Iniquitous
Hella Cool.
Hey Hey!
I'm Iniquitous, 27, and I've recently found myself with some free time after going on a research sabbatical from medical school. I'm hijacking my original thread and revising it a bit because I'm lazyyy. I'm looking for 1-2 partners to write in the JJK fandom with me, OCxCanon. See below for details c:
- OOC chatter. I've realized just how important it is to be able to communicate with your partner. I try to make myself as approachable as possible to facilitate the writing process. I find that RPs tend to last a lot longer if both parties are invested! This applies not just to the story but to each other. If I'm getting radio silence in return, it makes the roleplay a lot less enjoyable. This is our story, I'd like us to be able to collaborate! World-building, plot discussion, crazy ideas, I want to hear them all. Plus making friends is always fun c: If Discord is easier for chatting, I can give out my username on request. Also if at any time you're not feeling the RP anymore, just let me know! I'm ghost friendly. Goodness knows I've done it in the past, but I'd still like us to be able to communicate! I promise I will not take it personally. Some people don't click. It's okay!
- Literacy. Yeah, I know this term is thrown out a lot. I consider myself multi-para/advanced. I seriously cannot keep track of how RPs are classified, but I'm wordy. A post will almost always be at least 500 words, intros longer. I know people see word count and panic, but this doesn't mean my posts don't move the plot forward. I just like detail. I like discussing my character's backstory and what they think about their surroundings. Sometimes that's unnecessary ( a fight scene for example), but I'll still have a minimum of 500ish words. I don't want to give an exact word count, because that will vary by scene, but no one-liners. I write in the third person past tense, and I'd like my partner to do the same.
- 18+. Being 27, I want my partner to be at least 18 years of age, preferably 20+ This isn't a preference based on ability. I've seen plenty of great writers under the age of 18. I just prefer somebody closer to my age for my own comfort.
- Flexibility. Currently, I have a pretty regimented schedule, especially with my research. I will be applying for a surgical specialty, so I also have to spend time in the operating room. I also have two huge tests to prepare for. I will not be a daily poster, but I can promise at least one post a week/week and a half. I'm a patient person. I can wait months for a post as long as we're communicating! I also will let you know if something comes up, promise! I can always be reached for chatter outside of official writing. I'll never just disappear. I also want to be upfront that I have an autoimmune disease that requires me to get medicine through an IV every 6 weeks. It causes me to get pretty sore and tired afterward, which knocks me out from my usual lengthy posting for a day or two. It can also cause my bones to really hurt. I'll let you know when I'm having one of my infusions, but I can get "flares," which are infrequent, but I definitely will not be typing that day!
- Collaboration. Please don't make me come up with all the ideas! We don't have to plot out everything, I'd prefer we didn't, but it's fun to bounce ideas off of one another. If you want to do something crazy, go for it! I'm not going to freak out on you, which is another reason why I led with OOC chatter. This is accomplished much easier if we're comfortable with one another.
- I am only interested in MxF right now. NPCs aren't subjected to the same rule, diversity is the spice of life.
- Please reply to this thread via PM, thanks!
- No text talk, please have proper grammar, no godmoding, etc. Mistakes happen, I'm not going to criticize you for them. My brain autocorrects things all the time, even though I proofread. I've transposed letters or written a sentence only for it not to delete completely. It's the text talk and the basic rules of grammar I'm talking about.
- Romance is fun and makes for a great source of conflict. However, I prefer a slow burn and for it to progress naturally. No love at first sight. Also, I believe romance should be a side-dish to a story, not the main entree.
- I will only RP through PMs, Threads, or Google docs. The word limit on Discord drives me nuts, but it's great for resource sharing and talking.
- I play both male and female characters, but I'd want to double for this, and canon x oc only!
- I am seriously craving Gojo, Geto, or Sukuna x OC. Geto is probably my number one craving at the moment.
- I can write anyone for your OC! I feel comfortable with most of JJK's characters, just ask!
- I am completely caught up with both the anime/manga, including the prequel c:
- If you're interested in AUs, let's talk about them, though I'd like for cursed techniques to still be in existence.
- I have some plots in mind, but they are dependant on which characters we decide to use, please let me know if you've had any ideas you've been really craving! I'd love for us to plot together.
*This was an introductory post but representative of my style! Posts after this will be shorter, between 500-700 words.
