Hello there, reader, and welcome. Thanks for stopping by my thread and having a glance. I have recently returned from a lengthy hiatus to deal with boring real-life things and am now back on the hunt for new partners, new stories, and new adventures. I am lit to advanced depending on your perspective and really use those terms more as an indiciation of intent. I want to write quality stories with partners who want the same. I love to create big complex plots with rough edges and a romantic core. My responses are focused around giving you descriptive responses that give you plenty to hook onto. As far as frequency goes, I will try to get back to you whenever I can, so please feel free to bump if it's been longer than a week. I'll be updating this thread as more ideas come to mind, so be sure to check in every once in a while.
Spa○ ○ ○ About You
I'm looking for someone who has much the same interests that I do. I want a partner who wants to write a story we can both fall in love with. World-building together is always a plus if you enjoy it, and if you're making a character specifically for the story all's the better. If you like a plot of mine, I'd be happy to work on it with you. If you have a plot of your own that you think I'd like, run it past me. So long as you're up for communication and have a strong grip on writing, as well as a similar interest in romantic and adventurous stories then we'll get along famously. If your tastes run a bit more towards the human experience, a bit more slice-of-life or something a bit more cerebral, there's also plenty of opportunity for that as well!
Spacer▶▷ Blood Bound[Fantasy ; Knight x Vampire ; Role Reversal, Conspiracy, Weak Dom/Strong Sub]
Those of the Valtrois Clan suffer from a rather bitter curse. Like all vampires, their lineage is marked with a unique curse that forever haunts their unlife. Unlike the ghoulish Palisters, the rhyme-choked Corrigans, or the paranoid Uvlians, the Valtrois are largely unharmed save for a single crucial weakness; all blood tastes like ash and smoke in their mouth and barely slakes their hunger, except for the blood from one human in the world. Who this human is can be difficult to find, but for the youngest Valtrois, as beautiful as a pale rose and yet inexperienced in the world of the night, she was fortunate. Her Hunger was not only near, but even appropriate for her, a young man of humble birth but great ambitions. Like many, she could simply have taken him, scooped him out of his home and bound her to her demesne, save for one problem. This man was training to be a knight, and unless he permitted it, his blood would burn like fire in her mouth. So instead, she would need to offer him a deal; some of her power for his blood, on a regular basis...and so would begin a cycle of need as she fed on blood and he on the spoils of her supernatural might.
Spacer▶▷ My Hero[Antiquity/Iron Age ; "Hero" x Sorceress ; Deception, "Master/Pet", Romance]
Sailors in the area around the Shrouded Isle knew to avoid it, lest their ships fall victim to the strange calamities that seemed to befall any who brazenly violated the mists. This much was told to the foreigner, a demi-god and Hero who had been destined to find his fortune on that very isle, yet he heeded no warning, recklessly plunging himself into the mists and reaching the shores of the isle. Little did he know that on that isle lurked a woman unlike any other, a power sorceress who had been condemned there for her withcraft and forbidden by the gods from departing without one of divine blood carrying her out. To make this task more impossible, the gods filled her land with monstrous creatures and prevented her from the release of death. When the Hero triumphed over the monsters and he found the palace in the center he sought out its inhabitant. The sorceress, canny enough to recognize him for what he was, feigned her attraction, wooing him to take her away from this island and to the Kingdom that had been stolen from him. She promised him the throne, wealth, and fame anything she could to deceive him. It wasn't too difficult to fool the arrogant man that he was every bit the Hero he thought himself. Yet, once she was free, she wouldn't flee, she saw opportunity. It would be possible to use her new "savior" as a weapon in her vengeance against the gods by having him slay the other demigods for her, to spite the petty gods who had wronged her.
Spacer▶▷ The Last Chancers[Historical Fiction Mixture ; Lost Soul x Lost Soul ; Mystery, Grim Fantasy]
The righteous go to Heaven and the wicked go to Hell, that's the way it should be, right? For most people it is, but for five souls when their time came, too early by some folk's reckoning and not soon enough by others, they didn't go that far away, instead winding up in New Orleans in a once-grand plantation home. Here they were renewed, made whole and youthful again, given power beyond the mundane. It was there that they met the Warden, himself a soul barred from passing on made both jailer and prisoner number one in this arrangement. Each week a golden envelope with black lettering would arrive, slid by unseen hands under the door. Whatever the task, the letter would always be closed out with the same words, "This is one step more on your road to redemption." The promise of freedom from this unending struggle, these unending tasks, the opportunity to finally receive judgment was one that drove those trapped souls to continue on. With the task delivered, the doors of that manor would swing open and each time it opened to a new place in a new time.
