Dover
bad joke dispensary
Dover's 1-on-1 Search Thread
fantasy | sci-fi | horror | original & fandom | ideas provided | 1x1 or small group
about me
important things
limits
Things I am uninterested in RPing:
- I'm 33, working full time in a fast-paced field, and I'm looking for an RP so the creative part of my brain isn't completely starved.
- Pronouns are she/they.
- MST timezone.
- I've been roleplaying for about 15+ years. I'm a long-term kind of gal. My longest running RP is over 5 years old and still going.
- My posting frequency is 1-3 times a week. If I have free days, sometimes I can do multiple posts a day, though it's rare.
- I'm a silly person that likes bad jokes.
important things
- I'm just looking for 1-2 RPs right now. If you're interested in doing a small group RP (4-6 people), I'd be down to join one or plot one together.
- You should be 21+ years of age. Sorry, it's a personal comfort thing. Characters should be 21+ as well.
- My characters, regardless of gender or romance, are typically queer.
- My average post length is 300-700 words or 3-6 paragraphs, but I am capable of writing 1k+ per reply, though this is not my preference.
- I am good to play multiple characters, including background characters and secondary main characters. Double friendly.
- I write in 3rd person, past tense.
- I tend to like an aspect of romance in my RPs, but it's not necessary. That being said, if it does happen, I prefer to let it develop naturally.
- I'll RP via PM, thread, or discord. OOC is easier in discord, but I'm down for whatever your preference is.
- Ghost-friendly. Life happens; no worries. I'll do my best to inform if I lose interest in an RP though.
- If you've read everything above this point and are interested, please send me a PM with a writing sample and what you'd like to RP.
limits
Things I am uninterested in RPing:
- Abusive relationships. I am fine if it's part of a character's background, but I am uninterested in it occurring between our characters.
- Queerphobia or discrimination of any kind. Again, I am okay if it's something a character experienced in their background, but I will not RP with characters engaging in it themselves.
- Severe power imbalances like bully/bullied, kidnapper/victim, teacher/student, etc.
- Incest
- Cancer
IDEAS
this colour indicates the role I wish to play
human x djinn ||
idea: A human stumbles upon a strange ring with a beautiful gem embedded in it. Upon putting it on, a djinn is summoned from the ring, and claims to be the human's bound servant with the ability to grant wishes. However, just because the djinn has the ability to grant wishes, doesn't mean they'll necessarily do so. Not unless the human does something for them first.
setting: fantasy | ancient history
my character: will likely be masc
scientist from a utopia x scientist from a dystopia ||
idea: In one reality, character A lives in a utopia, and in another reality, character B in a dystopia. In the utopia, character B's alternate self dies. In the dystopian, character A's alternate self dies. In both realities, character A and B are co-workers in a highly advanced government facility. In the dystopian reality, the government is developing a device that can rip holes between worlds. The character in the dystopian reality accidentally damages the device and it forcibly draws one of them into the other's world (we can decide which reality they end up in).
setting: futuristic | alternate universe | vaguely Fringe inspired
my character: will likely be masc
moon deity x sun deity ||
idea: The two minor deities of Earth's sun and moon have warred and bickered for centuries. Finally fed up with it, their higher-ups revoke most of their godly powers and leave them to serve their punishment on a strange, unfamiliar Earth.
setting: fantasy | any time period
my character: will likely be agender
android x engineer ||
idea: When scavenging the barren wasteland of the post-apocalyptic world, an engineer finds the battered body of an android half buried in the sand. They takes the android back home, tries to fix them, but after several days with no signs of life, they eventually gives up. Then, during one night, the android suddenly springs back to life.
setting: post-apocalyptic | future | sci-fi
my character: will likely be femme
private investigator x occult investigator ||
idea: Though they come from different worlds, one of science and the other of magic, both have seen something or have been impacted by something unexplainable that they are continually drawn to hunt down. Any time a whisper of something strange occurs, both investigators feel compelled to uncover the mysteries of it, no matter the consequences.
setting: fantasy | cosmic horror | Victorian-esque | alternate universe | Lovecraftian inspired
my character: will likely be nonbinary
OTHER INTERESTS
genre interests
- Horror (cosmic, folk, paranormal, body, gothic, analog, etc.)
