I'm an experienced roleplayer and have spent most of my writing time on Gaia and sometimes on omegle. I haven't found many interested people on gaia so I started looking for other outlets! I've been hoping to find someone to play Rick opposite an original character, I can play a multitude of other characters around them.
I like to explore character dynamics and their own inner conflicts by putting them in weird or challenging situations. I hope to find someone that can appreciate tonal shifts, figurative language, and surprises in plots. Highly skilled characters are only interesting if they have the flaws to match. And one of my favorite things is banter/dialogue. A few posts in a day or spread out over a week are both fine with me. It's just nice to exercise my writing muscle with someone else who is also invested in the story!
No limits except incest/rape being portrayed. I am open to adjust to whatever your limits might be! Mature content is fine
Plots I'd Like
I have an original character in mind who is a human that ended up becoming a drug dealer in space! If you'd like to read the character description I came up with, feel free to check out my post on gaia here. Maybe Rick and Morty meet her because they need access to a particular substance she controls the flow of, or Rick finds out she's offering big money to help her with this dangerous procedure she needs done. After that, I'm open to all sorts of plots. The show lends itself to being as creative and absurd as possible. I'd love to brainstorm with someone!
Also I can double as the main Morty who accompanies Rick.
~*~ If you would like me to play a canon character from a fandom I am familiar with for an OC of your own, I would be glad to do parallel rps or even a crossover ~*~
“Welcome home Broth- erm…It’s good to see you again, Sebastian.”
Ever since Sebastian’s argument with the Grand Cleric and his subsequent split from his vows, a certain awkwardness had prevailed among both lay-brethren and clerics alike, some of whom he had known for years. He wondered vaguely if news of the Flint mercenaries’ fate had reached the Kirkwall chantry yet, as word tended to spread quickly in the city. Managing a soft smile, Sebastian nodded at Petra, one of the more recently affirmed members of the Chantry. The girl was one of many orphans who had found refuge there and had been tidying the main hall before he entered.
“Hello Petra.” He was surprised to find he felt almost embarrassed in her presence. This girl who had nothing, save for the life the Chantry could provide, was going about her work so joyfully. She seemed to harbor no bitterness. But then- he could not see her heart and Sebastian knew well what it meant to push one’s feelings into the darkest, most private part of the self. He suddenly felt a kinship with her and almost asked her to join him in prayer. However, the prince stopped himself, recalling just as viscerally what it meant to have no choice but to pray, to be obligated to participate because outside forces, rather than choice, had brought you in front of that altar.
“...When’s the last time you got to eat something sweet?” Sebastian asked, well-aware that the food they were provided often left much to be desired. Petra, who was obviously surprised by the question, wasn’t sure how to answer. “I er….I don’t rightly remember, um…..” His handsome armor, the fit of which he was still readjusting to, caught the warmth of the light filtering through stained glass as he knelt in front of her. “I still have a key to the larder.” Sebastian maintained the tone of someone planning a particularly cunning heist, somehow keeping himself from laughing at the dramatic shock on her young face. Still chubby as a babe’s, yet with such seriousness in the eyes….. “I have it on good authority that there will be no one around if one of those cakes they like to serve their esteemed guests happens to go missing...Might be just the thing after a long day’s work.” Though Petra stuttered out a protest, he gently placed the large brass key in her hands, closing her fingers around it with a laugh. “Don’t worry. Andraste Herself must’ve eaten sweets in her lifetime, too. Even now pilgrims leave such things at her shrines. It is no sin, child.”
Eventually Petra began to smile back at him, and Sebastian chuckled as she raced away to collect her prize, leaving him alone in the cavernous chamber, surrounded by solemn statuary, whose expressions did not comfort him for once. He was more alone than he’d ever been, perhaps. Not quite a prince, nor a Brother, no longer with family to even be estranged from. He balanced now at a liminal space, watching things he had previously taken for granted split beneath him like the surface of an icy lake.
The vengefulness he’d allowed himself to nurse seemed like poison spreading in his chest now and he found himself on his knees, stray strands of auburn hair falling into icy blue eyes. “Maker…” He felt the pain in him twisting from one form to another like some monster summoned from the Fade to embody humanity’s darkest traits; guilt and unworthiness warped into rage and resentment, then the pure numbing heaviness of grief tinged with the sickly relief that came from knowing those who had deigned to strike down his house had been murdered just as quickly and unfeelingly. His own body felt nearly exhausted with the surging of so many emotions at once.
“Just let them be at peace.” He begged, closing his eyes as if to avoid the blood that had been spilt at his own request. It was justified, of course. Flint would no longer be a scourge on innocents of the Free Marches. And yet Elthina’s words, as they had a tendency to do, managed to catch hold in his mind. It was murder. The tenets of justice, of honor, dictated that the Flint men had to die. Despite being away from Starkhaven for so long, Sebastian could not help his ancestry, the rigid codes of chivalry he had been born into and raised on. The calculated detachment which the Vaels ruled was doubtless still entrenched in his identity and the obvious reaction to the slaughter of his family had risen out of his misery with such startling clarity it was undeniable.
And still- it was murder nonetheless.
After so many years of religious devotion and disciplined contemplation, Sebastian would have thought that he’d be better equipped to deal with such a tragedy. The fatal flaw of these practices showed themselves now, exposed in the harsh light of his new reality; they were only useful to someone closed off, away from the brutalities and suffering outside the Chantry. Or perhaps….. “Am I simply so blind that I’m missing some grand lesson? Is this some sort of test that my time here was meant to prepare me for?” No….He knew this was a fickle oversimplification. Sebastian simply rejected Elthina’s assessment. On one hand he knew that her position restricted her from holding a more nuanced stance toward a transgression as glaring as hiring strangers to kill strangers. On the other hand…..he knew that she was capable of seeing sympathetically what this affront to his family had called him to do. And he would need that understanding now more than ever, considering his work was far from through.
The next step before Sebastian was plain enough, but past that was dense with fog in his mind’s eye. He would need to find whoever had hired those men and then deal with them...accordingly. Perhaps he would speak to Hawke. The thought was strangely reassuring. In all of this chaos, it seemed Hawke had become a source of consistency that Sebastian allowed himself to trust. Unbiased by dogma, and willing to connect personally rather than taking his money and running off to collect more bounties. Yes, there were things to be grateful for tonight. While the intensity of his thoughts began to pass, Sebastian ran a hand through his hair. For the moment, he felt serene as he had many times before at this same altar. Naturally his lessons in the Chantry had been far from useless…..He would just need to learn to apply them in an unconventional way.
As the sun prepared to set, the shrine took on a brooding quality. The dripping crimson candles evoked violence and passion. Sebastian forced himself to inhale deeply, then exhaled through his nose, watching flames around him quiver but continue to burn brightly. They cast shadows on his tired but stately face, on the stubble he had allowed to grow on the sort of jaw one can only inherit from nobility. He almost resembled a statue himself, until he slowly pushed up from the ground and slipped a crumpled parchment from his pocket, turning it thoughtfully in his hands. Sebastian knew he had sinned, and therefore had come to acknowledge this in a tradition that always seemed to run deeper than any of the doctrines of the Chantry. In a smooth gesture, he dropped the parchment and watched it shrink in the flames. After a pause, he spoke, his voice slightly hoarse. “Though the fire enveloped her like a shroud, and the heat from the blaze Reached across the field, Andraste was silent and did not cry out,” he murmured from memory. “And the legionnaires who stood guard nearby Were shaken, and began to whisper among themselves…..‘Is she truly the servant of a god?’”