Spacer▶▷ At Your Service[19th Century Fantasy; Lesser Noble x Atypical Princess ; Romance, Rough Woman]
It was rare that the third child of a King would even be permitted to come within earshot of true power. Undoubtedly, by virtue of their birth they were offered great opportunity, but the throne was never to be theirs. First an heir, second a spare, and third? Well, for the King of the vast Kingdom of Caltera his third child opted to join the military. This wasn't entirely uncommon, but the fact that the King's third child was his only daughter caused a minor scandal in court. Of course, the Princess soon proved herself to be more than the equal to any commander in the Royal Army. To many, it seemed that things would proceed well with the kingdom's overseas holdings secured by the Royal Navy and her overland empire kept firmly in hand by the Princess-General. However, an explosion at the palace rocked the entire Kingdom. Both the Crown Prince and his younger brother perished along with dozens of courtiers and heads of state. Chaos threatened to grip the realm as the King, himself injured in the attack, hung on only barely as he waited for his daughter to be recalled. She arrived just in time to hear his final words, warning of the High Nobles and that treachery found home in the ranks of the so-called Wellborn. Instead, he told her to look to the old families, those who had been with theirs for centuries, and in there find an ally who would help secure her realm and watch her back once the crown was on her brow.
Writing Sample A
There was no reward lying beyond the gates of nihility that separated the living and the dead. That was what Lord Septimus had come to believe after facing his own undoing. Instead, he was mostly adrift in a void of his own mind and when he became aware of that fact, rather than the cold embrace of nothingness, he was instead placed a few minutes before his undoing....
The chorus of war thundered all around him; the cries of the living and that ghastly moans of the dead and dying as they crashed against one another like water against the coast. In the middle of it all was Septimus, one hand completely slicked with gore, his claws extended and the muscles of his right arm throbbing with eager strength, ready to cleave apart metal armor with his usual disdain. In his left hand, almost delicately cradled, was the hand of his newest and most prized acquisition, his mightiest Bride, the Justice Atellia. She had once soared above the skies on wings of alabaster delivering spears of light over his forces. Now? She walked with him, her wings made more to resemble his own and her spear at his command. They casually wrought havoc as they walked together, and he looked forward with cruel delight at how her "Sisters" refused to strike her down, hoping that they could free her. Then, the youngest of them broke ranks, surging forward on her steed, crushing skeleton and craven human in his command with each fall of her beast's feet. Septimus made no effort to hide, no effort to deflect the attack; a single Justice could not harm him, that time had long since past.
The impact of her lance in his chest was a dull thump, little more than a punch, and he opened his mouth to laugh. She had been so kind to deliver herself to him! Yet, there was something in her violet eyes that spoke of triumph, and even as the laughter fell from his lips it was warped, twisted into a roar of pain and discomfort as his very essence began to undo itself. His blood burned in his veins and he clenched tightly to Atellia's hand, clinging to her for a moment and feeling her hand curl back around his, trying to offer help in that single moment. That single instant, the sound of her wail of despair filling his ear as he felt his body rip itself apart, had given him plenty to think about for his existence here in the void.
In his previous life he had simply used those who offered him their everything. It wasn't that he was utterly without affection for them, Septimus certainly had his favorites, but for much of his time he had treated them as prized tools rather than with the affection they earned. In his final moment, however, Atellia looked at him, tried to hold onto him, tried to keep him alive...and that struck him as something curious. He had never felt that sort of connection before, and it left him perplexed. Even She had never treated him like that all those centuries ago. She always had Her own way, Her own agenda, and that informed him of the nature of power. Yet, Atellia and Himiko both...
