Multiple Settings 𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

[Husk]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 , a 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 t𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐨𝐫, t𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫.
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, s𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡.
𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞? 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧-𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞?
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Hello, I am Husk.
Inspired by the brilliant song titled Agnes by Glass Animals, I realized I desired to weave a story based off of it and its beautiful sadness.
Expect heavier themes, angst, and the harshness of reality.
Although, fluff and mending figurative wounds can also be involved in this.
Pairings if romance becomes involve include: m//, m/f, m/NB, NB/NB.
Platonic is completely acceptable.
Whichever way you want the wind to blow.

I would like to play on the human psyche alongside drug addiction and its perils, trials, and tribulations.

While I have many foundations & ideas for this, I am also flexible and willing to mold the story however we please.
I do not wish to railroad the roleplay.

I will give a basic framework.
If you don't dig it, that's fine, we'll discover ideas together!

First, a blurb about myself:

Spoiler: Tidbits.

✎I am twenty-six years of age and a proud EMT. Medicine is my jam, yo.

✎I am an avid world builder, plot creator, and character developer. I can play multiple sides as well.

✎My style is a bit of a pill to swallow, and I have inclinations towards a more extensive vocabulary.

✎I love OOC and talk incredibly casually despite my formalness in this thread.

✎I'm meme garbage.

✎I game a lot, wanna talk games? I'm all for it.

✎ While I like to consider myself moderately advanced, I'm not an asshole. I don't mind if your grammar isn't perfect or if you have difficulty with English due to it being your second tongue. If you can carry a plot well and create intriguing characters and work with me, I'll work with you.

✎I draw huge inspiration from music and lyrics.

✎I am an artist.

✎I can be a slow writer, I ask for patience, the same of which I'll return to you.

✎Overall, I'm chill asf.
︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸

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Muse A and Muse B have lived within the same small town since childhood.
A friendship kindles.
Muse A and Muse B live different home lives, and it furthers their connection.

Once in high school, Muse A deviates from Muse B, becoming engrossed in more nefarious pursuits, all the while suffering from a decline in their grades.
Muse A has changed, while Muse B remains the same and a rift opens between the two.

Such a yawning distance makes their close friendship dissipate.
Muse A drops out of high school suddenly, while Muse B goes through the motions and graduates, as is expected of them.

So, splitting paths, Muse A and Muse B continue on with their lives.
Years pass.
While coming to visit their hometown for a family reunion, Muse B finds a wearied Muse A during the party.

Muse A has changed drastically and an air of sadness envelops them.
Muse B is not certain of the cause nor catalyst for such a change.
Yet, Muse B confronts Muse A.

Together, they contrast, carrying many differences.
How will their relationship fair?
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Once again, this is malleable and pliable to whatever we want to do with it.
Supernatural themes, horror themes, and anything of the like may be introduced.
Fantasy is fine as well.
This is a skeleton plot and it's flexible.

If interested, please PM me. I like to tidy my comments. If you are unable to PM though, that's fine.
​

Spoiler: -Writing Sample-

A gale that bore frigidity bit at his extremities, to the bone or so it felt and Elias cursed beneath his breath, which expelled a wispy, vaporous cloud spiraling into the cutting air. Not even his gloved fingers knew freedom from the sharp nip.
Moreover, Elias found himself reflecting, having completed business at a time suitable to his liking. Ole Sky-vine, where satisfied clients remembered their biases only when backs had turned from each other and the transaction born from coveting an inebriation met its end.
That was when the yawning schism between the impoverished and the affluent flourished again. Akin to weeds that grew before festering and blooming once more on its remnants in a circle of continuity. Those youth born prosperous grew to detest the poor, older generations sowing the seeds of such. Here, the wolves ate their young.

However, there lay a convoluted beauty within Elias's line of work which saw him connecting with individuals from all avenues of life. The latest, and last being a lad clad in a tweed three-piece, complete with the sheen of black Oxfords shined to finish and a watch lined with tricklings of gold.
All in all, it did not take much scrutinization to tell the man sang exuberance from head to toe.
Oh, and how that wristwatch was a temptress, indeed; however, Elias did not steal from paying clients, if they were in good standing, at least.

Ah, and yet Elias held inclinations towards remaining a blur amidst these dealings, dressed so to obscure his economic standing, not outfitted to match stereotypes. Although his attire did not propagate a sense of overabundance, it did enough to gratify his wealthier clients. A requirement, lest he attracted the attention of a traipsing police officer, better he did not resemble the common descriptor of a Rockie. Or anyone who might display an inkling that they were up to no good. Which, in actuality, was his constant state of being. It did not mean he could not deceive the public in regards to that, wool over the eyes and such.

