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aOZE.giffrx7jfb.png weird hiatus ?
Profile To do list
- Red Dot
-Fix my profile up a little now that i've figured out how to edit images
- Warrior cats? At least finish 'Paths to Follow'
- The Child Queen/Cat-Orc-Elf - at least develop them further than I have.

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Agender?
Gender is hell.
They/Them.
17 years old bay-bee.
I'm in an emotional/mental ditch atm but its 2k19 and I stg I'm gonna get better with my trash.
if I send you an FR its because I thought you were neat. You're always welcome to decline, it's no sweat don't ever worry about it.


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If you:
Fetishize Minorities
Fetishize LGBT
Sexualize Children
Intentionally -
Homophobic
Sexist
Ablest
Racist
Or anything else of that nature
Leave now!! Because I, by default, don't like you! And according to logic, neither of us should interact since it's very likely we'd just annoy each other.








[UNDER CONSTRUCTION BC I CAN NEVER MAKE UP MY MIND]
im so sad i accidentally deleted my friend s e c t i o n
Ideas so far
[brief]
[personal]
[roleplay]

Personal
Anyways, whattsup, I'm Pen, your local heavily opinionated queer kid. I've got a dog named Jasper and a cat named Khadijah, though they're typically just called The Dog and The Cat because names are against the law in this house, apparently. I also have a little brother but his information is his business.
I'm largely free to talk to!


Friend Bubbles - Close friends I have on RPR
(WIP)

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Roleplay information
RULES
1) I will not write smut or fetish.
Sometimes, character's smash. That's w/e, just fade to black or time skip. I will not roleplay smut- I am a minor, and not to mention uninterested. This includes fetish of any kind (duh.)

2) I only write with people who do Paragraph, as well.
At this point, I'm so used to an enveloped by the detail that Paragraph writing lets you do, that I don't think I could even be interested by script or asterisk-types anymore. It's, like, nothing against you guys. It's just not what I do.
I also prefer third-person writing, but as long as you don't switch POV around a lot in first person writing, I don't think I'd care?

3) I multi-muse
I don't typically join roleplays where I can't. There are a few roleplays I have joined that have sectioned me off or let me with only one, but really I just multi-muse a large amount.

4) I require Patience.
I WILL drop people if there is a constant push to reply, especially if any shaming is involved. Even if we are casually talking and joking around OOC, that does not mean I have the energy, time, or focus to write a response. Life's fickle, that's just how it is.
You will get the same respect. I'm not a hobgoblin, and I vaguely understand how life is. After a few weeks of nothing, I might ask if this roleplay is still going on. Ngl, after a few months with 0 response or activity, I mostly just get worried for your health.

5) I'm just not going to have a page/profile/bio for every character.
Want timeliness, or a response at all? Don't expect this from me. I typically draw up characters from scratch for each roleplay as is. Again - I don't expect this from you, either.

6) PL e ase don't refer to my characters as "You"
Especially if I have more than one. This is just uncomfortable. I'm not my characters that's all.

Preferences
My partner preferences are:
- Writes in Paragraph (Third-Person, maybe First-Person)
- Can write 2 paragraphs at least. (Mostly flexible - Give me something good to work with!)
- Is willing to talk OOC, especially to plot and discuss.
- Doesn't expect me to have a profile for every single character (wheeze, I don't move that fast)


My partner does not have to, but certainly can if they wanted to:
- Multimuse
- Make friends <:^ )
Fandoms
A lot of these seem childish or edgy, especially for fandoms where a 17 year old infant looks bad in, but man w/e y'know. A lot of fandoms are stuck in the Semi-interested column bc there's just not a lot of universes i wanna shove my feet into.
* Unfinished, so I'm not caught up on the universe.
**I just happen to have ocs for this universe despite watching only like 2-3 episodes
Always Interested
Warrior Cats*
Harry Potter*
Guardians of Ga'Hoole

Somewhat Interested
Creepypasta
MLP*
Fruits Basket (not the manga)
Soul Eater (not the manga)
My Hero Academia**
Naruto**
How To Train Your Dragon*
Wildwood
Hilda
Could be Interested
Hunger Games
The Walking Dead*
Adventure Time*
Wolves of the Beyond
Steven Universe*



Writing Examples
I average at 3 paragraphs. Typically, I indent each paragraph but RPR wont let me do that and I have to find a clever work around.
One

Context: Just a starter I sent. Anthro roleplay that includes non-sapient normal animals.

