generic 1x1 search thread, level: adv. to lazy lit
Jun 25, 2020 15:46:45 GMT -5
anormallife and inky like this
Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Jun 25, 2020 15:46:45 GMT -5
yo, but like, make it artistic
hi! i'm briar, i've been around the forums pretty sporadically since 2009. i've had a lot of usernames - i got banned from the OG forums like, twice when i was 12 for being an obnoxious preteen - so if you ask me if if was This Person the answer is probably going to be: maybe? i forgot most of my old usernames. anyways!
hence the title of this thread, I’m looking for a handful of advanced role-play partners. I’m defining “advanced” as someone who can write well (stylistically interesting, proper grammar) and who can match my post length (usually 500-1500+ words, i know that's a huge range but like? im a gemini man we're unpredictable. i'm also super lazy and am totally down for like. single paragraph responses from time to time. idk i dont want to over-complicate it). I tend to prefer character driven plots, but i'm really down for anything. i also enjoy small group rps (more than 1x1's tbh, but group rps seem pretty dead on the forums) but if anyone wants to try one pls feel free to hmu about it!
i've attached a writing sample to the bottom of this post, it's a starter from a semi-recent rp and reflects my writing style fairly well. below are some bullet points about me and my plot/style/rp preferences:
about me:
+ 22-year old graduate student, can't be bothered to switch to another forum after all these years RIP
+ im really bad at talking about myself, icebreakers are horrible, but im p chill and have a lot of really diverse interests and hobbies.
+ moderately active? i need either a fast-paced rp or a lot of chit-chat to keep engaged with the rp but i'm also a busy student and working, and i understand most of us are adults with busy lives, but just like. like me know if ur gonna dip for a little bit and we're good.
rp/plot preferences:
+ character driven plots
+ im a huge slut for mythology/symbology/literary themed rps - or things in space! space is cool!
+ but i can rp basically anything as long as i know the premise of it
+ i tend to dislike superhero rps and most generic fantasy rps, i don't like rping teenagers, and am pretty picky about plots that i think have been overdone just bc i get bored, but u can sell me on basically anything if the pitch is good
yeah that's about it! anyways, just post below or hmu with a DM. if you have a plot idea, feel free to throw it at me. if you don't, i have a couple old one's i can pitch and i'm pretty good at coming up with stuff on the fly that we can work on together. :)
“I feel like you’re like a…. honeysuckle, like a sweet June morning.”
“Honeysuckle? ...Oh! There’s this scent called Summer Bayou. It’s got honeysuckle, oak, wisteria, and… swamp moss?” Memphis is reclined in bed with her laptop reposed against her chest. Five-year-old headphones dangle from her ears, tangling together and pooling in her suprasternal notch. That’s the little dip, between the clavicles; the visible half-moon at the base of a person’s neck. Memphis learned the name for it on a true crime podcast. “What the frick is swamp moss?”
Moira Sakai’s voice chimes through the headphones, “They probably mean Spanish moss. You’ve seen pictures of it – it hangs from all the trees in Savannah. It’s pretty. It’s also a folk cure for rheumatism.”
“Why would I want to smell like a cure for rheumatism? What even is rheumatism?” Memphis pops a chocolate covered cherry into her mouth. “Mmm. The reviews say it’s like a dreamy, humid floral. That’s kind of sensual. Do you think Zack would like it?”
“It's like, arthritis, kind of. And also - BABE! [Redacted] Zack, he's a ho, get what you want”, as Moira speaks, Memphis lets her gaze trail out over the window, over the row of plants serried together like students crowding into a gym before a pep rally, into the soft haze of the mid-morning sun. Mem didn’t get many days off – she wasn’t sure if this was going to be a day off, entirely. She worked four days a week at Juvenal, a delightful pastel-and-soft-light sort of bakery owned by a young couple. It was named after a Roman orator, she thinks. That’s what she tells customers, at least. He was either an orator or a poet. She can’t remember. It’s not her job to know, exactly. Only approximately. Leave the facts to other people; to her other job. She works at a bakery because pastries embrace her attention span, they relieve stress from her shoulders as she massages dough. Leave the facts to her other job. “You could wear ox musk and Zack would probably think it was hot. He likes hockey boys. Hockey boys smell like ox musk.”
“I don’t want to smell like a hockey boy.” Memphis puts the swamp perfume in her Etsy cart and clicks on the checkout. 6 items. That’s not too much, right? She’ll totally make rent.
“I’m not saying you buy the ox musk, I’m just saying, Zack thinks you’re like, the Form of beauty. And if he says shit, which he won’t, but if he does, I’ll fight him. You know I’ll do it, too. He’s my friend but screw that guy. Girlies always come first.”
“Mmmhmmm”, Memphis smiles into her phone. “I love you. Hey, I’ve gotta get some work done.”
“Ok!!! Bye babes!!!!! Good luck on that thing you’re planning, or whatever!”
