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 Queer as In Weird (Open, *NOT* Mature)

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PostSubject: Queer as In Weird (Open, *NOT* Mature)   Wed Nov 24, 2010 4:22 pm

"Queer, you are so queer.
You're like that blind seer
Claiming that you can see the color of light
When you don't even know if it's night

Weird, you're so weird
You're like that man with a beard
Saying it's stupid to trust some who hides their face
Maybe you just need someone to put you in your place.

Weird, you're so queer
You're like that gossip going on about what you hear
Spreading your lies like quick fire
Crying when they call you out as a liar

Queer, you're so weird
You're like the first person that jeered
Crossing lines and abusing just to the point it's not a crime.
Can't face that you're just sublime.


Art(c)Someone Else

Zivot Aries Trendal

Zivot stood on the stage, his hands cupped around the microphone delicately. As he recited his poem, his eyes lowered and became lidded. At random points, he would point out into the audience, never pointing out anyone in particular, but it added to the show. His voice was smooth, measured, sweet, as he read. It was obvious that he was completely confident in what he read.

When he finished his piece, the small café broke out into measured, smooth, collected applauds. He bowed once, his randomly cut, green hair swinging into his face. As he straightened, his peach hued eyes scanned over the crowd. He looked around for less than a minute and then turned and walked off stage.

Zivot lost all grace as soon a she was off stage. The performer was far from a natural one and it had taken him years to learn to speak so smoothly on stage. There were still hundreds of his pieces that he had yet to read from his ears of silence.

At a measly sixteen, Zivot had already spent five years of his life in complete silence. Every other month, he would take a vow of silence, just for that month, and then he would allow himself to talk for a month. Yet, his speech was reserved strictly for the stage on the months he allowed himself to speak. When he wasn’t reciting his poetry, he was reading or listening. Zivot offered neither words nor sounds. His conversations were held on paper or through text.

Speech wasn’t the only thing of elegance Zivot lost off stage. His stillness and delicate, demonstrating hand gestures on stage gave the illusion of grace. The practiced, measure gait as he walked of the sage belied polish.

As soon as his two feet touched the ground, he was tripping over himself and dropping things. Zivot had dropped his pens and notebooks so many times in the past that he now wore a side bag, rather than risk losing them.

Zivot the poet and Zivot the person were two completely different souls.

This was what he considered as he walked over to his usual seat in the back. He loved listening to other poets more than he enjoyed reciting his own poetry. Reading for others was his favorite honor and the only time he would actually practice.

Leaning his elbow on the table and staring at the stage in artistic rapture, Zivot was lost in his world.


[[Okay, so Zivot thinks that he is an ace (asexual), but really he just hasn’t met the right guy. I would love it if your character was a fan of Zivot the poet and approached him and thinks that Zivot the person is adorably clumsy. What starts out as a fan crush slowly turns into infatuation and Zivot is confused, caught up, and struggling to keep his silence. ♥ Of course, there will be more drama, but that is a quick summary. Message me for full details.
I would prefer if your character’s personality was dominant.
While the title says this is not mature, that is a lie. It will eventually reach the point where Zivot tries to express himself physically. However this roleplay will not be about smut and won’t reach a mature point for a good, long time.
I am honestly struggling to get back into human RPs and smut will probably scare me away from them again. >.> XD]]

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PostSubject: Re: Queer as In Weird (Open, *NOT* Mature)   Wed Apr 13, 2011 9:34 am

He wasn't a fan of poetry...or at least he hadn't been four months before, when his dear friend Catherine, aka Cat, had hauled him into that particular cafe to watch a performance. She had begged, whined, pleaded, and finally pulled him until he had gone in with her. Just as he had expected, he was more interested in the menu and the people than what was happening on stage. That was until he came on.

Green hair. Eyes that were a mix between orange and pink. Skin that was nearly white.
The male had been nearly perfect in appearance. His elegant bone structure and perfect coloring had left Damien paralyzed. Admiration and desire built in his blood, keeping his eyes keenly on the delicate shift of muscle and light way he carried himself.
That was before he talked. When he finally spoke, reciting the words with the reserve passion of cold fire, there was no way to describe the feelings that welled up inside of Damien.
By the end of the show, Damien had been certain that he was in love.

The problem ways: Damien wasn't gay. Sure, he was fine with being attracted to men, but it was always sexual. He wanted to fuck them. He didn't want to slowly caress them and whisper that he needed them, hold them through the night and cook for them in the morning. Without even knowing the poet, he knew that he wanted that for him. It was new, and while new was exciting, it wasn't the kind of thing he really wanted to have to live with. Being gay was a one way ticket to trouble, as far as he had ever seen, and his life brought enough of that unprovoked.

Or maybe it was provoked

Singing death metal and causing hell for others in the selfish pursuit of fun without a care in the word was certainly enough to invoke some sort of negative juju. Singing about death and destruction might summon those spirits to him.

Shaking his head to clear away the thoughts, Damien brushed his red and white-streaked hair out of his face and his chocolate colored eyes. He had decided long ago that no matter what demons his music brought, he would never stop singing. He simply loved it too much. His music was a huge part of him and he would never have it any other way.

Plus, that wasn't the main issue at hand.

He had finally come to terms with his feelings for the poet. It had taken four months of silently watching the shows and gazing longingly at the beautiful male as he watched the other artist for Damien to realize he wasn't getting over it any time soon. Even though Cat was ecstatic that they went to all of the readings, he wasn't content to just sit there for the rest of his life. For better or worse, he had decided to go after what he wanted. If it worked out, he would have to be brave about the future. If it didn't, he could breathe a breath of relief and move on.

Standing up just as Zivot sat down, Damien glanced at Cat and whispered, "Wish me luck."

"Puss," she whispered back with a smirk, but the look in her eyes said clearly that she supported him.

Grinning, but feeling shaky, he quickly crossed the room to Zivot's booth. Trying to keep a calm, clear head he greeted the other, "Hey, I am Damien. Mind if I sit here?" Somewhere in the back of his mind, he already mocked himself for how 'smooth' he had been. Damnit, he didn't even get butterflies with girls anymore. He was not getting them over some damn guy.

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