It was during springtime that the forest was at its most beautiful. Flowers budded, birds twittered, and the woods blossomed with the fragility of hope. There was a tentativeness in its awakening, the fear of shedding the dormant coat of frost for something new and invigorating. Ellaestra was barefoot, in a simple cotton shift dress, sliding her hands against the trees, coaxing them to reveal their secrets. They shrank beneath her touch, as bashful as the rest of the forest. She started to run, gradually increasing her speed, challenging the wind to match her pace, goading it into competition. The breezes surrounded her, stirring the fabric of her dress until she was floating. Her body spun through the trees and she closed her eyes, allowing the magic of the forest to mingle with her own. She was blind in her faith, a dangerous practice, but Ellaestra refused to tether herself to any rules, whether it was those of her people or magic itself.
From the moment Ellaestra could walk, she was groomed for entertainment. She was to be grace incarnate, every step, every movement precise and poignant. She was a dancer, body honed to evoke whispers, to ignite desire. Her mother used to whisper how lucky she was that she had been blessed with such uniqueness. Her hair was the color of violets, eyes cerulean flecked with the same purple as her hair. It was a trait from her father’s side, inherited from her grandmother, but she saw it as nothing more than an additional enticement, a conversation starter. Her family’s business was a common one, a traveling band of Fae hired for noble parties, to sparkle among the glittering jewels. Ellaestra danced, while her sister Nelaste sang. For only a moment, they pretended as though they were members of the nobility, dressed in gowns of silk, bedecked in twinkling baubles. There was always mingling afterward, where champagne would be shared and secrets whispered. Lips became looser, heads hazier, and hands began to roam. Ellaestra watched as people slowly debased themselves into animals, ruled by their carnality, eager for a taste of what she had to offer. Occasionally she’d indulge, but most times she watched the festivities over the rim of her glass, lips curled into a bemused smile.
It was at one of these parties that she met a man. He was unconventionally handsome, tall and athletic, with a deep scar running from his forehead, across his nose, to the top of his lip. He was a soldier, the inheritor of his father’s wealth with a reputation streaked in scandal and marred by rumor. He found Ellaestra on the balcony after she finished her dance.
“You dance beautifully.”
Ellaestra smiled but kept her gaze forward watching the reflection of the stars waver across the lake. “Thank you.”
“You’re not much of a talker are you?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I speak when spoken to or when there is something worth saying.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ellaestra.”
“Look at me, Ellaestra.” She turned towards him, and he grinned. “What are your dreams?”
She brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing the gentle slope of her neck and the points of her collarbone. His eyes roved over her skin, the high slit of her dress, the plunge her neckline, the tease of her olive skin beneath the fabric of her dress.
“And why would I share those with you? I seek nothing more than what is given to me.”
“We both know that’s not true, my dear.”
“Then they are better left commemorated in the pages of a diary.”
“And if I told you I could take you away from all this, make all of your wildest dreams come true?”
She laughed. “I’d believe you, but what makes you think I want to leave?”
“You look like a woman who wants to be ruined.”
“And you think you’re the man for the job?”
He took a step forward, curling a lock of her hair around his finger. “I know I am.”
She left with him the following morning, only telling her sister of her plans. Ellaestra allowed her life to be ruled by whims, and the stranger offered her an opportunity she refused to let slip through her fingers. Her sister accused her of being selfish, of betraying everything her family had worked for. She was a blemish on their family’s legacy, a disgrace, and Ellaestra didn’t disagree with her. She took all of her sister’s anger, her frustration but said nothing in return and offered no apology. It had been years, if not decades since Ellaestra felt anything other than contentment. She was neither happy nor fulfilled, but moved from job to job, place to place, with resignation. It was the same people wearing different faces, talking about the same topics, spreading the same rumors. The stranger offered her something dangerous, something exciting, and her entire body quivered in excitement. He met her at the edge of the forest with an extended hand, and he did what he promised. He ruined her.
It was a gradual process, cultivated over months. He was a strong man, fierce in both mind and body. He sought to possess her, to make her crave him so entirely she could not bear to live without him. There were days spent in immorality, where he spilled wine into her mouth with his own, a sin-laced kiss. He promised her the world with his wicked mouth, dressed her in silks, and adorned her in gold. They danced among those lost to the poppy, clothing stirring the smoke along the floor until it rose to their faces, crowing them with its blessing. He showed her the world, exotic lands of deserts and trees, an underwater palace, the human mages, and she, in turn, showed him her magic. He exposed her, exploited her dreams, her desires, her weaknesses. They struggled for dominance, cutting at each other with words and actions until there was nothing but the bones of their personality, the nakedness of their souls. She saw him for the first time, stripped bare before her, and she hated him. He was a husk filled with the bluster of his own lies, a weak, pathetic man, and she had given him everything. Ellaestra left him the next morning, just before sunrise. It was an arduous trek back home, through fine-grained deserts and a forest of glass. She traveled across an ocean and a lake of acid, until she arrived at the edge of the same forest she had left.
