Some Random Thoughts

[Random]

CURRENT STATUS: No more stories for now. Sorry!

Before we get to the good stuff, here's a few points of business I feel need to be addressed:

• Please PM me if you see something that piques your interest, rather than replying here.
• Communication is a must, and I promise I won't be upset if you feel the need to step away from a story, either temporarily or permanently. Real life can be a bitch, and I'm willing to pick things up again later if you are.
• I love brainstorming, but only to a point. My preference is to lay out the key elements we'd like to see in the story, and then, if my writing partner wants to throw in some surprises (as long as it doesn't completely derail the story), then I'll be positively giddy. I enjoy a good challenge!
• I pour as much detail into my writing as I can, and I love bringing a world to life. I appreciate a writing partner that is willing to do the same. I will sample your writing, just as you are free to sample mine.
• Like basically everyone, I have an Ons and Offs thread that lists all the racy do's and don't's. Please give it a peek before reaching out to see if we're going to be compatible!
• The gender of my writing partner means nothing to me. As long as you are convincing in your portrayal of the opposite gender, I'll be more than happy to write with you!

There's nothing quite like the feeling of creativity blossoming in the brain, surging through the body to find liberation through the tips of the fingers, manifested in a flurry of keyboard clickity-clacking, wouldn't you agree? That delicious sensation of taking a thought, an idea, and breathing life into it...releasing it into the world, if you find yourself so bold, for others to discover.

And what's even better is when someone else sees your idea and thinks, "You know what? That sounds amazing, I want to be a part of this!" And together, the two of you take that seed of an idea and grow it into...well, whatever you want it to be, really. It can be something beautiful, something timeless and romantic...or it can be a steamy battle for dominance...or it can be something sinister, delving deeper into depravity than even you thought you could go. The possibilities, as they say, are endless.

And that's why we're here, isn't it? To scratch that itch, to satisfy that urge. We're looking for someone that rides the same wavelength--or close enough, anyway--that we do, that can help us tend the garden of our creativity until we are surrounded by its bounty.

So here, for your perusal, are a few seeds that I've scattered.

Fantasy
Romance
Forbidden Love
Adventure

Crystallia subconsciously checked the kerchief wrapped around her head, concealing the electric blue hair that marked her as one of the Diamas, a race of refugees forced from their homeland of Aleria and scattered into oblivion. She was wiping down the bar of the Lakeside Tavern and Inn, listening to the din of chatter from the patrons that sat drinking and swapping snatches of news with the merchants that traveled along the trade road that stretched from the horizon to the south, disappearing into the forest just beyond the tavern to the north. When news was slow, as it was on this day, talk inevitably turned to Aleria, the kingdom to the north beyond the trees. For two years, the lands had steadily fallen into ruin, in no small part thanks to the usurper Rubius, who had invaded Aleria and sacked Menin, the capital city in the northernmost part of the kingdom. And, as it always did, talk of Aleria led to talk of the bounty that had been placed on the heads of the Diamas that managed to flee the capital. Every Diamas head carried a price, but the largest sum of all was reserved for the High Queen, who was to be brought before Rubius, alive and whole.

As time passed, whispered speculation turned to full-throated declarations that the High Queen had perished during the raid, for no word had reached Rubius of her potential whereabouts. Aleria had been scoured, and still, she could not be found. And so it was that Rubius ordered small scouting parties beyond the borders of Aleria to track down his finest and most desired prize. If she was alive, he would find her.

One such scouting party was on their way to the Lakeside, seeking comfort and refreshment before renewing their search. But from the south, riding up to the stable that stood outside of the tavern, was Mirsst Solarus, a human sellsword in need of coin and a hot meal. Times had been hard, work had been scarce, and he was growing desperate for a turn of luck.

And the closer he came to the tavern, the closer he came to her, the harder it would become for either of them to escape the Hand of Fate.

Modern or Fantasy
Horror
Vampires and Werewolves
Nonconsensual
Potential Main Character Death

Rayna was poised, vigilant, waiting for the opportune moment. Her squadron stood silently behind her, waiting for the signal to advance, to attack. Intelligence reports indicated a large pack of lycans moving toward the area, looking to officially stake their claim on a part of the city that had been precariously neutral for decades. Of course, there had been skirmishes over the years, admittedly started by both sides, but the reports had pointed out the force of lycans that moved her way was the largest that had dared to encroach upon the neutral zone since it had become neutral in the first place.

To Rayna, it didn't matter. Let them send every pack of filth that they dared; she would cut them all down.

Rayna unlocked the door and stepped through, glad to be home at last. "Aryn?" she called. But there was no answer.

Rayna crouched, sensing the approaching lycans at last. Behind her, as one, her squadron mimicked her movement.

Rayna made her way to the kitchen, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of shattered glass. The sliding door that led onto the back patio was nothing more than a jagged, bloody mess. An alarming pool of blood glistened on the tile floor behind the island, next to the sink. A smeared trail led to the fractured door, as though the injured party had been dragged there.

