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impius
The Devil Wears Lace.
- Joined
- May 1, 2025
ABOUT IMPIUS:
Impius here as a 25-year-old writer residing on the East Coast, standing at the precipice of sharing a world of stories cultivated over nearly fifteen years. For eight of those years, I have been focused on meticulous crafting of world-building and the nuanced shaping of characters.
I am only comfortable solely writing in the third-person perspective, I can write genres spanning from supernatural realms, epic fantasies, historical settings, and even glimpses into modern life. I am very drawn to the comforting sweetness of romance and fluff, I am not afraid to delve into more explicit territories but that is for you as my counter partner to find out for yourself.
WHAT I AM LOOKING FOR?
I'm searching for a collaborative writing partner who shares my passion for chemistry, both in terms of the subject matter and the creative process. I envision a partnership where we can brainstorm plot points, develop compelling characters, and meticulously craft dialogue. My writing output typically ranges from 500 to 2000 words, but I'm aiming for the 500-1000 word range currently due to work commitments. Open communication is paramount to me; I'll always keep you updated and informed. I understand that interest can wane, and I'd appreciate honesty if that happens β just let me know. I'm looking for someone who enjoys a relaxed, collaborative atmosphere and is excited to build a story together.
KINKS:
breeding, impact play, blood play, knife play, spanking, biting, marking/branding, power play, size difference, anal, voyeurism, exhibitionism, knotting, roughness, messy blowjobs, cunnilingus, anal, bondage, degradation, toys, clothing being ripped, praise, cnc, choking, sensation deprivation, overstimulation, orgasm denial and forced, ect.
LIMITS:
bimbofication, gore/vore, anything bathroom related, controlling my character, amputation, feet. I really can't think of anything else.
PLOTS THAT I HAVE IN MIND! I DO NOT MIND OTHER IDEAS, SHOOT YOUR SHOT OR WE CREATE SOMETHING AMAZING!
PLOT ONE: Interview with a Vampire meets Queen of the Damned. Pretty much think like Anne Rice! / Impius means Wicked in Latin if I remember correctly which is why the club name is that. I'm looking for someone to play another vampire, hunter, or a lycanthrope. So many endless possibilities.
New York City. A concrete jungle teeming with life roars with a vibrant energy during the day. But as the sun dips below the horizon, a different kind of life emerges, slithering from the shadows to claim the night. These creatures of the dark, drawn by instinct or driven by hunger, venture out to participate in the city's nocturnal pulse, some mimicking the mundane, others stalking unsuspecting prey. Yet, their paths, however varied, often converge on a single, infamous point: "The Impius." This club is a melting pot of sin and indulgence, pulsates with a dark allure, a discreet haven for the city's supernatural inhabitants. Among them, a figure of ancient power and chilling beauty walks amongst the mundane. A vampire who seeks the solace of her own kind within night club's walls, all while toying with the fragile lives that unknowingly surround her.
PLOT TWO: A Captain of the Royal Guard for a Queen of Vitalis.
Corvina is the last vestige of the proud Damocles line that has carried the weight of a kingdom on her slender shoulders. Orphaned too soon, she had been meticulously shaped into a queen, every lesson, every ball, every diplomatic engagement a step toward securing the future of her realm. Now the time had come to solidify her position to provide an heir. The court was abuzz with eligible lords and princes, their riches and lineage paraded before her like glittering prizes. Yet, amidst the ostentatious displays of wealth and power, Corvina found her gaze drawn to a different kind of strength, a quiet devotion that resided in the steely eyes of a certain Captain of her Royal Guard. A forbidden spark had ignited between them with a silent language spoken in stolen glances and fleeting moments of shared purpose. The choice before Corvina was agonizing: duty and tradition, or the dangerous allure of a love that could unravel the carefully constructed tapestry of her reign. Would she sacrifice her own desires for the sake of the kingdom, or succumb to the forbidden fire that burned within her for a man she could never truly have?