He was adrift in a void of his own mind...but this time the memory did not repeat itself. Instead, words, new words, filled his existence and caused his essence to twist where it rested, freeing itself of the statue of the batlike demon deep underneath one of the buried temples in Sakahana. Someone was freeing him...he was not dead, not destroyed, it seemed he was trapped. The words each gave him more and more to think about, more to remember his self, to BE again, and once the chant finished he managed to take a breath for the first time in however long it had been.
The dark and dingy ruins of what had once been a temple, centuries ago, The entire ceiling, such as it was, was a thick carpet of overgrown vines, roots of trees, and unnatural webbing. There was no light to be had here, the sun itself was hundreds of meters above, and the eerie and deathly quiet of the forgotten temple seemed to rebel against the speaker. She was a dark-haired woman, speaking in front of a piece of black rock carved in the shape of a horrific grinning bat-like figure, and yet her words brought forth the most strange result.
No sooner had the final words left her mouth than the statue cracked, its wings falling to the ground into powder and a crimson mist pouring from its mouth. The mist twisted, writhing in defiance in front of her, before it coalesced into a shape, a humanoid one. It didn't take long before it took the form of a man, his unnaturally pale flesh flawles and seemingly carved of living breathing alabaster save for two pin-pricks on his left wrist, a pair of flaws in his otherwise perfection. He drew a sharp gasp but didn't exhale, instead glancing around him with a pair of acid-green eyes that shifted rapidly to deep crimson, eventually settling on the face of the female in front of him. He drew himself up to his full height, the final wreath of mist settling around him as a loose black robe, his waist-length blond hair obscuring his manhood along with his robe as he regarded her curiously.
Writing Sample B
Dmitri wasn't a religious man. The Chorus of the Cosmos was something he had memorized, as any good boyarich would, but he never took its words to heart. Despite that, as his ship rocked and the display monitor in front of him screamed out alerts of the ever-failing systems, the familiar chant was running just on the mercurial surface of his consciousness. While his mind may have been occupied with the familiar pious words, his hands were a whirlwind of activity, adjusting as many gauges and limiters as he could get his hands on to reduce the incoming damage, changing his automated defenses to manual control to ward off a particular threat, all the while whipping his head back and forth to the various displays. The muscular pantari wasn't a fighter ace, though he certainly wished he was at the moment, and while he was a more than adequate pilot, his place was underneath one of these interceptors rather than inside of one. He could recite technical specs all day with the same straight and steady tone, even answer any pop quiz you could muster, but now he was feeling his least favorite emotion; desperation.
It was understandable, perhaps, to feel that desperation as three mercenary vessels were doing their best to weave around and blow him out of space, but that didn't mean he had to like it. His knees had been jammed against the undercarriage of the controls for the past five minutes, such that they were numb as he steered with only his legs and the auto-pilot. This chase, fortunately, was nearly over as salvation loomed ahead of him. A massive structure dangled against the white-dotted void in his viewport, susepnded as if from some invisible string of gossamer; bobbing serenely and blind to his plight. That structure was a zeta gate, the faster than light travel enabler for the Imperia, and it would allow him to leap to safety...assuming he could make it.
The minor audio glitch didn't bother him, elation leaping through him as he threw his left hand towards the smaller display and started punching in the user portion of the sequence. He only needed to type in thirty characters, the computer would provide the other eighty or so. The interceptor lurched as the sound of a slug exploding against his shields rocked throughout the cabin.
DAMAGE REPORT: Ancillary Functions Non-Responsive, Secondary Systems- Landing, Navigation, and Zeta: Non Responsive. Primary Systems at 85% nominal.
He wasn't the sort to hit machines, a sore hand often did little to ameliorate wounded pride and lost tempers, but if he ever had the urge to it was now. Dmitri wracked his brain for the rest of the sequence he was typing, dialing out the only one he memorized as he quickly tried to get the zeta sequence loaded. Another shot hit the shields, and this time he swung towards the zeta panel, using both hands and his full attention to try and get the sequence in correctly. 80 keys, 85....90....
A faint thud filled the cabin but this was quite different from the shielded impact of the slugs. He had heard that sound before in low-orbit; the sound of impending death, a direct strike. His fingers halted on the 93rd key, glancing at the display as he realized the audio had been damaged by the impact.
