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Echoplex

Super-Earth
Joined
Mar 27, 2014
Location
Nova Scotia



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                Greetings, loved ones. I'm Tay - 22, computer science major.

                I'll try and be curt so we slake our cravings by jumping to the meat of my request,
                but for the time being, here are some little tidbits about me as a roleplayer:


                • DOM & SUB Dominant/submissive titles are relative to me. In hindsight, my
                  characters (male or female) possess dominant personality traits (they're
                  aggressive, initiators, etc). Whether they're physically dominant is up for discussion,
                  just know that they're a far cry from your Spoiled Sweet trope.

                  SMUT VS EROTICA I enjoy the later. The user DIG explained my outlook on this
                  quite eloquently: "Honestly I get really bored when sex is approached immediately,
                  I like when characters bait each other, or cock block, taunt and seduce.
                  It's all about the menu and the dinner - if you jump straight to desert then
                  you'll be full for a while but wanting more."

                  INGENUITY Be unique! Bring me your colorful characters and unique writing
                  styles; actively plot with me, take turns scheming surprises and fuck-ups. I like
                  it when people wedge a wrench in my gears. I do not like when things are so heavily
                  predetermined that I feel like I'm reading a script.


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                Going into the next part, here's my F-LIST.

                WHAT I LOVE multi-racial characters, power/dominance struggles, love triangles (m/m/f), polyamory,
                defining character flaws, love/hate relationships, slow-burning romance

                WHAT I HATE incest, big age gaps, everyday names (Jack, Emily, John), pure smut, premade face claims,
                rape, macrophilia, completely sex-themed plots, first person/present tense roleplays

                Multiple characters are necessary to keep our story afloat. I also find that plots are like water -
                they ebb and flow, so in the spirit of progression, we both must implement our own plot devices,
                twists and turns to be efficient, otherwise I'll get cranky. Trust me, it ain't cute.

                In regards to writing, proper quotations (this is a massive pet peeve of mine), style and flow are
                detrimental. Repetition is an easy trap to fall into and monstrously monotonous, so if you find that
                you're not a strong writer, or if you're daunted by my writing (please check my samples below)
                then we may not be compatible writers :c

                SAMPLE #1 Borderlands [ Intro ]
                Whatever remained was usurped by Pandora’s gravitational pull. The remnants of smashed shrapnel circled aimlessly about in the soundless vacuum called space, occasionally making impact with its bigger counterparts. The resulting explosion was soundless, like watching a black and white silent film on the big screen. If sound was present, it would have been enough to rest Jack from his death throes, but something else beat the jettisoned space junk to the punch. In his dreams he likened it to a wraith; the omnipresent shadow of a woman lurching over his corpse when all he could see were geysers of red erupting around him. After escaping with the starmap, Lillith, Roland and the other vault hunters left Jack for dead. With the Destroyer subdued the vault collapsed on itself, erasing the existence of Hyperion tech and the intellectual riches stored in the bedrock.

                When the magma rose high enough, his angel collected him in her arms and vanished. He recalled, briefly, the feeling of warm water enveloping him. The white hot lance of pure pain painted on his now twisted face was altogether absent and, ultimately, he was stirred to life with a quick stab of electricity. He jerked upright, like one of Zed’s zombie experiments, except all of his intestines were safely fastened on the inside of his gut.

                Fortunately, where he awoke was well off considering the status of the rest of the station. The walls were eked out in a gaudy, canary yellow, splashed with the low hanging buzz of swaying light fixtures. He couldn’t tell which was more yellow—the lights, or the paint. Regardless, he instinctively touched his face, flinching when the memories flooded back. He was convinced he should be feeling agony when in retrospect, he felt nothing but the gloved pads of his fingertips. He caught his reflection on a fragment of shattered glass—he was handsome. Handsome-er, even. “This isn’t right.” He threw his weight from what appeared to be a table, flat, but humming with life, depicting a detailed map of Hyperion’s research facility.

                Much to his chagrin, there was no cognitive AI chronicling the events on Pandora; he couldn’t just ask a haphazard fixit loader what had transpired. Theoretically he could, but it would just veer off on a tangent about the broken state of the station. Frazzled, Jack collected his wits and made his way to an adjacent exit. The lights flickered. Outside of the glass pane doors broken black wires, like electric eels, writhed and swayed in the misconstrued gravity. From the far edge of the corridor he could hear a sound. A voice. It reminded him of the angel that saved him, or rather, the one he saw in his dreams.

                He closed the space between himself and the dimly-lit hallway, occasionally stealing a glance at Pandora. The locals thought it a gem but truthfully, it was a fetid hunk of sulfur wreaking of shit and slag.