- Western
- Post-Apocalyptic
- Crime/Detective
- Science Fiction
- Fantasy
- Retrofuturism
- Cyberpunk
- 1920s & 1930s
- Mobsters
- Occult
- Dystopia
- Alternative Universes
- Demons/Angels
- Fractured Fairytales
fandom interests
A lot of this is really shippy, I'll be honest. Also niche as hell.
- DnD inspired || OCs
- Stardew Valley/Harvest Moon/Rune Factory inspired || OCs | Farmer/Villager
- Haunting of Hill House/Bly Manor inspired || OCs
- Fallout || OCs
- Red Dead Redemption || OCs
- Sherlock Holmes || Sherlock Holmes/John Watson | books and stories only
- Warrior Nun || Ava Silva/Sister Beatrice
- Detroit: Become Human || Hank Anderson/Connor
- Marvel || Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes | Alternate Universe or Canon Divergence | Note: I'm fairly new to comics and the Marvel fandom as a whole. I'm really only familiar with the Aja and Fraction comics (which I adored), some of movies, and fanfic lol.
Writing Sample
Rarely did the Coffee Table Jazz playlist on Spotify sound quite so threatening. It was still happy and upbeat, but in that I-would-gladly-cave-your-head-in-with-a-moka-pot kind of way. Although, perhaps that was less the vibe of the music and more off the rolling irritation Netta could feel coming off her sister in waves. That silent anger felt deafening in comparison to the jazzy piano and the loud rumble the Ackehurst company van's engine.
"Sounds a bit like a Starbucks in here," Netta tried to joke after a moment.
Blythe's lips pursed and she kept staring out the side window.
Better judgement would have told her to stop. Quit while she was already behind. Take the loss. Take the damn loss, Netta.
"Did you want me to pick you up too? I have to drop off the van first, but my car is at the office so I can swing by after."
Blythe's hands tightened on her Burberry handbag. At least the damp coffee splotch on it had stopped spreading. "No."
"I really am sorry about the damage. I can pay for-"
"Netta, you're talking and thinking way too loud. Please just," Blythe stopped herself and took a deep breath in. "Just don't worry about it."
Scowling, Netta pressed back into her seat and focused her eyes on the road. A big van like this wasn't meant to navigate the smaller streets that lead up to the realtor's office where Blythe worked. Some foolish little impulse in her wanted to make a joke about how they were both in the realty business now, but the quiet sigh from her sister nixed that idea. Such were the perks of having an empath for a sibling. Any notion Netta got to change the mood was known about before she even attempted.
It must have been some kind of desperation that led Blythe to call Netta for a ride while her car was in the shop. Netta wondered if Blythe was regretting being too pretentious to take an cab or a car service now. If not when Netta rolled up with a van, then definitely when she accidentally bumped Blythe's takeaway coffee cup and ruined a likely very expensive designer handbag.
"Drop me off here," Blythe said, pointing to an open parking spot on the street.
"We're two blocks from your office still."
"And?"
Netta rolled her eyes. Of course Blythe was too damn perfect to show up in a van. The absolute horror of it all! What if someone found out that she was in a van of all things!
Holding back the desire to gun it the rest of the way, Netta pulled over and let Blythe get out of the vehicle.
"You're welcome, by the way--"
Blythe slammed the door behind her.
Netta bit her tongue lest she shout a particularly unkind word after her sister, and instead, opted to fume all the way to 829 Adams Drive, where she finally settled down. She squinted through the lightly tinted windows at the home as she pulled up. In front of it she could make out one of her new coworkers—Vaughn, if she remembered his name correctly—talking some with some guy. Probably the homeowner. The home itself didn't look too bad on the outside. It was old enough that it didn't have that cookie cutter look of a lot of newer houses, but she wouldn't be shocked if there was something horrific inside. At one of her old house flipping jobs, she'd busted open a wall and found a pile of squirrel corpses in various levels of desiccation. Like they'd crawled in after each other over the course of years and decided to keel over in the same spot. Considering this place was supposed to be haunted, they'd probably find something weirder.