DAMAGE REPORT: Ancillary and Secondary Systems- Non-Responsive. Fire Control- Disabled, Navigation- Disabled, Communications- Disabled...
The list of broken systems was much longer than the working ones, but he noticed that the zeta drive hadn't been a casualty. He was jumping blind, of course, without navigation; even a single wrong key could make the jump fail, but he had to risk it. Reaching out he redirected all power from shields to thrusters and punched in the final keys, the familiar sound of the zeta drive firing up filling his cabin as he took hold of the controls. His ship blasted forward just as silvery light began to wrap around him like a cocoon. He was safe! He was going to live!
A second thud, this one much closer to him, filled the cabin just as the light overtook him.
The light unfurled around him and a sudden jolt of inertia took his ship, pulling it into a spin. Normally, he'd have gyro-stabilizing systems adjust to any gravity as he emerged from a zeta, but that was a system long-since destroyed. Instead, he found himself next to no other zeta gate and, instead, his view-port was overwhelmed by a mass of blue and green...a planet, one which he had begun careening towards it with the speed he had brought with him from the zeta. Immediately he clutched the handles of his control stick and strained against the mechanism to turn the interceptor's boosters and steady himself as he fell into the atmosphere.
The alert screens were now screaming warnings to him about his speed, his lack of control, and frankly he could barely acknowledge them. Instead, he had to focus on one thing, as he had nothing else left; he had to make a landing somewhere as non-fatal as possible. With some of his last bits of control he strained against the controls with all the force he could muster, managing to right the ship. Now, he thought dryly, he could see the death approaching him as the endless blue waves drew closer and closer. A water landing would be acceptable if he could ditch the ship immediately. For all the value of a Hussar-class interceptor, it was not a sea-worthy ship, and the tides of whatever world would claim it as its own in minutes. A corona of white light and orange flames had formed around the exterior of his ships as the atmosphere of the world started to tear at his ship's exterior.
Just as all seemed lost he spotted it, a faint flicker of deep green and sandy beach in the distance, a sliver of hope against a blue blanket of death. Dmitri steadied himself, calming his breathing and focusing on the task. He had enough energy for a quick burst, five seconds tops, and after that he'd throw every single bit of power into his shields to reduce his impact. As he got closer, counting the distance based on his speed and his best guess, his hands reached around the cabin to secure his crash kit, the pneumatic lock hissing as it clicked onto his back. On his hip holster he pressed the rotating pistol and a single spare ammo cell; thirty shots of burning plasma delivered at super-sonic speed with intense accuracy....just in case. His preparations for landing made he saw his moment, seeing the waves ever closer, and slammed the boosters, jumping him forward as he counted off his burn in seconds as accurate as a clock. He released it in 4.93 seconds, a bit short, and hopefully one that wouldn't cost him.
It did.
He wasn't going to quite land in the shallows, instead he'd be landing in the coastal shelf...but it wasn't the depths. It would have to do. He locked the steerage and focused everything on the ship's shields. Sore hands released the control sticks as he picked up the most priceless item in his vessel and clutched it to his chest as he pressed the activation for the zero-point shield, hoping its powerful defense would save his body. The next moments were a blur, the impact sending him through his view-port and into the depths, stunning him temporarily as he kicked through the shield, pushing away from the vessel that had already started to sink behind him.
Shore. Shore, he had to make it to shore!
Flailing in his heavy armor, his vision obscured by his helmet, he kicked away from the pull of gravity that threatened to drag him down and broke the lapping waves to see the white sands. It was sunset, he realized, the golden rays above guiding him towards salvation. His lungs burned, the air knocked out of him and the lack of oxygen available causing his head to swim with the rest of him before he felt his boots grip into the sand. Almost there! He stumbled onto the sand, reaching up and wrenching the helmet from his face, but in his haste took in a massive surge of briny water, filling his mouth and lungs and forcing him to try and hack it up, but this, along with the strain, was too much even for him.
A single step out of the water, black armor and coat dripping with water, was all he could manage as he collapsed into a shallow pool of water in the sands. Was this it? He survived a fall from space to die in a puddle less deep than his fingers? How ignoble...how tragic.
Cosmos keep this pilgrim soul, he offered in his last vain thought before all he saw was black.
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