Waking up with no memories, no idea what you’re doing there or why? Strange. Waking up in a strange place with someone who claims they love you, someone who sounds like someone going mad, claiming you aren’t dead, that death is a game? Now that’s concerning. Or at least, one would think. In a twisted tale of murder and love, you can only get dragged along for the ride. The question is…can you learn to understand it?
Based vaguely off the ending of Who Killed Markiplier and a few plot points within, this is definitely a rated R rp (at least, it’ll probably end up being.) I’d like a sample of your writing before you post a character, please, but I don’t really have any requirements other than that.
This sounds interesting, so is it like a coma patient waking up with no memories or the patient died but then wasn't dead?
Actually, it's sort of a demon/magic thing. The two are in a house post-murder scene, with them being the only ones still alive. The one waking up without memories is actually supposed to be a sort of culmination of all the spirits of those killed who was awoken in the body of the one the crazy person loved, thus the whole claiming they love each other thing
yeah, but honestly I could probably simplify it or something, I just had that as a vague idea. you up for joining?
alright, cool. you wanna go with the coma thing or the weird demon stuff? because we could start out in like the hospital maybe and build things up from there, since I kinda wanted this to be a "develop as you go" sort of thing
Well I don't really know where you want it to go so maybe it would be easier to be the coma thing
alright, cool. I kinda wanna combine the ideas a little but we'll deal with that later. should I start?
Is this a straight or gay rp?
(lmao yeah. I don't really think we're gonna need templates, we can just describe the characters as we go. lemme get a starter up)
They said his name was Damien. Damien Northrup, to be precise. They said that he had been flung from the fifth story of a casino, done up like he was going to a wedding and shattered on the cement like he had been dressed to take the fall. They said that he wasn't supposed to be alive–that a party gone wrong had claimed the lives of four others trapped in the casino with a madman they couldn't catch. Because no one knew who had rented those rooms for the guests, and their only living victim had woken from a three-month, medically induced coma without any idea in his head as to what had happened. For a while, they hadn't wanted to release him, wanting to force him into therapy and mental health clinics and god knew what else. He didn't know what those were, but he didn't like the idea. So they told him that he could leave if he had someone to…support him. And support–whatever that was–came in the form of some man who had come to the doctors claiming to be his lover. Damien–At least, he supposed his name was Damien–didn't know what that meant either, but he assumed that he was feeling relief when he was finally allowed out of the confines of the hospital, sitting on a cold stone bench while this stranger filled out his paperwork inside
(Eep, sorry. I've been busy)
The day he got the phone call saying his lover's body was found at the bottom of building and very possibly wasn't going to make it was the worse day of Noah's life. He had lost track of the number of hours he had sat in the hospital room, waiting on an update. His leg was bouncing and he was only awake due to several cups of the horrible hospital coffee. They told him Damien was stable but in a coma. He had never been more frightened in his life. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't got to the hospital to check on his lover. Noah would always come, sit next to his bed, hold his hand, and tell him about his day. He told Damien about all the things that where happening, what he was missing out on. He told him that je just had to wake up so they could go do all those fun things togther. But Damien never made any sign of waking up. That was, until three months later that he had recived a call while he was at work that Damien had woke up. He had never run so fast in his life. Upon arriving at the hospital, he was informed that his lover remembered absolutely nothing. They told him that it would be best to put him into therapy but Noah left it up to Damien to decide. He was so thankfully when they finally released hin from the hospital. He filled out the paperwork as quickly as he could. He walked outside the hospital doors and found Damien sitting in a bench. He walked over to him, holding out a hand for him. "Are you ready to go home?"
(It’s all good fam)
Damien looked up from where he was previously spacing out, snapped out of his thoughts by the other’s voice. Briefly, he stared at Noah, his pale blue eyes fixating on the outstretched appendage. Noah. Hand. Slowly, tentatively, he reached a hand out, his pale fingers twining almost daintily in the other’s. “I’m ready,” he rumbled, his voice low and rich in an almost empty way, almost as if his voice had a soft echo. For someone with such a broad frame, he moved with the grace of a former dancer, even if his head was ducked. He pulled himself to his feet, standing straight as he held onto Noah’s hand for what may have normally been considered just a tad too long. “Where…Where are we going now?” he asked, his voice oddly neutral. He was still adjusting to this strange place—such a strange place, such a strange person. He felt like he was swimming, if he was being honest, with the only direction being this person who claimed to be some sort of…lover. What was a lover? Why did this person care for him? He supposed he would just have to find out eventually
Noah helded him stand, squeezing his hand reassuringly. He would have liked to hold onto his hand forever. He never wanted to let him go again. He wanted to take damien hime and just hold him in their bed until the end of their days. But that wasn't an option. He doubted that Damien would even want him to hold him. Bot with his memory loss. The doctors said that he might remember with time. Or maybe he never would. It was a what if game. One that he didn't want to play. He slowly released his hand, though every instict screamed at Noah to hold on tight. "Home, we're going home. We live in an apartment together. Top floor. We have a wonderful view of the pool from our balcony. We used to sit outside all the time and just relax in the cool breeze." Noah said, a sad smile forming on his face. "I think our most memorable conversatuin have hapoened on that balcony."
"Memorable conversations?" Damien asked slowly, still holding Noah's hand gently in his own. Pool. Balcony. Apartment. He knew what those were, if he really thought about it. Pool. Apartment. Balcony? Why couldn't he remember what a balcony was? He resisted the urge at the back of his mind to shake his head, clear the thoughts from his mind. He just wanted to get as far away from that damned hospital as soon as he could. He felt wrong there. And his bones ached more when he was there. They ached all the time, really, even if the doctors had said he had been healed. That he was fine. But everything that used to hurt just ached now, and his cold hand felt nice in the other's grasp, felt even better when Noah squeezed a little and soothed the ache in his hand with pressure alone. Contact felt…good. Maybe that was what lovers were–people who held you. Who touched you and kept you from hurting. Like the painkillers and the morphine, but in human form.