STARTER THREE: A Elvish Trade of the Heart.//This is where an elven princess is being traded for peace between the elves and humankind, she has been traded for an arranged marriage with the King.
The wind howled a mournful ballad across the desolate peace grounds, mirroring the turmoil in Princess Nessa's heart. For generations, humans and elves had clashed, and now, she was to be the offering β a princess traded for a fragile truce. Her father, the Elven King had painted humans as savage beasts, bloodthirsty and cruel. Every tale spoken at her bedside was a horror story of human atrocities, conditioning her to fear the very race she was now forced to trust. Dragged and protesting, Nessa arrived at the designated meeting point, her eyes wide with a mixture of dread and defiance. But the faces that greeted her weren't those of monsters; they were weary, cautious, perhaps even hopeful. Could her father's stories be lies? Could these humans, especially the king who was to be her keeper, be capable of kindness, or was this merely a facade concealing a darker intent? And what was her father truly planning? Was this peace offering a genuine attempt at resolution, or a calculated move in a larger, more sinister game?
PLOT FOUR: LYCANTHROPES. // I have a few ideas to throw into this one.
IDEA ONE: Driven by ambition and a nose for a good story, a seasoned big-city reporter traded skyscrapers for sprawling fields when she arrived in the sleepy rural town of Havenwood. A series of brutal unexplained attacks had plagued the community, turning neighbor against neighbor in fear and suspicion. Genevieve saw a chance to make a name for herself, to uncover the truth behind the gruesome events. Her investigation led her to the local watering hole, and its enigmatic bartenderβhim. With his charming smile and easygoing demeanor, He seemed to know everyone and everything about Havenwood, making him a valuable, if somewhat guarded, source of information. What Genevievedidn't realize was that his connection to the attacks ran far deeper than she could imagine, a secret woven into the very fabric of the town. But as she delved further into her investigation, the creatures that haunted Havenwood began to take notice, their sights set on the curious outsider. When Genevieve becomes a target, a single bite changes everything, blurring the lines between hunter and hunted. Now bound to the darkness she sought to expose, the man she met becomes an unlikely ally, his knowledge and hidden past the only things standing between my character and a monstrous fate, their destinies twisted together in a battle for survival against a terrifying enemy.
IDEA TWO: The Church's iron fist had crushed the supernatural world, branding all its inhabitants as abominations deserving only chains or death. Your character was once a respected blacksmith but was now a hunted beast. The lunar curse that twisted his flesh under the moon's glow had been his secret shame, until a zealous Inquisitor sniffed it out. Now silver-laced wounds burned across his chest, each step a fresh agony as he fled. The forest became a blur, the trees blurring into an indistinguishable green wall. But the poison soon claimed its price. Just as the world began to spin into a disorienting void, he collapsed with his world fading to black. When he finally blinked back into awareness, the scent of herbs and woodsmoke filled his lungs. He lay on a soft bed, the pain in his chest dulled to a throb. But this wasn't a sanctuary of the Church, this was a witch's cottage, a place whispered about in fearful tones, a place ruled by a power even the Church dared not provoke directly. He was saved, but thrown into a world of unknown forces and allegiances.
PLOT FIVE: THE TOMB OF THE VAMPIRE. // This is pretty much a vampire x hunter ordeal after age murders an entire group of archaeologists that discovered her after many centuries of being locked away. Or you could be another immortal coming across or or even a werewolf. Itβs your choice.
After days of navigating treacherous tunnels, their headlamps finally illuminated the chamber they sought - a tomb. A sarcophagus dominated the space, its stone surface disturbingly pristine, sealed shut by rivulets of what appeared to be melted silver. Ignoring a prickle of unease, they painstakingly hauled the sarcophagus back to their headquarters, driven by the thrill of discovery. The moment they breached the silver seal, a wave of stale, ancient air rushed out, carrying with it a scent of dust and decay. Inside lay a mummified corpse, remarkably preserved, but its mouth was agape, revealing disturbingly sharp fangs. Curiosity overriding caution, one archaeologist leaned in for a closer look, his hand brushing against a jagged fang, drawing a bead of blood. The drop landed squarely in the corpse's open mouth.