vKirkwall, a cold, desolate, place, is one of six states apart of the Coldmire Republic States. It lies on the southwestern hip of Coldmire in a heap of frost-matted fur, foaming at the mouth. The largest, most vast state of the Coldmire is also the most viscous. Nine-hundred-twenty-thousand-five-hundred square miles of criminality, vigilantism and Kirkwall’s iconic sanguine barley. People work hard to make an honest living here, whether it be tending to the Black Loxodon Cattle along the countryside, on the rusty-hulled boats of the Karmine Fishing Company on the Charcoal Sea, or in the smog-breathing factories found in each busy, bustling city of Kirkwall- while other people work hard to make a little different living. Money is money, and money talks, and what it says to every sodding soul of Kirkwall is “With me, you won’t starve tonight.” Too tempting of an offer for anyone to pass up, regardless of what it asks from them.
vNow, just off the coast of Kirkwall’s Mainland is the miserable little island city of Shreveport. A port town like the name suggests. 700,000 sodding souls live on this island. Three ferries ran any of them interested on crossing the Misty Strait up to Marcola. They run Monday to Saturday, yet never on Sunday. And right now? It was 7:25 p.m on a Saturday. The sun had set hours ago, and most of Shreveport had been let-off for the day. Many gone off to their second jobs and others had gone off drinking.
vThe factories breathed out black smog that swirled up and met the black rain clouds. The pair mixed together to create a black, polluted storm that threatened to drench the island and it looked just about ready to keep that promise. It hung heaviest in the middle of the downtown area, over a three story building that sat on the tail end of a former neighborhood that was now almost entirely new half-stores set under decaying homes just like itself. This home was Victorian-style, fitting for the Victorian Era, and it was painted in largely dark colors like most of the gloomy buildings in the neighborhood. The home had been turned into, supposedly, a seedy little bar on the bottom with a seedier VIP lounge area on the next floor, and a home and office made out of the top floor. This home, once classy and glorious, had been in the hands of the Madigan family for five generations - just three generations off from the founding of Shreveport itself - and many were disappointed to see what the last Madigan daughter had turned it into. It wasn’t even a good bar.
vThe windows on the downstairs floor were typically propped open so patrons could lean out and smoke. The wind blew regardless of them, and the open windows kept a bitter draft running constantly. However, they only seemed to mind the draft as much as the draft minded them. Most of Kirkwall, and as a result, Shreveport, were the thick-furred, thick-feathered breeds that kept the cold out anyways, so it wasn’t surprising. There was a constant stirr at the kitchen-turned-bar as the single barkeep worked hard to tend to his customers. He was a little Musk deer named Feofan with two, long fangs and a big, golden, cursive “M” lapel pin that looked far more expensive than anything he could ever afford. He said, honestly, that it was his employee pin. Something Minona Madigan had given him, all her employees had one. Every single one.
vIt’s how the ones in the upstairs VIP lounge knew who they were talking to. The employees had their golden badges of safety, while the mercenaries had a bit more subtle ways of introducing themselves to their co-workers. A popular one was, “Do you know Annie Carruth from Marcola?” Nobody knew a Annie Carruth from Marcola, because she did not exist. However, all the right people would say they did, indeed, know Annie Carruth, and that last they heard she was doing very well and her son was planning to head off to college. Now, these weird little ways of keeping track of who's who and who’s Annie Carruth was set in place because Great Grandpappy Madigan knew that, without proper care, the law would catch up on the mercenaries eventually and saying “I was asked to do it!” was not a convincing plea in a murder trial. Now, back then there were a lot looser laws. They’ve gotten stricter since, and Madigan’s agency had to be extra careful not to get caught.
vNow, typically they were and whether or not this was a case of a slip-up in that tender carefulness was still hotly debated, but missing was missing regardless if it was because Michigan Tackett was being careless or some other whichever-whatever. Calanthe Taggart was still without a partner and Minona preferred to send her mercenaries in pairs, especially the women. Couldn’t get half of anywhere without of a pair of trousers in this damn country. Minona sighed out smoke into the face of her office’s smoggy window panes. Minona brought the cigarette from her beak and snuffed it out into a clear, blue ashtray. It was not going to rain- she decided- it was going to snow.

