Seeking: a 1x1 RP for a pre-designed plot. For more info on anything, or to contact me, "quote" me, post, or PM me. Please and thank-you!
[ RP Requirements ]
This is a 1x1 RP.
↪★Proper spelling and use of words like affect and effect.
↪★Proper use of grammar.
↪★Enough content to be immersive in a storyline. Subjective Quality > Objective Quantity
↪★Patience on both partner's part for replies and pace: we all have the same amount of time to spend in a week, but some of us need to spend it on activities away from the computer.
[ Character/Plot Requirements ]
↪★Your character will be male.
↪★Gay Romance (Also, fantasy, adventure, supernatural elements welcome in addition to the homosexual love.)
↪★Your character should be mentally and emotionally strong enough to put up with mine.
↪★My character will not top, though he will think that he wants to - frequently.
↪★My character may be subject to "doubling" if the need calls for it. (I don't require this of you, but if you're open to it, it may be helpful for the both of us.)
[ About the Writer ]
↪★I am "ditch" and "no drama" friendly. It'd be cool if you were to give me a heads up, but I won't lose sleep over it or trash anyone for unsightly surprises.
↪★I can RP in a thread, PM, Guilds, or on Twitter. (Ask!)
↪★I can RP in Spanish.
↪★College graduate, employed full time.
[ Available roles for your choosing ]
Incubus
Prince (Brother, Neighbor)
Other Royalty Types (Rival, Man of court, etc)
Manservant
Bodyguard (Selfish or Dedicated)
Soldier (Commissioned or Loyal or Foreign/Neither)
Knight
Peasant Boy / Stable hand / Merchant / Merchant's Son
Wizard
Monk/Priest/Clergy
Librarian/Archivist
Thief
Abductor
Hotel Manager
Assassin
Any other role you can imagine...
[ Sample Writing Style ]
[ Share Your Endurance! ]
You're still here? PM me already!
[ Meet Cedric, My OC. ]
(FC: Iceland)
Well done, you've met. 4laugh
(FC: Iceland)
Well done, you've met. 4laugh
- He's a very lonely individual. Why you ask?
↪★He is a prince who was cast out of his castle. He is a cursed prince, and he is on a journey to find a solution: an artifact. He doesn't know what this artifact is. His goal is to keep his true identity under wraps in order to dissuade any thieves, robbers, or religious folk from trying to remove him from the path to the throne.
But what is his curse?
↪★He is the product of a union of a King and an Incubus.
↪★The incubus haunts him on a nightly basis with the ultimate goal of using him as a doll to vicariously rule the kingdom through.
There. Now that you two have met each other, let's get down to the gorey details.
[ RP Requirements ]
This is a 1x1 RP.
↪★Proper spelling and use of words like affect and effect.
↪★Proper use of grammar.
↪★Enough content to be immersive in a storyline. Subjective Quality > Objective Quantity
↪★Patience on both partner's part for replies and pace: we all have the same amount of time to spend in a week, but some of us need to spend it on activities away from the computer.
[ Character/Plot Requirements ]
↪★Your character will be male.
↪★Gay Romance (Also, fantasy, adventure, supernatural elements welcome in addition to the homosexual love.)
↪★Your character should be mentally and emotionally strong enough to put up with mine.
↪★My character will not top, though he will think that he wants to - frequently.
↪★My character may be subject to "doubling" if the need calls for it. (I don't require this of you, but if you're open to it, it may be helpful for the both of us.)
[ About the Writer ]
↪★I am "ditch" and "no drama" friendly. It'd be cool if you were to give me a heads up, but I won't lose sleep over it or trash anyone for unsightly surprises.
↪★I can RP in a thread, PM, Guilds, or on Twitter. (Ask!)
↪★I can RP in Spanish.
↪★College graduate, employed full time.