Silence stretched, then shattered as the mummified form convulsed. A collective gasp filled the room as the corpse's withered skin began to plump, color returning to its cheeks. The fangs lengthened, more pronounced now, as a chilling, inhuman growl rumbled from its throat. Panic erupted as the creature, no longer confined by death, lunged. It was a massacre. Teeth and claws tore through flesh and bone, fueled by an insatiable hunger. When the last scream faded, a horrifying transformation completed itself. Standing amidst the carnage was a woman of unnatural beauty, her eyes burning with ancient malice, her lips stained crimson. The creature was awake, and it was free, ready to unleash a reign of terror upon an unsuspecting world.
PLOT FIVE: DIVINE IMMORTALITY;; this is more of a darker story that involves kidnapping, and maybe more added elements.
In a realm where shadows danced with desire, lived an immortal whose existence echoed through the ages. He had witnessed empires rise and fall, loved and lost countless times, but none compared to the bond he shared with his immortal wife. She was his equal, a creature of darkness and light, who understood the vastness of his immortal soul. Their love was a tapestry woven with dark promises and thrilling awakenings, a dance on the edge of eternity. Yet, tragedy struck, severing their immortal thread. His wife, the one who held his heart captive, was murdered, leaving him to wander the ages alone, haunted by the echoes of their passionate, yet ultimately doomed, romance.
Centuries blurred into the modern present, the Immortal's shadowed existence stretching unbroken through time. The sting of his wife's death, once a raw, gaping wound, had long settled into a cold, familiar ache. Then came the whisper, a ripple disrupting the stagnant waters of his immortality: she was alive, reborn into mortal flesh. Driven by a desperate, possessive hunger, he tracked her down, snatching her from her unsuspecting life. He spirited her away to a secluded island, a gilded cage with a grand mansion perched atop the highest hill.
There, trapped and isolated, he demanded she become the woman he remembered, the woman he'd lost. But she was a stranger, a defiant spark in eyes that once mirrored his own. She met his demands with cold refusal, her spirit unbent. She would not yield, would not become a puppet dancing to the tune of his grief and obsession. She refused to touch him, her body a silent protest against his desperate delusion. The opulent prison stood as a testament to his power, but her unwavering rejection was a stark and potent weapon.
PLOT SIX: Genie in a Bottle, more like Succubus trapped in a Chest.
A nobleman presumed dead after the devastating war that shattered his kingdom, was a ghost of his former self. He was gaunt, clad in tattered remnants of finery, desperately trying to navigate the ravaged landscape towards what was once his home. Hope, a flickering ember in the face of widespread despair, propelled him forward. Then, the bandits appeared. A ruthless pack, they descended upon him with the hunger of jackals, eager to strip him of anything of value. But their greed had already been sated by a far more significant prize: a chest, unearthed from a long-forgotten cavern. It was an ominous thing, black as midnight, adorned with menacing rubies and etched with ancient, dire warnings. As he fought for his life, a desperate clash of steel and desperation, the chest was struck, splintering under the force of a stray blow. A plume of black smoke erupted, thick and suffocating, and from its swirling depths emerged a figure of breathtaking, terrifying beauty. A woman, with eyes like burning embers and an aura of undeniable power β a succubus, ancient and hungry, freed from her prison. She wasn't merely a creature of lust; she craved souls, and the bandits' presence was a feast laid out before her. In a whirlwind of dark magic and primal hunger, she turned on his attackers. When the dust settled, only the nobleman remained, spared by the succubus as a perverse reward for his unintentional act of liberation. Her crimson gaze now fixed upon him, a silent promise of a debt to be repaid.
Again, I am not opposed to other ideas being brought in but these are some of my cravings! I hope to see you all soon and I can't wait to see if we create something beautiful!