It was winter and the trees lay barren, branches occupied with the faint dusting of snow. The forest was silent as she walked through it, judging her with silent scorn. There were no gusts to chase her steps, no animals peeking cautiously through the underbrush. There was only the sound of her breathing and the noise of her bare feet trudging through the snow. Eventually, she arrived at her father’s home. It was much the same, weatherworn roof, walls of brick, door painted green by her mother’s hand. She knocked on the door and her sister answered. There was no anger in her eyes, only sadness and disappointment. Ellaestra followed her inside, greeted by her mother's sobs and the raucous praise of her father. They crowded around the dinner table, and Ellaestra wept for the first time in years.
In her absence, her family had fallen on hard times. Nelaste could only do so much by herself, and their mother, though a beautiful woman, was too old to work as an entertainer. Requests became less frequent, then stopped coming at all. They had all taken up meager jobs; her mother and sister seamstresses and her father a miner of rare crystals. After Ellaestra’s departure, her family’s name was ruined. Their competition pounced on her absence, spreading rumor after rumor until their credibility was in shambles. There were few choices: they could try and regain their previous position, she could work in a brothel, or take a job doing mundane labor for the city. After spending months abroad, seeing herself in the most intimate of ways, almost broken by a man she believed she loved, she couldn’t imagine spending her life in mediocrity. Instead, she offered another alternative, one that would guarantee her family’s survival. She would become a Siphon.
The procedure was agony. It was as though part of her soul was permanently severed from her body. She was left with emptiness, a hunger that would never be satiated. It gnawed at her chest and her mind, a ceaseless reminder of what she had sacrificed. Her family was well compensated for her choice. Her mother began to dote on her as she did when Ellaestra was a child. She talked about the rules of nobility while she brushed Ellaestra’s hair, promising her a bright new life as Siphon to a wealthy family. There was no talk of what could go wrong, of how she could be abused or degraded, or even what had happened during her absence. Her mother wanted to scrub the slate clean, to pretend as if there had never been any blemishes on it in the first place. Ellaestra didn’t question her mother’s decision but listened to her advice half-heartedly while trying to ignore the aching in her chest. She didn’t know why she did it, why she decided to sever her control over her magic and become a plaything to some noble in a far-off kingdom. Was it out of familial respect? Regret? She stopped questioning herself. There was no answer.
Eventually, she was chosen by a wealthy family, a gift to be presented for their son’s Commencement. Ellaestra only half listened, nodding where appropriate, and demonstrated her magical acumen. She was gifted, a great talent in her own right, a lovely creature, a wonderful tool. Hours later, after a tearful goodbye from her family, she was carted to her new home an official Siphon to a young aristocrat. The festivities hadn’t quite begun when she arrived. Her new home was massive, on a scale she had witnessed on one other occasion. People flitted across the grounds, giving her a cursory glance. Over the next few hours, she was scrubbed and bathed, doused in lavender, and dressed in something that would make her “presentable.” Eventually, Ellaestra was left alone long enough to collect her thoughts. She was allowed to take a few belongings from her home, enough to fit in a leather satchel she and her sister had crafted by hand. There were her books, plays and sonnets, a piece of her past, and something to remind her of each of her family members. She pulled out a silver cuff and turned it around her fingers. It was simplistic in design, made of concentric circles that snaked around the shell of her ear. She looked at herself in the mirror. Although she hadn’t danced recently, her body was still athletic, lean with muscle. She was taller than the average woman, with long legs and a slender frame. Her features were sharp, eyes dismissive, the only softness of her body held in the moderate swell of her breast and the grand curvature of her hips that she had inherited from her mother—well-suited for the birthing of children as her mother would say.
Ellaestra brushed her fingers across her face, over the freckles peppering her nose and the sharpness of her bones. Then she turned away to the only window in her room. She sat on the sill, watching as decorations were hung into place, billowy fabrics and sculptures of glass and marble. The grounds flushed with excitement, and voices rose to her window intermixing with the sound of music, all muffled through the glass. She smiled and closed her eyes, humming along with the melody. She could see the notes before her eyes, pops of color spinning in the darkness of her mind.
“It’s time.”
She opened her eyes and stood, following the servant through corridors and the sounds of revelry. They paused outside of a room until she was signaled inside. There were two men, one of which she had met when being chosen as Siphon, but the other was a stranger, the one who would own her. She curtseyed out of respect, unsure of what to say. Members of the nobility were fickle creatures. They insisted on personally crafted rules of etiquette. First names only. Hold eye contact. Never look at me. Don’t speak unless spoken to. But she wasn’t a servant, she was a tool, an object stripped of her personhood. She opted for silence and held her head high, waiting to catch a glimpse of her new mage, eager and anxious.