[ Available roles for your choosing ]
Incubus
Prince (Brother, Neighbor)
Other Royalty Types (Rival, Man of court, etc)
Manservant
Bodyguard (Selfish or Dedicated)
Soldier (Commissioned or Loyal or Foreign/Neither)
Knight
Peasant Boy / Stable hand / Merchant / Merchant's Son
Wizard
Monk/Priest/Clergy
Librarian/Archivist
Thief
Abductor
Hotel Manager
Assassin
Any other role you can imagine...
[ Sample Writing Style ]
It was about four in the afternoon—just as businesses were about to close for the day. Incidentally, his office was open until six, but he had no desire at all to address the phones ringing madly off the hook in his secretary's office. She had been gone for work for the day, as she'd called in sick herself earlier that morning. Now, all of those clients that he had purposefully ignored were clamoring to contact him before they returned to their jail cells. Too bad for them, as Marc wasn't in a chatty mood. So, despite the way the phones trembled in a nearly comical fashion, he approached the door and kicked a tight slam to close, lit up a cigarette, and paused to take it all in. The flavor wasn't as sweet as other brands, but it's pugnacious bite removed Marc of any guilt he might have otherwise possessed in setting the thing on fire and letting the stick crumble to ash between his fingertips.
"What a horrible ******** day!" he grumbled through his teeth, the small indulgence wagging through the air as he damned the gray skies. It could be worse, but he wouldn't have any of it. The silvery ribbon of sidewalk that wrapped around his office was a murky sepia tone that only darkened as the sunset's rays failed to pierce the thick looming clouds. It was going to rain. He'd been predicting that all day. With one last grumpy scowl, he pulled from the window and collected his keys. Tonight wouldn't be one for walking, and he wasn't going to wait around for six to roll by like a lonely tumbleweed showboating for attention.
A door click and a key swing later, he was on the way down the stairs, choosing to bypass the building lobby and hasting a quick exit Through the fire security door. Beautiful. Yes. There it was in the parking lot: his incredibly sexy, purring, panther-like mechanical love child. Many a beautiful scene had involved this sleek extension of his success, and he thoroughly enjoyed the thick chills its tight leather leather interior teased against the high quality suit that coveted his form.
How annoying it was that once he began to speed down the road rush hour traffic began to crawl along with him. Frustrated, he thrust his palms against the steering wheel, twisting the leather cover and spinning his wheels under the stationary vehicle. This torment was some kind of creative c**k blocking. "Sorry, baby," he murmured to the beast he rode in, stroking the dash apologetically. That woman in front of him, the one smacking her jaw while running her cheap nail paint job against her review mirror, did not see the beautiful emerald luminescence that dyed the pavement before them. At this rate, he wouldn't make it through the light by the time it was ruby again.
Then, so it was.
At the last moment, the distracted driver plunged through the yellow, seemingly content to force Marc and his horn blaring road rage to to face the bar in red. This would not, of course do, and the lawyer funneled his smoke through the exhaust, tailgating his way through the red light as if he were a trailer with calves shipped for slaughter. Brilliantly, what again was met was nothing other than more bumper to bumper traffic, hereby reminding the irritable soul of exactly the reasoning that had possessed him to close his office at six instead of at four thirty, which, a somber flick to the radio then corrected; it was now four fifty. Ten of. He'd been here in traffic for far too long today. In his grief, he thrust his hands through his hair and groaned a low, thundering, vibrating and grief-stricken roar, and pinched his eyes to a tight and meditative closure.
His thoughts drifted more frequently than his vehicle from lane to lane, and finally, like his purring pride and joy, they settled on a single topic. His secretary. The woman was tall and limber; taller still with the flamed red heels she hid under her desk, the ones that indicated her truest desire to be carried away from the dismal black that Marc advised she dress herself in daily. It was those heels on his mind now, not the sheer lace trimmed stockings that slid into them, nor the split pencil skirt that hung at her curves like some sort of shrink wrap. The woman's appearance was a trophy in itself, but her employer found himself thinking of those shoes and the small scuff that needed to be shined off of the left. He worried for it. But, worrying wasn't a sentiment he'd permit himself to feel. Like a good boss, he told himself, it was only the shoe that he cared about. It was the appearance if the scuff, not the lack of her appearance in that chair today. ********, of course not.
