Kittenkitten
W h y can't I fit the Bee Movie Script here, mods?
ᵂᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴰᴼᴱˢ ᴴᵁᴹᴬᴺᴵᵀᵞ ᴱᴺᴰ ᴬᴺᴰ ᴮᴱᴳᴵᴺ?
Perhaps a bit late to the craze, but I just finished D:BH, and I am hankering a roleplay within its world or revolving around it.
For the short and brief of things, I'm twenty-five, subjectively advanced as a writer, a dedicated character and world builder as well as an avid plotter. I love OOC and find it to be something of a necessity, even if it's just a touch of banter here and there.
I am a bit sickly and meticulous with my writing and am a touch slow at times. Please be patient.
I can write in the third or first POV.
However, I can and will craft multiple replies within a day if I am invested.
I'm chill and have no reply-quotas, take your time.
I ADORE angst and darker themes and have little to no triggers.
I am also okay if you haven't played the game. We can create a world inspired by the game's ideas.
I tend to lean towards male muses.
I am open to playing Hank, and to a lesser extent, Connor.
I am also fine with original characters.
Onto it, then, shall we?
Ideas
Questioning Android x Deviant
Deviant x Deviant
Deviant x Deviant Hunter
Deviant x Unsympathetic, anti-android Human
Questioning or Deviant Cop x Questioning Android
Sympathetic Human x Deviant
Down and out Human x Deviant
Android (can be deviant) involved in criminal affairs x Anti-Android Detective
Deviant Hunter Android x Detective with a more sympathetic side toward deviants
Deviant Hunter Android x Anti-Android Detective
Deviant engaged in illegal activity x Android or Human
and that's it for now.
I am open to any pairings and plots.
Writing Sample
Perhaps a bit late to the craze, but I just finished D:BH, and I am hankering a roleplay within its world or revolving around it.
For the short and brief of things, I'm twenty-five, subjectively advanced as a writer, a dedicated character and world builder as well as an avid plotter. I love OOC and find it to be something of a necessity, even if it's just a touch of banter here and there.
I am a bit sickly and meticulous with my writing and am a touch slow at times. Please be patient.
I can write in the third or first POV.
However, I can and will craft multiple replies within a day if I am invested.
I'm chill and have no reply-quotas, take your time.
I ADORE angst and darker themes and have little to no triggers.
I am also okay if you haven't played the game. We can create a world inspired by the game's ideas.
I tend to lean towards male muses.
I am open to playing Hank, and to a lesser extent, Connor.
I am also fine with original characters.
Onto it, then, shall we?
Ideas
Questioning Android x Deviant
Deviant x Deviant
Deviant x Deviant Hunter
Deviant x Unsympathetic, anti-android Human
Questioning or Deviant Cop x Questioning Android
Sympathetic Human x Deviant
Down and out Human x Deviant
Android (can be deviant) involved in criminal affairs x Anti-Android Detective
Deviant Hunter Android x Detective with a more sympathetic side toward deviants
Deviant Hunter Android x Anti-Android Detective
Deviant engaged in illegal activity x Android or Human
and that's it for now.
I am open to any pairings and plots.
Writing Sample
When the world goes to shit when you are in the slammer, you gain a particular perspective on life.
Foremost, no one frets about your existence if you live in cells; you are more akin to second-class citizens. Perhaps even up to a governmental tier.
Sure, before he bore sunken ribs and lived fated to an isolated death, the lot, including himself, found themselves privy to snippets of news regarding the whole blasted affair by a spare few televisions left turned on.
Lapse of forethought amidst the panic, not a nicety, he seethed in remembrance. No, left to fester, left as fodder as the guards in cowardice wormed their way out of the damnable complex while the surrounding cells erupted into disarrayed anarchy. As far as his awareness spread, no prisoner escaped once the guards had vacated the premises, as though a fire licked at their boots.
However, by some fortuitous wink from Lady Luck, at the time Josiah was in solitary, neighboured by one other individual- Samuel, this in time proved critical to his very existence.