From the moment Ellaestra could walk, she was groomed for entertainment. She was to be grace incarnate, every step, every movement precise and poignant. She was a dancer, body honed to evoke whispers, to ignite desire. Her mother used to whisper how lucky she was that she had been blessed with such uniqueness. Her hair was the color of violets, eyes cerulean flecked with the same purple as her hair. It was a trait from her father’s side, inherited from her grandmother, but she saw it as nothing more than an additional enticement, a conversation starter. Her family’s business was a common one, a traveling band of Fae hired for noble parties, to sparkle among the glittering jewels. Ellaestra danced, while her sister Nelaste sang. For only a moment, they pretended as though they were members of the nobility, dressed in gowns of silk, bedecked in twinkling baubles. There was always mingling afterward, where champagne would be shared and secrets whispered. Lips became looser, heads hazier, and hands began to roam. Ellaestra watched as people slowly debased themselves into animals, ruled by their carnality, eager for a taste of what she had to offer. Occasionally she’d indulge, but most times she watched the festivities over the rim of her glass, lips curled into a bemused smile.
It was at one of these parties that she met a man. He was unconventionally handsome, tall and athletic, with a deep scar running from his forehead, across his nose, to the top of his lip. He was a soldier, the inheritor of his father’s wealth with a reputation streaked in scandal and marred by rumor. He found Ellaestra on the balcony after she finished her dance.
“You dance beautifully.”
Ellaestra smiled but kept her gaze forward watching the reflection of the stars waver across the lake. “Thank you.”
“You’re not much of a talker are you?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I speak when spoken to or when there is something worth saying.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ellaestra.”
“Look at me, Ellaestra.” She turned towards him, and he grinned. “What are your dreams?”
She brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing the gentle slope of her neck and the points of her collarbone. His eyes roved over her skin, the high slit of her dress, the plunge her neckline, the tease of her olive skin beneath the fabric of her dress.
“And why would I share those with you? I seek nothing more than what is given to me.”
“We both know that’s not true, my dear.”
“Then they are better left commemorated in the pages of a diary.”
“And if I told you I could take you away from all this, make all of your wildest dreams come true?”
She laughed. “I’d believe you, but what makes you think I want to leave?”
“You look like a woman who wants to be ruined.”
“And you think you’re the man for the job?”
He took a step forward, curling a lock of her hair around his finger. “I know I am.”
She left with him the following morning, only telling her sister of her plans. Ellaestra allowed her life to be ruled by whims, and the stranger offered her an opportunity she refused to let slip through her fingers. Her sister accused her of being selfish, of betraying everything her family had worked for. She was a blemish on their family’s legacy, a disgrace, and Ellaestra didn’t disagree with her. She took all of her sister’s anger, her frustration but said nothing in return and offered no apology. It had been years, if not decades since Ellaestra felt anything other than contentment. She was neither happy nor fulfilled, but moved from job to job, place to place, with resignation. It was the same people wearing different faces, talking about the same topics, spreading the same rumors. The stranger offered her something dangerous, something exciting, and her entire body quivered in excitement. He met her at the edge of the forest with an extended hand, and he did what he promised. He ruined her.
It was a gradual process, cultivated over months. He was a strong man, fierce in both mind and body. He sought to possess her, to make her crave him so entirely she could not bear to live without him. There were days spent in immorality, where he spilled wine into her mouth with his own, a sin-laced kiss. He promised her the world with his wicked mouth, dressed her in silks, and adorned her in gold. They danced among those lost to the poppy, clothing stirring the smoke along the floor until it rose to their faces, crowing them with its blessing. He showed her the world, exotic lands of deserts and trees, an underwater palace, the human mages, and she, in turn, showed him her magic. He exposed her, exploited her dreams, her desires, her weaknesses. They struggled for dominance, cutting at each other with words and actions until there was nothing but the bones of their personality, the nakedness of their souls. She saw him for the first time, stripped bare before her, and she hated him. He was a husk filled with the bluster of his own lies, a weak, pathetic man, and she had given him everything. Ellaestra left him the next morning, just before sunrise. It was an arduous trek back home, through fine-grained deserts and a forest of glass. She traveled across an ocean and a lake of acid, until she arrived at the edge of the same forest she had left.