Impius here as a 25-year-old writer residing on the East Coast, standing at the precipice of sharing a world of stories cultivated over nearly fifteen years. For eight of those years, I have been focused on meticulous crafting of world-building and the nuanced shaping of characters.
I am only comfortable solely writing in the third-person perspective, I can write genres spanning from supernatural realms, epic fantasies, historical settings, and even glimpses into modern life. I am very drawn to the comforting sweetness of romance and fluff, I am not afraid to delve into more explicit territories but that is for you as my counter partner to find out for yourself.
WHAT I AM LOOKING FOR?
I'm searching for a collaborative writing partner who shares my passion for chemistry, both in terms of the subject matter and the creative process. I envision a partnership where we can brainstorm plot points, develop compelling characters, and meticulously craft dialogue. My writing output typically ranges from 500 to 2000 words, but I'm aiming for the 500-1000 word range currently due to work commitments. Open communication is paramount to me; I'll always keep you updated and informed. I understand that interest can wane, and I'd appreciate honesty if that happens β just let me know. I'm looking for someone who enjoys a relaxed, collaborative atmosphere and is excited to build a story together.
KINKS:
breeding, impact play, blood play, knife play, spanking, biting, marking/branding, power play, size difference, anal, voyeurism, exhibitionism, knotting, roughness, messy blowjobs, cunnilingus, anal, bondage, degradation, toys, clothing being ripped, praise, cnc, choking, sensation deprivation, overstimulation, orgasm denial and forced, ect.
LIMITS:
bimbofication, gore/vore, anything bathroom related, controlling my character, amputation, feet. I really can't think of anything else.
PLOTS THAT I HAVE IN MIND! I DO NOT MIND OTHER IDEAS, SHOOT YOUR SHOT OR WE CREATE SOMETHING AMAZING!
PLOT ONE: Interview with a Vampire meets Queen of the Damned. Pretty much think like Anne Rice! / Impius means Wicked in Latin if I remember correctly which is why the club name is that. I'm looking for someone to play another vampire, hunter, or a lycanthrope. So many endless possibilities.
New York City. A concrete jungle teeming with life roars with a vibrant energy during the day. But as the sun dips below the horizon, a different kind of life emerges, slithering from the shadows to claim the night. These creatures of the dark, drawn by instinct or driven by hunger, venture out to participate in the city's nocturnal pulse, some mimicking the mundane, others stalking unsuspecting prey. Yet, their paths, however varied, often converge on a single, infamous point: "The Impius." This club is a melting pot of sin and indulgence, pulsates with a dark allure, a discreet haven for the city's supernatural inhabitants. Among them, a figure of ancient power and chilling beauty walks amongst the mundane. A vampire who seeks the solace of her own kind within night club's walls, all while toying with the fragile lives that unknowingly surround her.
PLOT TWO: A Captain of the Royal Guard for a Queen of Vitalis.
Corvina is the last vestige of the proud Damocles line that has carried the weight of a kingdom on her slender shoulders. Orphaned too soon, she had been meticulously shaped into a queen, every lesson, every ball, every diplomatic engagement a step toward securing the future of her realm. Now the time had come to solidify her position to provide an heir. The court was abuzz with eligible lords and princes, their riches and lineage paraded before her like glittering prizes. Yet, amidst the ostentatious displays of wealth and power, Corvina found her gaze drawn to a different kind of strength, a quiet devotion that resided in the steely eyes of a certain Captain of her Royal Guard. A forbidden spark had ignited between them with a silent language spoken in stolen glances and fleeting moments of shared purpose. The choice before Corvina was agonizing: duty and tradition, or the dangerous allure of a love that could unravel the carefully constructed tapestry of her reign. Would she sacrifice her own desires for the sake of the kingdom, or succumb to the forbidden fire that burned within her for a man she could never truly have?