Trailing fingers across the crevices between his ribcage, he recollected how they spent the entire evening when catastrophe befell the prison talking, laughing even, and as time trickled by, they had garnered something of a friendship. Despite the few beasts that traversed the halls of the prison, perhaps they had it well off.
Although like an overlooked pet, they were quick to fall to an all-embracing famish, while others were dying of dehydration before they felt the pang of hunger nor the dire need to satiate it. Some became infected, maddening within their cells until they too perished.
And yet, Samuel and Josiah remained amidst the putrid stench of decay. However, even so, working together, they persisted. As the saying goes, all good things must end, and an abrupt end did his. Between the two, they had developed a knocking system of sorts, simplistic and crude albeit efficient, and with it, they corresponded what was best left unheard by pricked ears.
If memory served him well- given that time faded from existence as the days grew and grew in number- it had not been long since those knocks stopped being repeated and after that his beckoning of desperation for a single utterance from Samuel shattered the ghostly silence of the prison.
You finally followed and pulled off that wish, you bastard.
With a wry muse, it was there Josiah knew that he, not Samuel, had died. Melodramatic in a way for only did his emotional state dissipate into a ghost of its former self; his body otherwise endured.
Yes, it was then Josiah knew himself forsook, and still, the flicker to fight death did not waver within him yet, so, he became crafty. He realized he would need to turn his inherent intellect up a notch. In part, Josiah wanted to end it all, but a resilience, a sort Josiah lacked an explanation to, had him carving away at the metal bars that contained him if only by a shiv sharpened more time than countable on hand. To add to those attempts, he began to scan the bricks which surrounded him from Samuel’s cell with an analytical eye, searching for anything exploitable, and in that regard, he found a crack that looked favorable, if he could, in an eventuality wedge the brick nearing it free. That was easier said than done, in practicality.
However, months' worth of bartering had left both him and Samuel with a sizeable amount of perishables to consume, although Josiah exhausted his collective several days prior. To continue fending off the inevitable, Josiah needed access to Samuel’s store, and he had been working towards that goal before he, in a twist of irony, perhaps, became a prisoner to a group of ragtag survivors that sought to make a place of the deceased their new pick of residence. They disregarded any of his endeavors at communication even to his falsified pleads, and Josiah found the matter fruitless. With a decisive move to ignore any more pursuits at civility, Josiah hung back to where he drove his shiv beneath bricks next to the crack, willing them to dislodge, perhaps he could slip out of this hell and finish his sentence early, not that the law mattered anymore, he concluded.
A din from the group of stragglers that now occupied the jail echoed the desolate halls and Josiah sought to listen in to no avail- their range was too far removed for him to discern speech well enough to make guesswork at their banter.
In an exasperated sigh, he ran the cutting edge of his shiv against concrete, working to whet the blade to a newfound sharpness and stave away his boredom all the while.
It was the patter of footsteps that brought him to alertness, and he whipped forth in a defensive meeting only to match with the glare of light in his eyes- an irregularity during the long-drawn stretch of evenings- and the face of a man that lacked any semblance of hostility.
To his bewilderment, the individual spoke to him in a manner gentle and indicative of something akin to caring.
Fool me once.
All too easy, this must be a ruse.
“What a unique line of questioning.”
As he raised his tattered uniform, Josiah exposed the indents in his sides, the lack of musculature and fat.
“I’m fucking famished, but your buddies don’t seem to care. They give you clearance to feed the needy?”
A sliver of regret at his attitude began to blossom.
“I’m not stupid enough to say no. I could ask you the same. How you’ve lived, hell, how you got in here?”
Foremost, no one frets about your existence if you live in cells; you are more akin to second-class citizens. Perhaps even up to a governmental tier.
Sure, before he bore sunken ribs and lived fated to an isolated death, the lot, including himself, found themselves privy to snippets of news regarding the whole blasted affair by a spare few televisions left turned on.