It was winter and the trees lay barren, branches occupied with the faint dusting of snow. The forest was silent as she walked through it, judging her with silent scorn. There were no gusts to chase her steps, no animals peeking cautiously through the underbrush. There was only the sound of her breathing and the noise of her bare feet trudging through the snow. Eventually, she arrived at her father’s home. It was much the same, weatherworn roof, walls of brick, door painted green by her mother’s hand. She knocked on the door and her sister answered. There was no anger in her eyes, only sadness and disappointment. Ellaestra followed her inside, greeted by her mother's sobs and the raucous praise of her father. They crowded around the dinner table, and Ellaestra wept for the first time in years.
In her absence, her family had fallen on hard times. Nelaste could only do so much by herself, and their mother, though a beautiful woman, was too old to work as an entertainer. Requests became less frequent, then stopped coming at all. They had all taken up meager jobs; her mother and sister seamstresses and her father a miner of rare crystals. After Ellaestra’s departure, her family’s name was ruined. Their competition pounced on her absence, spreading rumor after rumor until their credibility was in shambles. There were few choices: they could try and regain their previous position, she could work in a brothel, or take a job doing mundane labor for the city. After spending months abroad, seeing herself in the most intimate of ways, almost broken by a man she believed she loved, she couldn’t imagine spending her life in mediocrity. Instead, she offered another alternative, one that would guarantee her family’s survival. She would become a Siphon.
The procedure was agony. It was as though part of her soul was permanently severed from her body. She was left with emptiness, a hunger that would never be satiated. It gnawed at her chest and her mind, a ceaseless reminder of what she had sacrificed. Her family was well compensated for her choice. Her mother began to dote on her as she did when Ellaestra was a child. She talked about the rules of nobility while she brushed Ellaestra’s hair, promising her a bright new life as Siphon to a wealthy family. There was no talk of what could go wrong, of how she could be abused or degraded, or even what had happened during her absence. Her mother wanted to scrub the slate clean, to pretend as if there had never been any blemishes on it in the first place. Ellaestra didn’t question her mother’s decision but listened to her advice half-heartedly while trying to ignore the aching in her chest. She didn’t know why she did it, why she decided to sever her control over her magic and become a plaything to some noble in a far-off kingdom. Was it out of familial respect? Regret? She stopped questioning herself. There was no answer.
Eventually, she was chosen by a wealthy family, a gift to be presented for their son’s Commencement. Ellaestra only half listened, nodding where appropriate, and demonstrated her magical acumen. She was gifted, a great talent in her own right, a lovely creature, a wonderful tool. Hours later, after a tearful goodbye from her family, she was carted to her new home an official Siphon to a young aristocrat. The festivities hadn’t quite begun when she arrived. Her new home was massive, on a scale she had witnessed on one other occasion. People flitted across the grounds, giving her a cursory glance. Over the next few hours, she was scrubbed and bathed, doused in lavender, and dressed in something that would make her “presentable.” Eventually, Ellaestra was left alone long enough to collect her thoughts. She was allowed to take a few belongings from her home, enough to fit in a leather satchel she and her sister had crafted by hand. There were her books, plays and sonnets, a piece of her past, and something to remind her of each of her family members. She pulled out a silver cuff and turned it around her fingers. It was simplistic in design, made of concentric circles that snaked around the shell of her ear. She looked at herself in the mirror. Although she hadn’t danced recently, her body was still athletic, lean with muscle. She was taller than the average woman, with long legs and a slender frame. Her features were sharp, eyes dismissive, the only softness of her body held in the moderate swell of her breast and the grand curvature of her hips that she had inherited from her mother—well-suited for the birthing of children as her mother would say.
Ellaestra brushed her fingers across her face, over the freckles peppering her nose and the sharpness of her bones. Then she turned away to the only window in her room. She sat on the sill, watching as decorations were hung into place, billowy fabrics and sculptures of glass and marble. The grounds flushed with excitement, and voices rose to her window intermixing with the sound of music, all muffled through the glass. She smiled and closed her eyes, humming along with the melody. She could see the notes before her eyes, pops of color spinning in the darkness of her mind.
“It’s time.”
She opened her eyes and stood, following the servant through corridors and the sounds of revelry. They paused outside of a room until she was signaled inside. There were two men, one of which she had met when being chosen as Siphon, but the other was a stranger, the one who would own her. She curtseyed out of respect, unsure of what to say. Members of the nobility were fickle creatures. They insisted on personally crafted rules of etiquette. First names only. Hold eye contact. Never look at me. Don’t speak unless spoken to. But she wasn’t a servant, she was a tool, an object stripped of her personhood. She opted for silence and held her head high, waiting to catch a glimpse of her new mage, eager and anxious.
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