STARTER THREE: A Elvish Trade of the Heart.//This is where an elven princess is being traded for peace between the elves and humankind, she has been traded for an arranged marriage with the King.
The wind howled a mournful ballad across the desolate peace grounds, mirroring the turmoil in Princess Nessa's heart. For generations, humans and elves had clashed, and now, she was to be the offering β a princess traded for a fragile truce. Her father, the Elven King had painted humans as savage beasts, bloodthirsty and cruel. Every tale spoken at her bedside was a horror story of human atrocities, conditioning her to fear the very race she was now forced to trust. Dragged and protesting, Nessa arrived at the designated meeting point, her eyes wide with a mixture of dread and defiance. But the faces that greeted her weren't those of monsters; they were weary, cautious, perhaps even hopeful. Could her father's stories be lies? Could these humans, especially the king who was to be her keeper, be capable of kindness, or was this merely a facade concealing a darker intent? And what was her father truly planning? Was this peace offering a genuine attempt at resolution, or a calculated move in a larger, more sinister game?
PLOT FOUR: LYCANTHROPES. // I have a few ideas to throw into this one.
IDEA ONE: Driven by ambition and a nose for a good story, a seasoned big-city reporter traded skyscrapers for sprawling fields when she arrived in the sleepy rural town of Havenwood. A series of brutal unexplained attacks had plagued the community, turning neighbor against neighbor in fear and suspicion. Genevieve saw a chance to make a name for herself, to uncover the truth behind the gruesome events. Her investigation led her to the local watering hole, and its enigmatic bartenderβhim. With his charming smile and easygoing demeanor, He seemed to know everyone and everything about Havenwood, making him a valuable, if somewhat guarded, source of information. What Genevievedidn't realize was that his connection to the attacks ran far deeper than she could imagine, a secret woven into the very fabric of the town. But as she delved further into her investigation, the creatures that haunted Havenwood began to take notice, their sights set on the curious outsider. When Genevieve becomes a target, a single bite changes everything, blurring the lines between hunter and hunted. Now bound to the darkness she sought to expose, the man she met becomes an unlikely ally, his knowledge and hidden past the only things standing between my character and a monstrous fate, their destinies twisted together in a battle for survival against a terrifying enemy.
IDEA TWO: The Church's iron fist had crushed the supernatural world, branding all its inhabitants as abominations deserving only chains or death. Your character was once a respected blacksmith but was now a hunted beast. The lunar curse that twisted his flesh under the moon's glow had been his secret shame, until a zealous Inquisitor sniffed it out. Now silver-laced wounds burned across his chest, each step a fresh agony as he fled. The forest became a blur, the trees blurring into an indistinguishable green wall. But the poison soon claimed its price. Just as the world began to spin into a disorienting void, he collapsed with his world fading to black. When he finally blinked back into awareness, the scent of herbs and woodsmoke filled his lungs. He lay on a soft bed, the pain in his chest dulled to a throb. But this wasn't a sanctuary of the Church, this was a witch's cottage, a place whispered about in fearful tones, a place ruled by a power even the Church dared not provoke directly. He was saved, but thrown into a world of unknown forces and allegiances.
PLOT FIVE: THE TOMB OF THE VAMPIRE. // This is pretty much a vampire x hunter ordeal after age murders an entire group of archaeologists that discovered her after many centuries of being locked away. Or you could be another immortal coming across or or even a werewolf. Itβs your choice.
After days of navigating treacherous tunnels, their headlamps finally illuminated the chamber they sought - a tomb. A sarcophagus dominated the space, its stone surface disturbingly pristine, sealed shut by rivulets of what appeared to be melted silver. Ignoring a prickle of unease, they painstakingly hauled the sarcophagus back to their headquarters, driven by the thrill of discovery. The moment they breached the silver seal, a wave of stale, ancient air rushed out, carrying with it a scent of dust and decay. Inside lay a mummified corpse, remarkably preserved, but its mouth was agape, revealing disturbingly sharp fangs. Curiosity overriding caution, one archaeologist leaned in for a closer look, his hand brushing against a jagged fang, drawing a bead of blood. The drop landed squarely in the corpse's open mouth.