The phone call beeps off and Memphis closes her laptop. She’s not planning anything – she’s, well, waiting for something to be planned is more accurate. Memphis Lam has been having an – oh, calling it a time seems so cliché, but it’s accurate – she’s been having a time. It’s like, when you take a bite of margarine covered toast and you say, “I can’t believe it’s not butter”. Stop. No one has actually done that. It’s like, when you look into the mirror and you see a girl in a white off-the-shoulder sundress and you wonder if this is the same girl you have been looking at for the past twenty-two, twenty-three years. She was so secure, when she was younger. Fifteen. Sixteen. Secure not in an, I am confident and cool everyone likes me I am worth something, way but secure insofar that she felt as if she knew who she was.
There was a sense of order to her ego. Sexuality over here, gender over here, you like baking, your best friend is Molly McDutchy, your second best friend is Giselle Shay, you are cinnamon and honey chamomile herbal tea your favorite novel is New Moon and you listen to a lot of Taylor Swift. You have a Red poster on your wall. In the same way that teenager girls hung up pictures of the One Direction guys and fantasized over them, you would sit and look at Taylor and imagine yourself, older and more beautiful, no braces, no bangs, thicker hair, bumping into her after a concert. Oh, I’m so sorry! You would drop whatever you were holding, a phone or a backstage pass or a love-note, because you’re so clumsy, you’re every girl, and before you can reach down to get it Taylor is already handing it back with a smile. Hi, I’m Taylor.
Memphis’ parents guessed she was gay. They surprised her with a ‘coming out’ cake. Maybe it was sweet. The cake was sweet. Memphis felt robbed; maybe only of buttercream. The Lam’s were spiritual and whimsically progressive. Apparently, her father had been rather apathetic about homosexuality but when he found out that Denise Ho was gay, pride became a family event.
Memphis Lam has a crush on a boy and she is questioning everything. This is not the first time she has questioned everything; she did that when she and Courtney broke up, when she used non-binary pronouns for a year, when she couldn’t get a job at a Big Journalism Company right out of undergrad. None of these things felt wrong – except for the not-getting-a-job – but it was sticky. It was coagulated sugar on a cinnamon roll. It was raspberry jam spilling everywhere. It was – it was – it was a time.
So, she’s ordering perfume and a new dress and new lip balm and a bracelet and Something-Else-Moira-Recommended off Etsy. Maybe she’ll cut her hair again. It’s getting a bit longer, now. It peaks over her ears in a fuzz like the breaking curl of a wave. The soft part. Forget the undertow. Memphis groans, loudly, and then – oh, that smells good. Zack must be cooking. That’s kind of His Thing. Memphis bakes compulsively, Zack cooks everything else. It’s very functional. Having twelve trays of raspberry crowns in their fridge when Zack comes home after a three-day-bender is very functional. They’re delicious. Stop looking at me like that! I’m fine. Promise. I just… I was so worried. I called so many times. I... I th-... I missed you.
hence the title of this thread, I’m looking for a handful of advanced role-play partners. I’m defining “advanced” as someone who can write well (stylistically interesting, proper grammar) and who can match my post length (usually 500-1500+ words, i know that's a huge range but like? im a gemini man we're unpredictable. i'm also super lazy and am totally down for like. single paragraph responses from time to time. idk i dont want to over-complicate it). I tend to prefer character driven plots, but i'm really down for anything. i also enjoy small group rps (more than 1x1's tbh, but group rps seem pretty dead on the forums) but if anyone wants to try one pls feel free to hmu about it!
i've attached a writing sample to the bottom of this post, it's a starter from a semi-recent rp and reflects my writing style fairly well. below are some bullet points about me and my plot/style/rp preferences:
about me:
+ 22-year old graduate student, can't be bothered to switch to another forum after all these years RIP
+ im really bad at talking about myself, icebreakers are horrible, but im p chill and have a lot of really diverse interests and hobbies.
+ moderately active? i need either a fast-paced rp or a lot of chit-chat to keep engaged with the rp but i'm also a busy student and working, and i understand most of us are adults with busy lives, but just like. like me know if ur gonna dip for a little bit and we're good.
rp/plot preferences:
+ character driven plots
+ im a huge slut for mythology/symbology/literary themed rps - or things in space! space is cool!
+ but i can rp basically anything as long as i know the premise of it
+ i tend to dislike superhero rps and most generic fantasy rps, i don't like rping teenagers, and am pretty picky about plots that i think have been overdone just bc i get bored, but u can sell me on basically anything if the pitch is good
yeah that's about it! anyways, just post below or hmu with a DM. if you have a plot idea, feel free to throw it at me. if you don't, i have a couple old one's i can pitch and i'm pretty good at coming up with stuff on the fly that we can work on together. :)
“I feel like you’re like a…. honeysuckle, like a sweet June morning.”
“Honeysuckle? ...Oh! There’s this scent called Summer Bayou. It’s got honeysuckle, oak, wisteria, and… swamp moss?” Memphis is reclined in bed with her laptop reposed against her chest. Five-year-old headphones dangle from her ears, tangling together and pooling in her suprasternal notch. That’s the little dip, between the clavicles; the visible half-moon at the base of a person’s neck. Memphis learned the name for it on a true crime podcast. “What the frick is swamp moss?”