vDownstairs, Calanthe sat at the VIP bar. She sat upon an aged, red velvet sofa with enough space for two more if the wolf did not curl her legs up onto one of the extra seats. Her petticoat splayed out just as far as her in an expanse of white frills. She nursed a glass of Tin Talon watered down about half way. Weak shit made weaker. Not that she minded- she only ever added alcohol to her drinks because softened the strange, stony taste of the Shreveport water. Calanthe could never get used to it. She wasn’t from here, and likely never would be- not that she minded that, either. She didn’t intend to be from here. She was from Irving, a little town that sat beside the Rushhead river that snaked deep into western Kirkwall from the Charcoal Sea. Irving was colder and more pathetic than then Shreveport, but at least the water didn’t taste like sand.
vCalanthe sighed softly and wondered if she should begin heading home. It was only 7, and she used to stay until 9 but she had stopped that a while ago, anyhow. Minona didn’t seem interested in sending her off anywhere now that Michigan was gone… Calanthe quietly took a sip from her glass. That was two months ago now, and Calanthe was starting to worry about the sake of her job. Sure, it wasn’t her favorite business or very easy to continue without Michigan, but it paid and that’s all she could really ask for.
vCalanthe went over in her head all the reasons Minona could want to fire her. She only found one: Michigan’s disappearance. That didn’t make much sense, either. Mr.Bailor had gone through four different partners, all of which were confirmed dead and had died on missions, yet he was still going strong. She rose her glass towards the yellow-eyed snow owl as she noticed him staring. He had gotten incredibly prone to staring within these last two months, and it made her rather uncomfortable. He rose his glass back towards her but did not look away. She turned away from him instead and watched the stairs, putting him out of her mind. She thought back to Michigan. Michigan had went missing during the night after a party held in the apartments of the next building over. Calanthe had gone, but she had also left early by herself so she, statistically, was much more likely to go missing. However, it was Michigan who hadn’t came back home the next morning. He had said nothing to her, or anyone else. They found nothing missing from his apartment and it seemed as if he hadn’t gone home at all that night. The formal investigation lasted two weeks before it was considered cold. Every home in Shreveport could be checked in one week, and after that it was assumed that you had either been dumped into the Charcoal Sea and lost forever, or put on a ferry and no longer in Shreveport’s jurisdiction or care. Michigan was lucky to get two weeks. Calanthe couldn’t figure out how he got those two weeks, the policemen had struggled to figure out how to pronounce his damn name even with her and Minona’s help.
vCalanthe’s mind came back to reality as someone slowly creaked down the stairs. She looked up and held her glass to her lips, her nose just barely able to distinguish the beer from the water and the water from the beer. She noticed Mr. Bailor had looked away from her, and that all of the small company had turned to the stairs as Minona came down.
vMinona Madigan was a raven, this was true, but she was as small and slight as any crow. She stood in a well-tailored suit with her head low and arms neat behind her back. Her gaunt, black eyes dull amongst her shining, black feathers. She was the strange, sickly, adopted daughter of Charles Madigan, a noble Saint Bernard with a long, drooping face and small, brown eyes that had saw too much in her. She stood out against his shoulder in every photo of them, the little black bird and the massive brown dog. Calanthe did not know much about the pair after that, typically only Shreveport natives truly knew anything about the Madigan family. However, everyone listened to them and when Minona waved everyone off, they all looked back to their conversations and whiskies.
vCalanthe sat up straight and set her feet down on the floor. She fixed her skirt and pulled a fur off of the collar of her blouse. The wolf glanced back to Minona as she stood by the stairs beside a portrait of her and Charles. Minona was surveying her hirlings, looking for one of them to decide was hired. She did this when someone did not ask for any of her company by name, and since nobody particularly knew any of their names, it was safe to say Calanthe was well acquainted with the slow, patient stare of Minona Madigan looking to get a job done.


Two

Context: This was my response to a creepypasta rolepay I'm in. I liked what I was doing so I've edited around to fix some things and take out anything my partner might've been doing.

vHer foot tapped restlessly against the narrow front step of the House. She nursed anxiously on a shortened cigarette, nursing a mind full of things a better woman wouldn't have ever taken onto her breast. Judith's vivid red bob was pinned back into a little stub at the direct bottom of her scalp, the gentle tugging of each little baby hair getting to her more and more as she continued to stand out in the night, wide awake and jittery - or, well, skittish was a more fitting word. She was watching the black steel paling as it towered around her, enclosing her, threatening her with the pointed tips of one hundred spearheads and delicate curving decoratives she would never learn the name of.
vJudith hung on to the cigarette as it continued to vaporize into ash out from between her fingers. She gave shuddered out a smokey sight that swirled up and back into her face. But, she was a trained professional after ten years and didn't give it any mind. After all, anyone with any less skill in the fine art of cancer cultivation wouldn't be out here in the dark, gripping onto a dying stem as if the faint, insignificant ember at its tip was her last, desperate light source when the lamp to the sun room shown through the smoggy windows and cast whatever light that wasn't frozen away by the frosted glass across the yard ahead of her. Judith exchanged one more breathe between her and the cigarette before she couldn't hold onto it anymore and let it fall away into the pile of its rotting brethren. She patted the chest pocket of her Pajamas and, with a cherry-red lighter, added another link to the daisy chain of coffin nails she was making.
vThen, something beyond the fence moved. She bit into the filter, her pretty ice-blues widening[*] . Her face - saturated some richer color than it deserved by the fractured light being sent out from the sun room - grew pale and her hand reached back to her gun where she had left it on the window sill. Judith gripped it tightly, and that grip did not loosen as she realized it was Cletus. However, she didn't point it at him, and at this point that had to amount to something.

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Rave Reviews

  • Okay, so, Meja is a amazing person. Very friendly, and a very amazing roleplayer. Super descriptive and makes the roleplay easy to picture in ones mind. I think I've found someone I can be friends with for a looong time.

    If your looking for a goofy and amazing friend, Meja is the person.
    -- ImagineTheDragons

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