With a cigarette suspended between two practiced fingers, Elias forged ahead through the bitter frost, teeth chattering between long drags. Yes, Elias loathed the cold. Furthermore, he near enough held a sensitivity to it with his emaciated frame, bony prominences offering him scarce fragments of protection against these elements, leaving, of course, the fraction of sprawling warmth beneath his winter-wear precious.

Ah, how he pined to settle down in a tranquil location with the comforts of isolation. Alongside, of course, the delectability of a high. A straightforward yearning, yet the ease of acquisition seemed elusive when life bustled around him.
Regardless, flicking the rusted gear of his lighter, he bore a flame to kiss the end of his cigarette. Which, to his chagrin, appeared to maintain resistance, staying lit due to the relentless gusts of wind.
In truth, he ought to go back to Clifford Heights, returning the bottles of prescription medication to their proper place of hiding. However, Elias found it strenuous and burdensome to pivot around and do such.

The insatiable beast known as hunger began to gnaw at him, tormenting him, urging him to binge. Just another reason to get high; he could focus on that as opposed to the dreaded sensation of wanting to devour a whole meal. With a viewpoint distorted by what he saw in the mirror, hunger left him miserly and bounded by guilt.
No one deals drugs if they fit in the confining and well-structured, unbudgeable box society conceived for those labeled "normal."
Furthermore, despite a stoicism in his countenance, Elias's nerves were frayed, becoming threadbare by each lapsing minute.

Aware of the reasoning, sourced from a letter addressed from the residence in which his Grandfather- a bad memory- dwelled. For now, Elias strived to suppress the remembrance until it dissipated and slipped from his mind like granules of sand sifting through an hourglass although he could not shake the perturbation.
While it was true, he tiptoed on a taut rope, and his woes were both mountainous and continual, he declined with a fervency to accept any aid from the bastard. A given, since Philip was manipulative, and the cyclic nature did not allure him.

Regardless, focalization upon another subject would help. So Elias toyed with an unlabeled bottle tucked within his jacket pocket, the rattling of the medications proving soothing in a peculiar way. Akin to a lullaby. Despite their lack of labels, Elias knew which drug was which. Each had an indicator of a sort, be it a symbol to the very form of the pill. Despite it being illegal, he prided himself on being a good dealer, and an even better thief.

Of course, he had hoped for something more, unexplainable and better, enigmatic almost, yet one must play the hand life deals them, even if with complicated cards. In the meanwhile, so consumed by his ruminations and pondering, Elias's foot went straight through a weak layer of ice. Thus, fracturing it so that it dampened it with the gelid water that snared him.

"God damn it."

Wincing as the stinging bite of cold surged through him like a parasite, Elias reached into his boot, denoting his sodden sock with an explicative. This blunder is where being lost in musings instead of being analytical of surroundings gets one, a foot deep into the cruel, lapping waters of a glaciated lake.
Beyond exasperated, Elias shook his foot as if to shake the freeze and increase circulation. Had anyone seen his blunder? Having traversed away from the mass of humanity by the accord of his own feet, he hoped fortune favored him in not looking like a jackass publicly speaking.
To his dismay, two women were adjacent to him, one whose ebony locks made a stark contrast between the ivory purity of the snow beneath her. The other stood, looking downwards as if engaging in conversations and speaking utterances Elias was too far to discern.

While one of the girls he knew naught, the one with noire tumbling, tendrils he knew in a unique, yet intriguing, cocktail of friendship and business combined.
Damned, if she did not look stoned.
Time as a dealer versed him in the cues of intoxication rendered by alcohol and narcotics, or perhaps an accumulation of both. Visage alone was enough to unravel the inquiry of someone's sobriety.

Almost forgetting his drenched foot, Elias ambled towards the two, humored, a wry grin, minute, playing on his features. Never had he ran into Boulevard outside of a transaction, it seemed fate made it so never would they meet unless it was to delve into drugs. Although, that changed now.
"Well, well, well Boulevard and-?"
Idling, he studied the other girl, and she looked like the pinnacle of sobriety, so, he imagined Boulevard had not shared.
"I don't believe I've met nor seen you in town. Either way, I'm Elias, a- friend, of Boulevard's."

​

 

[Husk]

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