Lapse of forethought amidst the panic, not a nicety, he seethed in remembrance. No, left to fester, left as fodder as the guards in cowardice wormed their way out of the damnable complex while the surrounding cells erupted into disarrayed anarchy. As far as his awareness spread, no prisoner escaped once the guards had vacated the premises, as though a fire licked at their boots.
However, by some fortuitous wink from Lady Luck, at the time Josiah was in solitary, neighboured by one other individual- Samuel, this in time proved critical to his very existence.
Trailing fingers across the crevices between his ribcage, he recollected how they spent the entire evening when catastrophe befell the prison talking, laughing even, and as time trickled by, they had garnered something of a friendship. Despite the few beasts that traversed the halls of the prison, perhaps they had it well off.
Although like an overlooked pet, they were quick to fall to an all-embracing famish, while others were dying of dehydration before they felt the pang of hunger nor the dire need to satiate it. Some became infected, maddening within their cells until they too perished.
And yet, Samuel and Josiah remained amidst the putrid stench of decay. However, even so, working together, they persisted. As the saying goes, all good things must end, and an abrupt end did his. Between the two, they had developed a knocking system of sorts, simplistic and crude albeit efficient, and with it, they corresponded what was best left unheard by pricked ears.
If memory served him well- given that time faded from existence as the days grew and grew in number- it had not been long since those knocks stopped being repeated and after that his beckoning of desperation for a single utterance from Samuel shattered the ghostly silence of the prison.
You finally followed and pulled off that wish, you bastard.
With a wry muse, it was there Josiah knew that he, not Samuel, had died. Melodramatic in a way for only did his emotional state dissipate into a ghost of its former self; his body otherwise endured.
Yes, it was then Josiah knew himself forsook, and still, the flicker to fight death did not waver within him yet, so, he became crafty. He realized he would need to turn his inherent intellect up a notch. In part, Josiah wanted to end it all, but a resilience, a sort Josiah lacked an explanation to, had him carving away at the metal bars that contained him if only by a shiv sharpened more time than countable on hand. To add to those attempts, he began to scan the bricks which surrounded him from Samuel’s cell with an analytical eye, searching for anything exploitable, and in that regard, he found a crack that looked favorable, if he could, in an eventuality wedge the brick nearing it free. That was easier said than done, in practicality.
However, months' worth of bartering had left both him and Samuel with a sizeable amount of perishables to consume, although Josiah exhausted his collective several days prior. To continue fending off the inevitable, Josiah needed access to Samuel’s store, and he had been working towards that goal before he, in a twist of irony, perhaps, became a prisoner to a group of ragtag survivors that sought to make a place of the deceased their new pick of residence. They disregarded any of his endeavors at communication even to his falsified pleads, and Josiah found the matter fruitless. With a decisive move to ignore any more pursuits at civility, Josiah hung back to where he drove his shiv beneath bricks next to the crack, willing them to dislodge, perhaps he could slip out of this hell and finish his sentence early, not that the law mattered anymore, he concluded.
A din from the group of stragglers that now occupied the jail echoed the desolate halls and Josiah sought to listen in to no avail- their range was too far removed for him to discern speech well enough to make guesswork at their banter.
In an exasperated sigh, he ran the cutting edge of his shiv against concrete, working to whet the blade to a newfound sharpness and stave away his boredom all the while.
It was the patter of footsteps that brought him to alertness, and he whipped forth in a defensive meeting only to match with the glare of light in his eyes- an irregularity during the long-drawn stretch of evenings- and the face of a man that lacked any semblance of hostility.
To his bewilderment, the individual spoke to him in a manner gentle and indicative of something akin to caring.
Fool me once.
All too easy, this must be a ruse.
“What a unique line of questioning.”
As he raised his tattered uniform, Josiah exposed the indents in his sides, the lack of musculature and fat.
“I’m fucking famished, but your buddies don’t seem to care. They give you clearance to feed the needy?”
A sliver of regret at his attitude began to blossom.
“I’m not stupid enough to say no. I could ask you the same. How you’ve lived, hell, how you got in here?”
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