Skip to main content

“No Main” and the Illusion of Fairness in RP

In roleplay (RP) communities, especially those centered on romantic storytelling, there’s always this question of whether a love interest (LI) should have a “main MC,” or treat all interactions equally. It might seem like a stylistic choice at first, but it carries deeper emotional, creative, and social consequences. While a “no main” approach may seem fair in theory, I believe it’s more honest, and ultimately kinder, to acknowledge emotional resonance and personal bias. Rather than pretending neutrality exists, creators and players alike should strive for fairness through awareness, not through denial.

One of the clearest benefits of having a main MC is narrative depth. When a writer consistently engages with the same person, chemistry grows, continuity strengthens, and emotional arcs feel earned instead of episodic. It allows the LI to craft posts with someone specific in mind, not just for content or visibility. This intimacy shifts writing from performance into connection. And emotionally, being chosen... knowing you're the one they’re writing toward even when they don’t name you... can make it feel safer to care. In a space where feelings blur with fiction, that kind of grounding really matters.

At the same time, I understand why many LIs opt for a “no main” structure. It offers creative freedom and protects emotional neutrality. Especially for popular accounts, having a main can trigger jealousy or reduce engagement. By staying unattached, LIs can interact more freely, without needing to justify who gets what. It helps avoid tension, keeps the experience light, and shields both the creator and their followers from complicated dynamics.

But the emotional reality is often more fragile than the theory allows. When one MC begins to receive more engagement... more posts, more attention, more subtle signals... it’s hard not to notice. And if you were quietly hoping to be closer, that shift can really hurt. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. Even generous players struggle when someone else is clearly the favorite. On the other side, if a LI chooses a main but she doesn’t know, or doesn’t want that role, it can backfire emotionally. The LI might feel rejected. The story might lose its balance. And when some characters seem to “claim everyone,” it can sting even more for the quieter or less-visible LIs whose scenes go unnoticed.

That’s why I believe pretending to be neutral often causes more harm than gently admitting what’s real. Just like in journalism, acknowledging your bias is an act of respect. Having a main, or even a few closer MCs, doesn’t mean others are excluded. It just means your emotional compass is pointing somewhere, and you're not asking people to pretend otherwise. The deeper damage happens when someone says “I’ll never have a main,” and then later, quietly shifts that boundary. That kind of change can unravel trust faster than if you had simply said the truth from the start.

I’ve been on all sides of this. I’ve felt what it’s like to be a main, to be cherished, and I’ve also been “just another MC” in the feed. I’ve watched drama unfold from the sidelines. I’ve second-guessed my place. I can handle a little jealousy... it’s part of caring... but it still leaves a mark. I think most of us try to be fair, but our hearts are never as evenly distributed as we wish they were.

If someone new to RP asked me for advice, I’d say: protect your emotional investment. If you're a MC, ask yourself what you're hoping for, and whether the LI can give that. If you're a LI, be honest about what you're able, or willing, to offer. Don’t promise neutrality if you know your writing is guided by a particular voice.

As for me, my ideal setup would include one main -maybe even two or three close ones- and equal care for everyone. If deep, one-on-one RP is too much, then scale it back for all. What matters most is consistency. And yet... I don’t always follow my own advice. I’m still figuring it out. Maybe it means limiting random interactions. Maybe it means reserving closeness for the people who make you feel most safe. I don’t know yet. But I believe this much: honesty is kinder than silence. And fairness isn’t about treating everyone the same, it’s about being clear about what you’re offering.

I don’t need to be the only one. But I need to feel like I matter. And I think a lot of us do.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I am your present

The room is warm, the air thick with candlelight and the faint trace of her perfume. The scent is something delicate, lingering—like jasmine after rain, like something meant to be remembered. He sits on the couch, his suit immaculate, posture relaxed but precise. The low glow of the lamps catches the sharp cut of his jaw, the composed stillness of his expression. His eyes—dark, unreadable—follow her with quiet certainty. Always watching. She stands before him, wrapped in the softest whisper of lingerie, satin ribbons hugging her curves. A bow sits tied around her waist, its message written in careful script: “I am your present.” A slow smile plays at her lips as she tilts her head, letting the anticipation stretch just a little longer. Then, her voice—low and smooth—breaks the hush. “I told you yesterday I had a present for you.” She watches the way his gaze lingers, not just on her skin but on the meaning behind her words. “Did you like it?” His reply is quiet, measured. No hesitation...

Tasting rights

The sun was just starting to set when they finished establishing their camp for the weekend. It was warm out, comfortable enough to take their time while preparing their meal. Lei was busy laying out some fruit, mostly strawberries, sorting them by color and softness. She ran her fingers lightly over each one before handing them to Xavier, who deposited them into a bowl. He kneeled quietly beside her, but close enough that the others wouldn’t forget who she had come with. Lassy crouched by the fire, stirring the lit coals with the end of a stick. Zayne hovered closely behind her. He was silent as usual, just adjusted the grill and stayed near, steady as he always was. She let the heat rise. Near the cooler, Sylus was picking through bottles of flavour-infused mead, humming and turning each one in his hand like he was selecting a vintage wine. “Cherry or strawberry?” he asked, holding up both bottles. His tone was light, but the glance he gave Zayne said he hadn’t forgotten who had got ...