Rayna watched the street from her rooftop vantage point as the pack came into view at last, led by a werewolf she had yet to engage. Intel that had been gathered spoke of his quick rise through the ranks, much like herself. It was unsettling, however, the lack of information Intel had been able to gather about his human identity, or where he had come from. He was dangerous, of that Rayna was acutely aware...but so was she. Her heart yearned for vengeance, and this enigmatic werewolf would taste her blade.

Rayna surged through the house, frantically checking rooms, hoping against hope that Aryn was there, somewhere, safe. "Aryn?" she cried, her heart running away in her chest as she ran out of places to look. "Aryn!" Her voice shook as she screamed, and, with Aryn nowhere to be found, she returned to the kitchen. Footsteps crunched on broken glass as she approached the busted door, and there...like a dagger to her heart, she saw tufts of fur stuck to one of the sharp edges. Rage and despair consumed her, and, blind to the danger toward which she plunged, Rayna departed the little starter home the two of them had bought, the place where they were supposed to start making their memories...never to return. There was only one way to exact revenge, though the price was her humanity.

Rayna slipped her battle mask over her face and tightened the grip upon the handle of her blade. A whisper, as familiar to her lips as her name, left the mouth hole of the mask in muffled tones.

"For you, Aryn. I love you."

Forbidden Love

Romance
Violence
Psychological Manipulation
Forced Submission

There once lived, in the small woodland village of McCray Township, a lonely dollmaker who spent his considerable free time...well, making dolls. He was exceptionally tall and gangly, not to mention painfully shy. It was no surprise to the rest of the Township that the poor man lacked companionship, but none of the ladies felt so charitable as to grant him that which he sought.
The solitude became too much to bear, and so, one night, he set to work, making a doll that would be his companion forevermore, never to leave him or lead him astray.
All through the long, solitary nights he worked, sewing fabric, cramming stuffing, making clothes, painting lips...

The doll was beautiful, and nearly as tall as he, lifelike in the nuances of her shape and the stately little dress he had made for her, but he despaired, for how could a doll ever live, ever feel, ever love? It was with desperation in his heart that he left for the outskirts of the village, seeking out the hermit woman that lived in a hovel all alone, the grizzled old hag that many whispered was a witch of terrible power. He begged to her, stuttering in his fear of her, to make the doll come to life, for he could not bear to live one more day alone. And so the old woman agreed, and instructed him to bring the doll to her.

In the dead of night, with a storm brewing beyond the forest, the lonely dollmaker wrapped his near-perfect companion in burlap and lovingly stowed her in his cart, heart pounding as he imagined the prospects of a life no longer plagued by loneliness.

It was the only way, he had convinced himself. For how could someone living ever love the likes of him?

One-off
Romance
Forbidden Love

Iron gray storm clouds loomed in the distance, steadily approaching with the promise of a powerful downpour blurring the landscape beneath them. Thunder rumbled faintly, a stoic harbinger of the coming deluge. A figure moved through the oaks and locust trees, lithe as the deer that had hidden in the thickets that choked the trunks of the forest, sheltering from the weather. But the figure seemed not to heed the warnings of the storm that approached, a storm of her own brewing within that could only be abated by one thing, one person…

All of her life, Thaleda Harrison was told it was wrong. “Harrisons and Bartons don’t mix,” her mamaw had said, and her daddy, and her brothers, and every last one of them would flog her good if they knew Graham Barton was the destination at the end of her journey over the ridge and down the holler to the clearing that held the north fork of Stewart Creek and the unofficial boundary between Harrison and Barton land. But what her family didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and, more importantly, her.

Bare feet carried Thaleda at a run up the ridge, the trees thinning out around her as she approached the crest. Long waves of black hair, black as the coal seams hidden deep beneath her feet, streamed behind her as she ran. Deep blue pools shimmered with nervous anticipation; the farther she got from home, the more she could feel Graham’s phantom hands, and her fair skin flushed from more than just the trek.

Cresting the ridge, Thaleda paused, her eyes scanning the tops of the pines that dominated this side of the mountain. Her simple summer dress of blue calico swished around her shins in the breeze that bore the storm ever-closer. She spotted the bare patch in the treetops that marked the clearing, and with barely a thought for anything other than Graham, she took off, tearing through the pines. Squirrels squawked their disapproval of her sudden intrusion, and robins, blue jays and cardinals took to the sky, singing songs of warning.

After what felt like years, Thaleda emerged in the clearing, breathless and panting. The creek trickled indifferently over smooth limestone, and the young Harrison girl scanned her surroundings, heart hammering in her chest, desperately searching for Graham. Fear gnawed at her, fear that he couldn’t get away from his own kin, or, worse, fear that he had been discovered, and now faced the wrath of his fellow Bartons, an Appalachian clan that held as much disdain for the Harrisons as the Harrisons did for them.

Thaleda found a large rock by the creek and sat down, blue orbs scanning the tree line for her forbidden desire. Thunder rumbled again, a little louder, and she tried to calm her breathing, tried to make it as steady as the storm that drew ever closer.

The Chest of Fates with Remiel

A Wildfire in Lone Ridge with Rainwood

The Dollmaker's Desire with OfferedToEros

Rendezvous with the Demon with Inerrant Lust

Children of the Night with OfferedToEros

Wings and a Prayer with OfferedToEros