Silence stretched, then shattered as the mummified form convulsed. A collective gasp filled the room as the corpse's withered skin began to plump, color returning to its cheeks. The fangs lengthened, more pronounced now, as a chilling, inhuman growl rumbled from its throat. Panic erupted as the creature, no longer confined by death, lunged. It was a massacre. Teeth and claws tore through flesh and bone, fueled by an insatiable hunger. When the last scream faded, a horrifying transformation completed itself. Standing amidst the carnage was a woman of unnatural beauty, her eyes burning with ancient malice, her lips stained crimson. The creature was awake, and it was free, ready to unleash a reign of terror upon an unsuspecting world.
PLOT FIVE: DIVINE IMMORTALITY;; this is more of a darker story that involves kidnapping, and maybe more added elements.
In a realm where shadows danced with desire, lived an immortal whose existence echoed through the ages. He had witnessed empires rise and fall, loved and lost countless times, but none compared to the bond he shared with his immortal wife. She was his equal, a creature of darkness and light, who understood the vastness of his immortal soul. Their love was a tapestry woven with dark promises and thrilling awakenings, a dance on the edge of eternity. Yet, tragedy struck, severing their immortal thread. His wife, the one who held his heart captive, was murdered, leaving him to wander the ages alone, haunted by the echoes of their passionate, yet ultimately doomed, romance.
Centuries blurred into the modern present, the Immortal's shadowed existence stretching unbroken through time. The sting of his wife's death, once a raw, gaping wound, had long settled into a cold, familiar ache. Then came the whisper, a ripple disrupting the stagnant waters of his immortality: she was alive, reborn into mortal flesh. Driven by a desperate, possessive hunger, he tracked her down, snatching her from her unsuspecting life. He spirited her away to a secluded island, a gilded cage with a grand mansion perched atop the highest hill.
There, trapped and isolated, he demanded she become the woman he remembered, the woman he'd lost. But she was a stranger, a defiant spark in eyes that once mirrored his own. She met his demands with cold refusal, her spirit unbent. She would not yield, would not become a puppet dancing to the tune of his grief and obsession. She refused to touch him, her body a silent protest against his desperate delusion. The opulent prison stood as a testament to his power, but her unwavering rejection was a stark and potent weapon.
PLOT SIX: Genie in a Bottle, more like Succubus trapped in a Chest.
A nobleman presumed dead after the devastating war that shattered his kingdom, was a ghost of his former self. He was gaunt, clad in tattered remnants of finery, desperately trying to navigate the ravaged landscape towards what was once his home. Hope, a flickering ember in the face of widespread despair, propelled him forward. Then, the bandits appeared. A ruthless pack, they descended upon him with the hunger of jackals, eager to strip him of anything of value. But their greed had already been sated by a far more significant prize: a chest, unearthed from a long-forgotten cavern. It was an ominous thing, black as midnight, adorned with menacing rubies and etched with ancient, dire warnings. As he fought for his life, a desperate clash of steel and desperation, the chest was struck, splintering under the force of a stray blow. A plume of black smoke erupted, thick and suffocating, and from its swirling depths emerged a figure of breathtaking, terrifying beauty. A woman, with eyes like burning embers and an aura of undeniable power β a succubus, ancient and hungry, freed from her prison. She wasn't merely a creature of lust; she craved souls, and the bandits' presence was a feast laid out before her. In a whirlwind of dark magic and primal hunger, she turned on his attackers. When the dust settled, only the nobleman remained, spared by the succubus as a perverse reward for his unintentional act of liberation. Her crimson gaze now fixed upon him, a silent promise of a debt to be repaid.
Again, I am not opposed to other ideas being brought in but these are some of my cravings! I hope to see you all soon and I can't wait to see if we create something beautiful!
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