Realistic or Modern Old College Try (mxm search)

[Partly Harmless]

That title's for all three (3) Mountain Goat's fans out there. You're welcome.

Well here comes May, yet it's still cold here in the Great Midwest, so I need some roleplays to respond to while I'm stuck under my heap of blankets. Maybe we can work something out?

• About Me
• Pairings and Premises
• Writing Sample

• 
  
  • I only roleplay mxm, though I'll happily play all sorts of pairings when it comes to side characters.
  • I prefer to write responses that are at least 500 words. I love detail.
  • Third-person, past tense. Trust me, you don't want me to try anything else.
  • I have character sheets prepared but don't find them imperative.
  • I'm super flexible and easy-going, so don't be afraid to ask questions!
• Pairings
  
  Bolded roles are the ones I prefer, but I'll refer you back to the last point on the "about me" section. I'm super flexible.
  I have ideas for plots surrounding most of these, that's just a lot of typing and I'm tired.
  
  
  • Band Member x Fan
  • Band Member x Band Member
  • Punk x "Average Joe"
  • Punk x Punk
  • Seasoned Prisoner x Framed Innocent
  • Farm Hand x City Boy
  • Closeted x Out
  • Teacher x Parent of Teacher's Student
  
  Premises
  
  
  • Childhood friends turned lovers after time away from each other.
  • Unexpected stranger sleep-over (someone's too drunk to go home after a party, there's a mild injury that requires said person to stay, etc).
  • Awkward relationships (dating the brother of an ex-wife, for instance)
  
  I'll think of more, I swear.
  
• For those who like to know what they're getting into.
  
  ---
  
  Ah missed this.
  
  The pounding music, the sweaty bodies, the sea of mohawks… there was no place Handa would rather be. It had been months since he had found a good dive and he had begun to wonder if the United States even had the punk scene it had bragged about. Sure, the days of the Germs and SLC Punk! were long gone, but there still had to be residual members, right? Even with all of the “punk is dead” talk, Handa found it hard to believe that such a large and widespread movement could be wiped out just like that. The Adicts were still kicking. That had to mean something. It was true that finding some of his own kind was a harder task than it used to be, but in his various travels, he had found that the enduring groups were very much alive and well.
  
  Alas, a proper venue. Handa figured this building was probably some sort of bar when not overrun by the scum of society, but there was certainly no strict carding, if any at all. And there were certainly no lack of minors here. Handa remembered those days, drinking way underage, feeling so rebellious. Otherwise, Handa was pretty straight edge by most definitions. No tattoos, no piercing, no hard drugs - some people back home had questioned the authenticity of Handa’s punk-ness. At least here, everyone was too busy to call that into question. Besides the lack of body piercing or markings, Handa fit the style perfectly. With jet-black Mohawk and eyeliner to match, he was the epitome of punk fashion. His worn-in combat boots, Subhumans tank top and multi-zippered pants simply added to the effect. Handa wasn’t proud of many things, but he was immaculate in his appearance and prided himself on following the punk lifestyle to a fault. This garnered some odd stares, sure, but he had gotten used to standing out and didn’t mind in the least. In anyway other than his appearance Handa was not a very showy person and liked to think of himself as an ambassador to punk, proving to all the boring squares of society that the counterculture wasn’t all that bad. Tonight, he was off the clock.
  
  Warm beer in hand, music pounding through his body, the punk was amongst his people. He didn’t have to be polite. Hell, he didn’t even have to think if he didn’t want to. There were, however rules to follow. Not every punk was an anarchist. It had taken dive after dive, party after party to learn all of the nuances of punk culture, but at the prime age of twenty-three, Handa felt as if he had a pretty good handle on things. It was easy to pick out the young guns, who were yelling as many obscenities as they could possibly think of in order to get attention. This was always confusing to Handa, for curse words seemed to lose their meaning the more they were used. Kids will be kids, he figured, trying to take a sip of his bear while amidst many of the same youngsters he was just complaining about.
  
  After he had been sufficiently bumped and jostled by the other slam dancers, Handa pushed his way through the crowd to get closer to the band, always one attracted to the music itself, not just the energy. His tall, lanky frame made it easy for him to see over those of a much small stature as he leaned against the wall, his eyes trained on the guitarist. He loved the energy in the middle of the crowd, but it was always nice to separate himself and just listen, sometimes. Besides, coming here alone brought his energy level down quite a bit and he had yet to find anyone to really connect with. His eyes moved from the guitarist to the crowd, content to people watch for the time being. Like any other social faction, there were well established clique and, being the newcomer, it seemed as if most people were avoiding him until they could discern his business, which was fine by him.
  
  The band was good. Not the best he’d seen, but they certainly had the energy, which was probably more important than the music with this crowd. Unknowingly, Handa had drifted pretty close to the edge of the stage, right in line with the bass guitarist. Even if he had wanted to focus on something else, he probably couldn’t, all of his attention consumed with the reverberating sound that came out of the cheap amplifier. He was tall. Loud. Good though. Probably did this a lot. He could see a band like this amassing quite the following simply by looking the part. As Handa evaluated the musician in front of him, the last number seemed to be coming to a close, making the cheers and screams around him all the more audible. “Ah’ll go deaf ‘fore ah’m thirty,” he mumbled, but his words were carried away with the rest of the din, never to be heard by anyone but himself. That was okay, though. He was used to being his own company
  

If any of the above interests you, shoot me a PM or comment below and I'll be happy to start planning with you!

 

[mourning star]

Hey! Sorry to bother you if you're no longer looking for partners, but I'm definitely interested in your band member x fan or your band member x band member pairings!

 

[Partly Harmless]

As the weather gets colder again, I continue my search.