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Hiya.
I was a pretty avid rp'er back when the first guild was running. I've kind of weeded my way off the major role playing guilds but I've been dying to rp again. I mostly do yaoi.
One thing to note is that I can be very picky. My current partner has spoiled me in way of what I look for in an rp. I expect detailed posts with proper grammar (mostly - we all slip up), as well as interesting characters that are dynamic and challenge my own. One-off posts are fine when it's back and forth banter, but I'm really looking for someone that can get in-depth with their details (but not so much that it winds you). Below is an example of how I write. If you think you can match it, go ahead and reply with an idea or two.
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"Sixty seven... sixty eight... sixty nine... seventy..."
Alone in the darkened space of the work room, Kova had his own way of dealing with his problems. On the floor, the shirtless fighter pumped himself up and down with quick, heavy pushups. His skin was slick with sweat, shimmering beneath the single light turned on above him. He'd been like this for the past three days. He'd barely sleep, grab a couple bites to eat, and then train for the rest of his day before repeating the cycle. Training gave him time to think, or lack their of. Corbin hadn't been the only one who needed time to himself.
"Ninety eight... ninety nine... one hundred..." Sitting up on his knees, Kova rolled his shoulder, hearing a pop beneath his neck. He sighed in relief before glancing at his communicator. It was nearly two in the morning, yet Kova had no desire to rest. So, standing, he stretched out his arms and decided to head towards the punching bag. Wrapping his knuckles, he approached it with clouded eyes.
All those days of being at Corbin's side. Of waking up to him, of ******** him, of feeling his skin and listening to his voice... All of it had been a lie. He didn't know what was worse to him, honestly. The fact that he was tricked into feeling what he felt or the fact that he actually thought that he was... happy.
He took a few heavy swings at the bag, the skin lighting up at contact. Each hit was recorded against the leather in blue fiber-optic lighting, measuring the weight of each hit. Rolling into it, his punches were weighing in at 170 kilograms per swing on average. Good for just warming up. He let his mind wander.
He remembered the feeling of that first kiss. Hell, he hadn't had sex that good in ages. In fact, he couldn't even remember the last time he had that kind of raw quality. Corbin had just had the perfect body for him. So tight, so willing and so perfect in size. Just the sight of him, bent over and asking for it, gave Kova the shivers.
182... 180... 185.3... The electronic bag continued to clock in his punches, his weight seeming to increase the longer he thought.
Not only that, he'd really opened up to that Corbin p***k. Told him s**t absolutely no one knew. Told him it in confidence. What he'd done, all that blood on his hands... He'd tried to get Corbin to help wash it off. The sickening part about it? When he got all that off his chest, he felt good.
197.3... 198.1... 201... 203.2...
It was like he wanted to tell the little b***h all his secrets. He never wanted to tell anyone his past, but there he was, thinking Corbin might have been different. When he kissed him afterwords, held his hand, cradled him, Kova actually thought that there was some semblance of decency there. That he'd made the right choice. Fat lot of good it did him.
215... 212.4.... 217... 224...
And now here he was. The fool of the hour. Exposed, humiliated, and in the end, worse off for ever having crossed paths with that deceitful -
226
- hurtful -
231.3
- malicious -
237.9
- indecent, lying sack of s**t!
Kova yelled as he delivered his final punch. He felt the skin beneath his wrapped knuckles split and he gasped for air, leaning against the bag. His final swing stared at him, the blue numbers highlighting his face. 245.3. He gulped down air in large quantities, face sweating profusely against the skin of the bag. Closing his eyes, he hung there, weakly clinging to the round body of the piece of equipment. One thing was for sure: Corbin was a two faced little snake, and there would be no reason to ever see him again.
But, one question remained. Nagging sharply in the back of his mind: If everything he'd felt for him had been fake, why did he feel so heartbroken?
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