His hand reached itself to the open cigarettes under the ashtray, and he burned the tip into the automatic lighter just above it. Down crawled the window, and fffffffhhh out escaped that damn annoying little worry. An eternity would be spent here at this stop, but he embraced it, armed now with an infinite value of indulgence.
"What a horrible ******** day!" he grumbled through his teeth, the small indulgence wagging through the air as he damned the gray skies. It could be worse, but he wouldn't have any of it. The silvery ribbon of sidewalk that wrapped around his office was a murky sepia tone that only darkened as the sunset's rays failed to pierce the thick looming clouds. It was going to rain. He'd been predicting that all day. With one last grumpy scowl, he pulled from the window and collected his keys. Tonight wouldn't be one for walking, and he wasn't going to wait around for six to roll by like a lonely tumbleweed showboating for attention.
A door click and a key swing later, he was on the way down the stairs, choosing to bypass the building lobby and hasting a quick exit Through the fire security door. Beautiful. Yes. There it was in the parking lot: his incredibly sexy, purring, panther-like mechanical love child. Many a beautiful scene had involved this sleek extension of his success, and he thoroughly enjoyed the thick chills its tight leather leather interior teased against the high quality suit that coveted his form.
How annoying it was that once he began to speed down the road rush hour traffic began to crawl along with him. Frustrated, he thrust his palms against the steering wheel, twisting the leather cover and spinning his wheels under the stationary vehicle. This torment was some kind of creative c**k blocking. "Sorry, baby," he murmured to the beast he rode in, stroking the dash apologetically. That woman in front of him, the one smacking her jaw while running her cheap nail paint job against her review mirror, did not see the beautiful emerald luminescence that dyed the pavement before them. At this rate, he wouldn't make it through the light by the time it was ruby again.
Then, so it was.
At the last moment, the distracted driver plunged through the yellow, seemingly content to force Marc and his horn blaring road rage to to face the bar in red. This would not, of course do, and the lawyer funneled his smoke through the exhaust, tailgating his way through the red light as if he were a trailer with calves shipped for slaughter. Brilliantly, what again was met was nothing other than more bumper to bumper traffic, hereby reminding the irritable soul of exactly the reasoning that had possessed him to close his office at six instead of at four thirty, which, a somber flick to the radio then corrected; it was now four fifty. Ten of. He'd been here in traffic for far too long today. In his grief, he thrust his hands through his hair and groaned a low, thundering, vibrating and grief-stricken roar, and pinched his eyes to a tight and meditative closure.
His thoughts drifted more frequently than his vehicle from lane to lane, and finally, like his purring pride and joy, they settled on a single topic. His secretary. The woman was tall and limber; taller still with the flamed red heels she hid under her desk, the ones that indicated her truest desire to be carried away from the dismal black that Marc advised she dress herself in daily. It was those heels on his mind now, not the sheer lace trimmed stockings that slid into them, nor the split pencil skirt that hung at her curves like some sort of shrink wrap. The woman's appearance was a trophy in itself, but her employer found himself thinking of those shoes and the small scuff that needed to be shined off of the left. He worried for it. But, worrying wasn't a sentiment he'd permit himself to feel. Like a good boss, he told himself, it was only the shoe that he cared about. It was the appearance if the scuff, not the lack of her appearance in that chair today. ********, of course not.
His hand reached itself to the open cigarettes under the ashtray, and he burned the tip into the automatic lighter just above it. Down crawled the window, and fffffffhhh out escaped that damn annoying little worry. An eternity would be spent here at this stop, but he embraced it, armed now with an infinite value of indulgence.
[ Share Your Endurance! ]
You're still here? PM me already!
