barbermonger: a one on one roleplay search forum

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BARBERMONGER is a site designed to help roleplayers find other roleplayers, specifically one-on-one roleplayers, as opposed to larger roleplay games. Functioning like a pinboard, BARBERMONGER allows users to create advertisements, bump advertisements, and respond to other advertisements, without requiring them to register an account. However, registering an account will allow you to edit your posts, find your own topics, and use the private messaging system.

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Location: unspeakable depths
Born: 6 July 1990
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scary things
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Joined: 20-February 11
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Last Seen: Dec 18 2017, 10:56 AM
Local Time: Jun 19 2018, 12:36 AM
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Erik

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Mar 9 2016, 05:53 PM
i've got a secret-- more of my life has been spent drawing than writing, and these days i think of myself as a fanartist moonlighting as a roleplayer.

still, here's a little smattering of OC stuff i havent posted very widely else:







lately ive been falling off the drawing wagon, so here's hoping i'll do some more doodling with a new space to post in. a lil extra attention never hurt anyone, after all ;-)
Mar 4 2016, 11:57 AM
continuing off some chatter in the cbox, i think itd be interesting to explore some things about roleplay as a craft that makes it distinct from other forms of writing. some themes that have come up:


1) PRESENT TENSE

present tense wasn't always the norm in neopets roleplay, which is the particular genealogy of play-by-post roleplay that this site came from. past tense used to be enforced in much widee use, and a lot of us favour it because it makes it easy to:
  • convey a sense of immediacy and earnestness
  • breeze through a lot of omniscient exposition in a relatively punchy way
the second one is a common no-no for fiction writing. infodumps are bad for immersion and often a sign of laziness, but could the priorities of a roleplay be different than for solo writing?

DISCUSSION STARTERS: do you prefer past or present tense in roleplay? if you do solo writing, do you prefer something else? have you noticed a difference?


2) FANFIC VS. ROLEPLAY

recently, i've noticed present tense becoming prevalent in popular fanfics as well as roleplay. and as a practice and a community, fanfic has lots in common with play-by-post roleplaying:
  • shorter format
  • primarily online
  • character- and often romance-driven
  • alternative communities & spaces: creators and readers are often young women & nb people
  • an RP partner or fanfic reader has more preexisting knowledge of the story than a general reader (whether thru OOC discussion or canon)
DISCUSSION STARTERS: what are the ramifications of these points? have you observed other similarities/crossovers between roleplay and fanfic? what are some key differences?


3)?????

i started off this topic by talking about RP as a craft, but havent substantiated it in the least! so what do you think? are there considerations for roleplay that are significantly different than for other forms of fiction writing? or do the same rules apply to both?

and finally, what other meta-thoughts do you have about roleplay? post them here!
Feb 28 2016, 03:46 PM
((i really can't explain this premise except that i wanted to write about vampires, but also have an intense allergy to taking things seriously. no prior knowledge of toronto required and may even be actively discouraged))


“It’s called ‘Midnight Bakery’.” Yun switches the phone to his other ear, retrieving the keys from his pocket. “You think so? Well, I’d rather be obvious than disingenuous.” After a pause he laughs, gliding over all reproach. “Anyway, sign’s already up. Nothing I can do about it.”

The newly minted storefront stands between a lingerie shop and an ancient corner bistro, minimal letters on solid gray. The contractors have just finished the exterior this afternoon, but to Yun’s eyes the place is already blending into the hodgepodge of the neighbourhood: bric-a-brac businesses pasted to nineteenth-century brick apartments, students teeming from every window. With another jiggle of the lock he's in. A whiff of varnish stings his nose. Somewhere down the street a bassline thumps, while the daisy-chain lights of a pub veranda flicker on. Friday night in the annex.

“You don’t have to come up. I've got someone helping me on the business end-- no, no, he doesn't know. But he's reliable.” Half-listening to the lecture that follows, he walks a circle round the tables that were installed last week, tracing a prospective line along the wall with the tip of his finger, and bends down to inspect the glass counter by the register, all the while navigating in perfect darkness. Sometimes he enjoys the conceit of going through the motions, doing what living people do, but more often than not he forgets to turn on the lights. “Have fun with your new fledgling. Yes, I’ll be careful. Send Mina my love.”

Pocketing the phone, he stands deliberating a moment before fishing it out again, swiping the screen to hang up. He often forgets that step too, on these glossy things with no buttons. For a young man born at the turn of the century, the world is a different place these days.

--

In May the city is beautiful for a few short weeks, the remnants of a long winter forgotten but the worst of the heat yet to come. Exams are over, summer standing poised to break. Though a wave of murders has been sweeping the city this month, their relevance stretches thin here: a few more locked doors, an extra glance over the shoulder. The victims have all been homeless. A sidebar in the papers.