Moira Sakai’s voice chimes through the headphones, “They probably mean Spanish moss. You’ve seen pictures of it – it hangs from all the trees in Savannah. It’s pretty. It’s also a folk cure for rheumatism.”
“Why would I want to smell like a cure for rheumatism? What even is rheumatism?” Memphis pops a chocolate covered cherry into her mouth. “Mmm. The reviews say it’s like a dreamy, humid floral. That’s kind of sensual. Do you think Zack would like it?”
“It's like, arthritis, kind of. And also - BABE! [Redacted] Zack, he's a ho, get what you want”, as Moira speaks, Memphis lets her gaze trail out over the window, over the row of plants serried together like students crowding into a gym before a pep rally, into the soft haze of the mid-morning sun. Mem didn’t get many days off – she wasn’t sure if this was going to be a day off, entirely. She worked four days a week at Juvenal, a delightful pastel-and-soft-light sort of bakery owned by a young couple. It was named after a Roman orator, she thinks. That’s what she tells customers, at least. He was either an orator or a poet. She can’t remember. It’s not her job to know, exactly. Only approximately. Leave the facts to other people; to her other job. She works at a bakery because pastries embrace her attention span, they relieve stress from her shoulders as she massages dough. Leave the facts to her other job. “You could wear ox musk and Zack would probably think it was hot. He likes hockey boys. Hockey boys smell like ox musk.”
“I don’t want to smell like a hockey boy.” Memphis puts the swamp perfume in her Etsy cart and clicks on the checkout. 6 items. That’s not too much, right? She’ll totally make rent.
“I’m not saying you buy the ox musk, I’m just saying, Zack thinks you’re like, the Form of beauty. And if he says shit, which he won’t, but if he does, I’ll fight him. You know I’ll do it, too. He’s my friend but screw that guy. Girlies always come first.”
“Mmmhmmm”, Memphis smiles into her phone. “I love you. Hey, I’ve gotta get some work done.”
“Ok!!! Bye babes!!!!! Good luck on that thing you’re planning, or whatever!”
The phone call beeps off and Memphis closes her laptop. She’s not planning anything – she’s, well, waiting for something to be planned is more accurate. Memphis Lam has been having an – oh, calling it a time seems so cliché, but it’s accurate – she’s been having a time. It’s like, when you take a bite of margarine covered toast and you say, “I can’t believe it’s not butter”. Stop. No one has actually done that. It’s like, when you look into the mirror and you see a girl in a white off-the-shoulder sundress and you wonder if this is the same girl you have been looking at for the past twenty-two, twenty-three years. She was so secure, when she was younger. Fifteen. Sixteen. Secure not in an, I am confident and cool everyone likes me I am worth something, way but secure insofar that she felt as if she knew who she was.
There was a sense of order to her ego. Sexuality over here, gender over here, you like baking, your best friend is Molly McDutchy, your second best friend is Giselle Shay, you are cinnamon and honey chamomile herbal tea your favorite novel is New Moon and you listen to a lot of Taylor Swift. You have a Red poster on your wall. In the same way that teenager girls hung up pictures of the One Direction guys and fantasized over them, you would sit and look at Taylor and imagine yourself, older and more beautiful, no braces, no bangs, thicker hair, bumping into her after a concert. Oh, I’m so sorry! You would drop whatever you were holding, a phone or a backstage pass or a love-note, because you’re so clumsy, you’re every girl, and before you can reach down to get it Taylor is already handing it back with a smile. Hi, I’m Taylor.
Memphis’ parents guessed she was gay. They surprised her with a ‘coming out’ cake. Maybe it was sweet. The cake was sweet. Memphis felt robbed; maybe only of buttercream. The Lam’s were spiritual and whimsically progressive. Apparently, her father had been rather apathetic about homosexuality but when he found out that Denise Ho was gay, pride became a family event.
Memphis Lam has a crush on a boy and she is questioning everything. This is not the first time she has questioned everything; she did that when she and Courtney broke up, when she used non-binary pronouns for a year, when she couldn’t get a job at a Big Journalism Company right out of undergrad. None of these things felt wrong – except for the not-getting-a-job – but it was sticky. It was coagulated sugar on a cinnamon roll. It was raspberry jam spilling everywhere. It was – it was – it was a time.
So, she’s ordering perfume and a new dress and new lip balm and a bracelet and Something-Else-Moira-Recommended off Etsy. Maybe she’ll cut her hair again. It’s getting a bit longer, now. It peaks over her ears in a fuzz like the breaking curl of a wave. The soft part. Forget the undertow. Memphis groans, loudly, and then – oh, that smells good. Zack must be cooking. That’s kind of His Thing. Memphis bakes compulsively, Zack cooks everything else. It’s very functional. Having twelve trays of raspberry crowns in their fridge when Zack comes home after a three-day-bender is very functional. They’re delicious. Stop looking at me like that! I’m fine. Promise. I just… I was so worried. I called so many times. I... I th-... I missed you.