"Hey, boss!" Netta yelled out to Vaughn as she half stumbled out of the van, her shoe catching just slightly on the door. Just ss careless as Blythe was with the doors before, Netta let the door slam after her. The realtors on the team weren't technically her bosses, but they kinda felt like it. After all, they'd be the ones directing the team and supervising everything. And they were psychics or hunters or something, so that felt like seniority too. She was just some gal with knowledge of the supernatural world and a family name that some people might connect to The Right Hand's snooty upper crust. And a slight curse problem, but nobody had to know about that part.
Netta rounded to the back of the van and pulled open the doors. Ackehurst seemed kept their trucks decently stocked in a weird mismatch of home renovation supplies and paranormal scouting tools. Netta was mostly just keen to grab the sledgehammer, but she'd grab that when the homeowner wasn't looking. Oh, and if they needed it, she supposed. For the time being, Netta grabbed her canvas tool bag and lugged it up the path to the house just as the homeowner was unlocking the front door.
"Morning," Netta butted in, "I got a question. The file said something about a knife going missing? What kind of knife we talking? Like a butter knife or a like a butcher's cleaver? If Casper's gonna get stabby, I'd like to know what with."
Shit, wait. Casper was actually this guy's dead grandma, wasn't it? Netta grinned sheepishly. Whoops.
"Sounds a bit like a Starbucks in here," Netta tried to joke after a moment.
Blythe's lips pursed and she kept staring out the side window.
Better judgement would have told her to stop. Quit while she was already behind. Take the loss. Take the damn loss, Netta.
"Did you want me to pick you up too? I have to drop off the van first, but my car is at the office so I can swing by after."
Blythe's hands tightened on her Burberry handbag. At least the damp coffee splotch on it had stopped spreading. "No."
"I really am sorry about the damage. I can pay for-"
"Netta, you're talking and thinking way too loud. Please just," Blythe stopped herself and took a deep breath in. "Just don't worry about it."
Scowling, Netta pressed back into her seat and focused her eyes on the road. A big van like this wasn't meant to navigate the smaller streets that lead up to the realtor's office where Blythe worked. Some foolish little impulse in her wanted to make a joke about how they were both in the realty business now, but the quiet sigh from her sister nixed that idea. Such were the perks of having an empath for a sibling. Any notion Netta got to change the mood was known about before she even attempted.
It must have been some kind of desperation that led Blythe to call Netta for a ride while her car was in the shop. Netta wondered if Blythe was regretting being too pretentious to take an cab or a car service now. If not when Netta rolled up with a van, then definitely when she accidentally bumped Blythe's takeaway coffee cup and ruined a likely very expensive designer handbag.
"Drop me off here," Blythe said, pointing to an open parking spot on the street.
"We're two blocks from your office still."
"And?"
Netta rolled her eyes. Of course Blythe was too damn perfect to show up in a van. The absolute horror of it all! What if someone found out that she was in a van of all things!
Holding back the desire to gun it the rest of the way, Netta pulled over and let Blythe get out of the vehicle.
"You're welcome, by the way--"
Blythe slammed the door behind her.
Netta bit her tongue lest she shout a particularly unkind word after her sister, and instead, opted to fume all the way to 829 Adams Drive, where she finally settled down. She squinted through the lightly tinted windows at the home as she pulled up. In front of it she could make out one of her new coworkers—Vaughn, if she remembered his name correctly—talking some with some guy. Probably the homeowner. The home itself didn't look too bad on the outside. It was old enough that it didn't have that cookie cutter look of a lot of newer houses, but she wouldn't be shocked if there was something horrific inside. At one of her old house flipping jobs, she'd busted open a wall and found a pile of squirrel corpses in various levels of desiccation. Like they'd crawled in after each other over the course of years and decided to keel over in the same spot. Considering this place was supposed to be haunted, they'd probably find something weirder.