More interesting are the smells developing at a corner of the student district: mousseline cream, candied almond, pain au lait. The Midnight Bakery has stood open for three weeks now, and interest is growing. Open from 9 pm to just before sunrise, the bakery offers a few choice selections each night-- authentic French pastries from the owner and patissier, who also stands at the cash register and smiles at passers-by through the window. He is a comfortable-looking man in round-rimmed glasses, east asian in a neighbourhood where it goes unquestioned, with an ageless kind of face that many say -- sometimes sneeringly -- is par for the course. Only the hair, tied back at the nape and prematurely gray, merits a second glance. He wears a spotless chef jacket with the sleeves rolled up.

Just this very moment, he is walking around the register with a placard under his arm, sidestepping the Ikea tables and chairs that make up the small seating area. He shoulders the front door open, setting off the windchimes, and heads out to prop open the placard at the entrance. 'HELP WANTED,' it says, in a large hand that might have been stencilled, for all its regularity. Stepping back, the owner examines the sign for a moment before squatting down, adding a squiggly chalk arrow underneath.

'ASK ME,' he writes, in the same neat hand, and tops it off with a little drawing of round glasses. Then with solemn satisfaction he stands and heads back inside.

The Midnight Bakery is officially hiring.
Jul 11 2013, 05:09 PM
the premise goes like this: medieval werewolf dude is on a silly quest to find the holy grail
but a quest is more fun with two?

join with anyone you like. sex, violence, & sacrilege are sure to follow




The pagan boy stared at the sheet, but he would not read aloud. The old monk sighed and took it back, because he did not like being stern. It was a page from Brother Vincent's manuscript, left in the scriptorium; someone had drawn three legs on Prester John instead of two, so the whole thing was no good. But he kept it to teach the pagan boy, because the Latin itself was fine enough.

Do you know what this writing says? he asked-- in the common speech, not Latin.

The pagan boy stared at the letters, silent. The old monk pointed to the picture instead, where the little three-legged man sat looking sumptuous.

This is Prester John, a powerful Christian king who rules in India-- that's in the east, very far east. Look here; in the Orient the people are strange, though they are all still Christians in Prester John's kingdom. These are the Blemmyae, headless, the Cynocephali, dog-headed, and the Panotti, who cool themselves by flapping their giant ears. In the kingdom of Prester John, the rivers flow with gold, and the trees hang ripe with sapphires. Incredible, but it's all true.

There are many holy treasures there, but none so holy as the Graal. The Graal is the vessel for the Blood of Christ, and Prester John himself is Keeper. Those who drink the Blood are cured of all their ills, and some say they gain the power to perform miracles...but, well, it isn't just anyone who can have a sip, now is it?


~


William broke the last bandit's neck, letting the body fall. The campsite was silent then, or seeming-silent, until the nighttime whine of cicadas returned gradually to his ears. There was the pop of the firepit, the susurrus of the forest, the quiet, inflating sound of lungs in his chest. So it had never been silent. Only the fighting had been loud.

After listening came looking: the horses stood a distance away, impassive to the slaughter. There were four tied to the trees, one of them his own. The thieves' campsite itself was a mess, and his own things had been tossed onto a mound of stolen goods. The men lay twisted on the undergrowth, arms and necks broken.

William squatted and retrieved his sword and dagger, which would have ended the fight quicker, if he had them. He looked again: the saddle-bags were still on his horse, and inside them was the scroll-tube. That was good. He had memorized the contents long ago, but was loathe to part with them.

After listening and looking came smelling, which never ceased to fill his awareness: there was loamy soil, woodsmoke, the urine of small mammals, the singular smell of each man and the identical smell of each man's fear-- and finally, perplexingly, the scent of the other thing, which had come during the fight and stayed.

"Don't skulk about," William said to the air as he stood, not without a touch of wryness. He was a large man, dark and rough and in his prime, and he had just ambushed three thieves and killed them with his bare hands; he was not afraid of much.

So, cracking his sore knuckles, the thief-killer went to check on his horse.
Jul 9 2013, 07:46 AM
Hello all. Im very interest in write about the man buttsexs. Do you like the man buttsex?

Do you also maybe like:
Mermen, ancient east & south asian fantasy, medieval/fantasy (t. h. white style maybe), werewolves, vampires, ursula le guin, body horror, power diff, age diff, apocalypse & dystopia, or English Country Houses

If you think we should roleplay, please to do one of the following:

A. Pm
B. Post here
C. Email e.g.deadworry@gmail.com
D. Draw a pentagram around yourself in ky warming sensatioms lube & scream my username

Hope to see you soon, friends!!!

~~

new!!!! fandom:
  • attack on titan
  • pokeymans
  • petshop of horrors
  • evangelion????
  • legend of zelda maybe
  • earthsea universe
  • hainish cycle universe (ive only read left hand and dispossessed & we can play it loose)
  • pacific rim universe??? whenever i get around to watching it???
  • haha and remember when inception was a thing
and!!
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