambrosia tastes like the cranberry-walnut cookies their aunt used to make for them.

they have a little mp3 player because they absolutely cannot live without listening to music. it’s not connected to wifi or data, just a little device that hosts illegally downloaded music.

interchangeably uses he and they pronouns. gender identity was something artie struggled with growing up, as they never felt totally connected to their assigned gender at birth but didn’t feel totally disconnected from it either. it took a lot of google searches, long late night talks with the nymphs and his aunt and encouragement from their fellow siblings before they realized they were non-binary, and furthermore, a demi-boy. they do have a preference for people to refer to them with ‘he/him’ pronouns, while they tend to use ‘they/them’. of course, they don’t really mind what people use as long as it’s either he or them, and ultimately, artie is just happy he’s got this part of himself figured out.

handy with a spear. they tend to spin the weapon around their hand as part of their signature move, and yes, it is just to show off how good he is at spinning it.

pinterest here.

i.    this house burned down and we’ll take the memories with it.

this would be the person who artie is closest to and considers family. they would’ve been there for his every milestone, the person who had his back more often than not and vice versa. however, after artie is revealed to be part of luke’s army, betrayal strains their relationship. i can see this connection (in current times) focusing heavily on the fact that they’re both on directly opposing sides but want the other to be by their side, but being unable to switch sides themselves. this connection is also one heavily steeped in years and years of friendship, as artie has been at camp since he was eleven, and then switched to being a year-rounder at thirteen.

ii.    and where have the gods gone? taken by rainier gang.

artie didn’t want to switch to the titan’s side at first. he was convinced over a long period of time, and this connection focuses on the dynamic between artie and whoever took the time to convince him to switch sides. seeing as one of artie’s deepest fears is ending up alone and abandoned, maybe this dynamic focused on that aspect! honestly, i’m open to however this connection develops since it’s a pretty open-ended one.

iii.     for these are shared wounds. taken by emri kyung, salem poe.

in short, they have been artie’s sparring partner since he was a new camper. as a child of aphrodite, there was always that expectation that he’d be useless in a battlefield and this person took a chance on him, showing him everything he now knows about how to fight. they aren’t close by any means but there is comfort in intimately knowing what they’re like on a battlefield. how this dynamic develops depends on which side (or none, if they’re neutral!) the other person is on.

other wanted connections:

literally anything my brain is tiny LOL

#titanomachyintro #UHHH HERE WE GO VROOM VROOM