"Hey, boss!" Netta yelled out to Vaughn as she half stumbled out of the van, her shoe catching just slightly on the door. Just ss careless as Blythe was with the doors before, Netta let the door slam after her. The realtors on the team weren't technically her bosses, but they kinda felt like it. After all, they'd be the ones directing the team and supervising everything. And they were psychics or hunters or something, so that felt like seniority too. She was just some gal with knowledge of the supernatural world and a family name that some people might connect to The Right Hand's snooty upper crust. And a slight curse problem, but nobody had to know about that part.
Netta rounded to the back of the van and pulled open the doors. Ackehurst seemed kept their trucks decently stocked in a weird mismatch of home renovation supplies and paranormal scouting tools. Netta was mostly just keen to grab the sledgehammer, but she'd grab that when the homeowner wasn't looking. Oh, and if they needed it, she supposed. For the time being, Netta grabbed her canvas tool bag and lugged it up the path to the house just as the homeowner was unlocking the front door.
"Morning," Netta butted in, "I got a question. The file said something about a knife going missing? What kind of knife we talking? Like a butter knife or a like a butcher's cleaver? If Casper's gonna get stabby, I'd like to know what with."
Shit, wait. Casper was actually this guy's dead grandma, wasn't it? Netta grinned sheepishly. Whoops.
This was it. This time, Zephyr had royally screwed up.
Tia, his mother, always told him not to fall asleep in the cove. He ignored her, figuring that he was far past old enough now where doing so was a risk. He knew his limitations, he told himself. He knew he wasn't a good swimmer, so he always made sure to leave before the tide went in, and always remain at home during a storm. This time he definitely had not made sure to leave before the tide went in, and it most definitely was storming.
Rain, as it turned out, was even worse above water than it was below. Not just a little sprinkle either, but full on pelting, frigid drops that flung themselves into the heaving waves.
When he napped in the cove, it was always in a little hidden cave away from the beach and all the humans' housing along the mainland. So when the tide came in, water rushed in too, creating a nice strong current around him while he perched up on a high rock.
By the time he'd fought the current out of the cave, the storm had whipped up to full fervor, and he was exhausted. Being so close to shore made it impossible for him to duck far enough under the waves to avoid the current. He was continually pushed back to shore, beaten along rocks that lined the floor until he was covered with large scrapes, cuts, and bruises.
And now he lay on the beach, terrifyingly close to where the humans made their homes and unable to so much as pull his battered body closer to the water. The waves and wind continually washed over him, chilling him until his fingers and the tip of his tail was numb.
He should have listened to Tia.
Tia, his mother, always told him not to fall asleep in the cove. He ignored her, figuring that he was far past old enough now where doing so was a risk. He knew his limitations, he told himself. He knew he wasn't a good swimmer, so he always made sure to leave before the tide went in, and always remain at home during a storm. This time he definitely had not made sure to leave before the tide went in, and it most definitely was storming.
Rain, as it turned out, was even worse above water than it was below. Not just a little sprinkle either, but full on pelting, frigid drops that flung themselves into the heaving waves.
When he napped in the cove, it was always in a little hidden cave away from the beach and all the humans' housing along the mainland. So when the tide came in, water rushed in too, creating a nice strong current around him while he perched up on a high rock.
By the time he'd fought the current out of the cave, the storm had whipped up to full fervor, and he was exhausted. Being so close to shore made it impossible for him to duck far enough under the waves to avoid the current. He was continually pushed back to shore, beaten along rocks that lined the floor until he was covered with large scrapes, cuts, and bruises.
And now he lay on the beach, terrifyingly close to where the humans made their homes and unable to so much as pull his battered body closer to the water. The waves and wind continually washed over him, chilling him until his fingers and the tip of his tail was numb.
He should have listened to Tia.
Last edited:
