Good, day, greetings, and hello!
I am here on the hunt for writing partners. Weaving tapestries of words and painting portraits of decadent images is much more entertaining with more than one pair of hands, and certainly with more than one creative mind!
That being said, I would like to focus on plot primarily, for the most part, at least. Romance is almost surely a must-have, and I would certainly appreciate a smattering of smut.
My hope is to find someone, or a few someones, who share my appreciation for creation. In writing we can do things that may be impossible (or, at the very least, incredibly impractical) in the real world. I hope you and I can come up with some thrilling stories to tell!
Take a look, and shoot me a PM!~~-Parings
Best Friends (FxM/F)
Soldier (M) x Civilian (F)
Soldier (M) x Hippie (F)
Hippie x Hippie (FxM/F)
Witch (F) x Witch Hunter (F/M)
Witch (F) x Demon (F/M)
Witch (F) x Werewolf (M)
Human x Vampire (FxM/F)
Good Girl/Boy x Bad Boy/Girl
Kissin' Cousins (FxM/F)
Teacher x Parent (FxF/M)
Teacher x Teacher (FxF/M)
Gypsy (F) x Soldier (M)
Gypsy x City Folk (FxF/M)
Lady (F) x Pirate (M)
Abductee (F) x Abductor (M)~~-Plots"Trick Me, Tease Me" CRAVING
"Why Do Living Things Need Feelings?" CRAVING
A storm crashes over a small town. Something drops from the heavens - a man. Speaking gibberish and rambling on, he runs through the town until he sees something that holds his interest.
'Scrolls of Asgard' is a secondhand bookstore. Loki bursts inside, finding nothing at all of his home on the shelves. The shop owner, a woman, emerges from the upstairs, barely awake. When the stranger starts going on most feverishly, she doesn't know what to do. When he collapses from fatigue, she can only try to help.
Twenty years ago, steam-powered robots were common occurrences. Today, however, they have mostly been replaced by more modern technological advances. A young woman finds one in the service of an elderly man she comes to care for (because a slightly malfunctioning robot can only do so much). Perhaps they were wrong when they said the metal men would never feel...
A modern twist on the classic myth. In the world today, living in the big city, Hades is bored. His realm is ever-busy, but he wants a little something for himself. When visiting topside, his eyes land on Demeter's innocent daughter and goddess of Spring itself, Persephone. He seduces the gentle maiden, luring her to his lair before holding her against her will from the world that, without her touch to warm the ground, becomes cool and dark.
She wanders the streets in her stocking feet, the hem of her lacy dress tattered and filthy. Fingernails are broken and dirty, her hair hangs about her shoulders in a tangled mess of red curls. Pale blue eyes seem distant, unfocused. She holds her arms to herself- not for warmth, but to hide the scars that dance over her tender, pale flesh. The young woman, surely no older than eighteen, stops under a streetlamp and looks up into the fluorescent light. It flickers and she hisses angrily, eyes widening and going wild. The girl looks around and claws at the air with a strangled cry, and then runs into an alley, escaping whatever delusion she is sure is after her.
A gypsy caravan has rolled up and made camp in the woods outside of the town. Of course, the whispers began the moment the brightly-painted wagon was spotted on the road. Parents are keeping their children close, shopkeepers are paying extra attention to the stock of their goods and the money they take, and the men in charge of keeping the peace have their weapons at the ready at the slightest sound of trouble.
Most of the travelers keep to the camp, knowing full well what might happen to them if they're found in town in the wrong place at the wrong time, but one of the young women has started to wander off from the camp each day, a bouquet of wildflowers in her hands. She smiles at the men and women, eyes sparkling as she gifts her flowers to the ones she finds the most pleasing. By the time the sun is setting, her bouquet is distributed and, with the soft perfume of flowers trailing after her, she dances her way back to the camp- will any follow, lured by the strange gift in their hands and the floral scent that lingers to lead the way?
The woods are deep, and many dangers lie within. The closer to the heart of the forest, the thicker the brambles become. A heavy mist descends to settle a foot or so above the ground, hiding the grass from view.
Within that thicket of brambles, hidden from sight, is a cottage. The roof is thatched in the old straw-style, and the windows are made of green-glass. Blue-silver smoke puffs up from the chimney.
The woman inside is no hag. She is young, in fact- and not even ugly! She does not cackle over a bubbling cauldron, or rip apart the corpses of small woodland creatures to scry the future in their innards. No- this woman cares for the forest around her, nurturing the nearby herbs, tending to the sick and wounded creatures that find their way to her door. The only other human contact she has ever had was her mother, and since the snows claimed her two winters past, she has seen none since. Imagine her surprise, should one stumble through the thorns...