                “Hey!” he hollered. His voice was skewed, but only from thirst. His eyes were unable to adjust to the darkness, but he knew the sound of a female voice as well as he knew a mirror—very well, if it was up for discussion. “I need to know what the hell is going on here. Now. Start talking, lady.” The darkness was deceiving. “You know. Talking. That thing where you move your lips and generally unfavorable sounds fall out.”
                SAMPLE #2 Far Cry [ Average ]
                The Rook Islands hadn’t changed since Jason’s departure. He sat, motionless, in the belly of a patrol cog. The thrum of the motor thundered in his backside underneath his uninviting bed. From the deck, the captain hollered, a poor translation of his name soiled with a South African accent. Jason did as he was bid and ventured up the stairwell where he was slapped with a fresh gust of ocean air. He shielded his sight; the captain glimpsed his many tribal markings but was quick to dismiss them. “Look.” He gestured to the horizon which was twilit and veiled in a fantastical pallet of colors. Jason could see a clutch of islands jutting up from the sea with the dying sun fanning its gold fingers behind them.

                “How much longer?” Jason’s voice wasn’t obsequious or polite as it had been a year ago. It was absent concern; empty, and his eyes were stern.

                “An hour, maybe 45 minutes.” Jason nodded and approached the vessel’s railing and peered curiously into the depths below.

                When the ship approached the islands Jason collected his belongings and thrust a neat stack of bills into the captain’s hand. He grumbled a poor excuse for a thanks and took to the jungle, on foot, unhindered by the frightening sounds and ambient cacophony of wildlife encircling him. The trek to the Amanaki Outpost was short, but Jason managed to stir a sweat despite the stagnant air. By the time he arrived at the gate his brow was damp and breath delayed; he felt his crew neck sticking to his chest and the undesirable buzz of mosquito's drawn to his odor.

                “Jason!”

                A woman greeted him at the gate, chocolate skinned and scantily clad. She clasped him on the shoulder, examined her surroundings them shoved him inside. The shanty town was significantly more fortified since he last remembered and the indigenous were armed to their teeth. “Please, come.” She ushered him to the middle of the encampment where two Rakyat soldiers awaited. Both were familiar and greeted Jason with similar courtesy.

                “So you’ve returned,” the taller of the two put in. “A cold comfort ... but a comfort nonetheless. There is much we must brief you on, Dennis among the topics.” Jason’s eyes fell crestfallen upon the mention of his old friend. “But first. There is a woman here, fair of skin as you; she is not from here. A friend? It was unwise for you to bring them—”

                “I didn’t bring friends.”
                SAMPLE #3 Werewolves [ Average | NSWF ]
                The chime of his belt was a redolent of a death-knell; a harbinger of the figurative monster that was about to spring out at her. She was contemplative, mulling over his query, wrenching his belt from his trousers all in the same moment. Likely not, she meant to admit, but she merely responded with a suggestive raise of her eyebrows, chasing the hemline of his boxers with her fingernails as if she was tracing unseeable lines.

                Outside of their tastefully decorated love nest the music thawed. The light from the fixtures split through the chandeliers in fragments and bathed Lotus in their kaleidoscopic beams. In the aurora, she resembled a Polynesian priestess being elected into godhood—but the priestess wasn’t clairvoyant and she didn’t perceive the divan folding underneath them. It was an easy transition, fortunately. The pillows made their tryst all the more comfortable. She draped his belt around his neck like the lawyers who unfastened their ties earlier that night and continued her adventure. The button on his jeans popped open and she made quick work of the zipper.

                “Your ex.” It was more a statement of validation than a question. “Some women are spitfires. What we lack in physicality we make up in ingenuity.”

                The moment of truth was just that—truthful. When she reaching into his boxers, there was a brief gleam of surprise. She discovered that he wasn’t one of those blue-collars with unimpressive dicks, no—his cock was a slab of heavy, hot heat. When she hauled it out—barely able to fit her hands, which were not in any physicality small, around it—she exhaled. “Fuck,” she managed. Even drunk he was monumental - somehow, through the miasma of Guinness, he stood at full salute. Remarkable.

                She had to drum up a plan of attack.

                Lotus kissed him first. She anchored her mouth onto his cock, rubbing her tongue up and down as he planted his hand on her shoulder. Cillian’s skin was hot and salty; she could virtually taste his desire and feel him throb when she drove her tongue in circles around his most sensitive spot. After full assessment she concluded that the attentive approach would be best for getting her client off, but, despite her mild enjoyment, she hoped he was easy to work over.

                It was largely doubtful, though.

                Message Me!

                I roleplay through PMs, threads and Skype (intruxx).

                When you do message me, introduce yourself! Tell me what kind of roleplay you want to do, what
                kind of character you'd like to play, throw in some of your own ideas and tell me what venue you'd
                like to write in!

                NOTE: I will not plot alone. If I notice early on that you're asking me all of the questions and not
                contributing to the story - during plotting or the actual roleplaying - I'll get discouraged and stop responding.



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                08.18.15 NEW THREAD, NEW IDEAS!
                08.31.15 Thread overhaul. Lots of new open spots for stories!
                12.25.15 It's been a minute, but here I am! Back from hiatus and ready to party.

                CURRENT ROLEPLAYS


                • "Crimewave" w/ intergalactic starlord (Gaia) via email | demon(s) x summoner(s)

 
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