RP Examples [entries|friends|calendar] Amanda the Magnificent [ userinfo | insanejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | insanejournal calendar ]

Introduction [01 Jan 2020|05:39am] Age: 28 Experience: Online for about five years PSL or Comms: I prefer PSLs but will make exceptions Slash, Het, or Femme: Slash, mostly. I'd be willing to try het and femme. Sex Scenes or Fade to Black: Sex scenes, but if you're not comfortably with that I am, too. Celeb or PB: Both AIM or Thread: Usually I prefer AIM, but if I'm in a comm that threads I'll do that. If you're not comfortable with AIM, e-mail always works. Who I won't play against: I'll give everyone a chance. Location: Easton, Pennsylvania, United States; GMT -5 Fandoms: um... I really don't have any. RPF/Pundits might be the closest thing I have to one. ( Characters I Play ) post comment

Anderson Cooper // AU // Part 1 [26 Sep 2010|06:01pm] [ mood | happy ] 200 E. 94th St. New York City August 8, 1988 Two weeks. Two full weeks had passed since my brother's funeral, since the last time that I had set foot in this apartment, when I had dug through his closet looking for the suit that he was going to be buried in. Months earlier, Carter had purchased the rather expensive dark grey suit on a whim, because he liked the color and the material, though he'd admitted that he would never wear it. He really just wanted to make the purchase. I should have known, as he held that suit in his hand, that something was off. Something that I possibly could have stopped, that I could have helped. Nothing in the apartment had changed. Aside from the small stack of newspapers on the floor just outside the door -- the New York Times, one thing that Carter always said he missed when he was still at Princeton -- as well as the mail that the doorman was still in his box, everything was exactly how he had left it. Going through his unopened mail was something I was going to have to go through, some time in the near future, but not something I was ready to do just yet. Mom refused to come to his apartment, still clinging to the belief that it was all some cruel joke, and that he would be coming home any day now. Part of me yearned to be that optimistic. Carter had set up his desk to look out the large picture windows that faced Central Park, the heavy wooden piece of furniture pushed as close to the glass as it possibly could, making it feel as if there were nothing between the person sitting at the desk and the outside world. The apartment on the twenty-second floor was positioned in such a way that you could look out on the reservoir in the middle of the park, seeing the large green space kept pristine and natural right in the middle of the concrete jungle. Situated in the middle of this desk, a desk that I had always loved, was the Royal typewriter that our father had given to him for his eleventh birthday. Gifts like that always made me believe that my father really could see the future, could really tell where his sons were going in their lives. Carter loved to write; I remember the day that he got his job offer in Washington. He'd actually called me at college, and I could hear the smile on his face in his voice. Running my fingers along the keys of that aging typewriter, I could imagine him sitting here at his desk, typing frantically through draft after draft of whatever he'd been working on. A curious sight caught my attention through the open keyboard: an envelope, slid under the typewriter, as if Carter had been trying to hide it from the entire world. Curiously I lifted the typewriter just enough to slide the envelope out from underneath. I took a very deep, very shaky breath when I looked down at the envelope, and saw my name written very plainly on the front of the envelope, printed so that I would have been able to see it through the same hole that I spotted the envelope. I could feel my chest start to tighten as I opened the envelope and unfolded the several pieces of paper that were hidden inside, several pieces of paper that spelled everything that Mom and I were trying to decipher, everything that we were trying to figure out on our own. Several pieces of paper that spelled out an incredible lie. post comment

OMC // Sebastian Quinn (Gaspard Ulliel) // Part 1 [25 Sep 2010|12:50am] [ mood | creative ] Sebastian Quinn rarely took no for an answer. The reason that he rarely took no for an answer, was that he rarely heard it. Sebastian had a certain charm, a certain arrogance to himself that people, both men and women alike, could rarely resist. With the dark khaki North Face messenger bag slung over his shoulder and across his chest, Sebastian pushed his way through the revolving door and into the ornate hotel lobby, glancing around until he saw the lounge where the suits were all relaxing after a long day of making more money than Sebastian would ever see in his life. Without any hesitation he walked through a small group of men and women, mostly sitting at small round tables with half-filled glasses still sitting on bar napkins, until he was standing at the bar. Dropping one hand down, Sebastian turned the bar stool that happened to be standing in his way around so that it wasn't, and very quickly caught the attention of the bartender. He could tell immediately that Sebastian was not yet old enough to order something, but he could also tell that Sebastian was not looking to order anything that had any alcohol in it. Sebastian was merely looking for someone. When he had mentioned the man whom he had been looking for, the man behind the bar did nothing more than look off toward the back corner of the lounge, where large black leather booths sat one right next to each other, yet still afforded an amazing amount of privacy. Taking his ginger ale in one hand, wrapping the soft paper napkin around the already sweating glass, Sebastian made his way back toward the booth that the bartender had pointed at, carrying himself with the utmost confidence, even though deep down inside he was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, scared shitless. "Senator Whitney," Sebastian cooed very calmly, standing at the table just long enough to catch the older man's attention. He looked up over his martini glass, surprised at the sight of such a young man staring back at him. Instead of mentioning anything regarding Sebastian's age, the senator nodded and silently gave him permission to sit at the booth. "Senator Whitney, I believe you and my associate have spoken, regarding th--" "Cut the crap, son," Senator Whitney said sharply, taking a long drink from his martini glass, leaving it empty and close to the edge of the table. "I have no idea who you, or your associate think that you are, but I can assure you that you have no idea who you're dealing with, or what you are talking about." With a devilish smile on his face, Sebastian slid into the booth, resting his tumbler filled with ginger ale on the table, off to the side just far enough for Sebastian to rest his messenger bag on the table in front of him. "Sir, with all due respect," Sebastian began to say, unbuckling his bag as he spoke. "I think that I know exactly what I am talking about." Before the senator could say anything further, Sebastian pulled a brown clasp envelope from the bag and rested it on the table in front of the senator. "You're bluffing," the senator commented as he took a long, hard look down at the envelope in front of him. "Think I'm bluffing?" Sebastian asked in return, tenting an eyebrow as he reached for his tumbler and took a long sip of his non-alcoholic drink. "Go ahead, take a look. Then tell me I'm bluffing." post comment

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