Good (insert your time of day),
I go by the Marauder or TK, I am a twenty-eight, nearly twenty-nine year old male with a penchant for writing queer, slow-burn plots that tend toward the more adult-themed and prefer to write with people over the age of twenty-one. For nearly seventeen years, I have been experimenting with the joyous world of writing and role playing, and over that time I have learned quite a lot about myself, my likes, and my dislikes and I hope to find some compatible writing partners here.
Thank you for this wonderful opportunity, and I hope to be able to join the ranks of the glorious individuals upon this site soon.
-TK
Writing Examples:
One
Original Character Content:
Richard Aemes was a good man and a good agent, up until being good got him killed. He was the sort of man that could smile and it lit up a room, useful when entertaining and even more so when coercing a mark into expunging the information they had on something he needed. He fancied himself a James Bond sort of man, at least before the suited brute went off script. Aemes was no brute, not by any means. Because of this lack of hostile vigor, he hadn't managed to outlast a particularly rough mark. Unfortunately it left an opening in the incredibly non-descript, "nameless" three-letter secret agency organization, and a hole in the hearts of those that really knew him.
Fortune, however, had a way of shitting on some and smiling upon others.
In this particular case of lady luck had chosen a young man not even fully ripe and out of training, but marked for his improvisational skills and the pure audacity that drove him to keep on keeping on, as it were. Bishop Six was still the very definition of green around the collar when it came to letter organizations, but certainly not discretion.
Raised as an only child with a step father that had been particularly spectacular at tying one over with hard liquor, most days before four in the afternoon, and spouting obscenities whilst beating the willowy thing within an inch of his life, discretion and secrecy were all but bred into the boy. When penny pinching and under-the-table labor did not earn him enough to survive on his own once the old man had drunken himself into a stupor and fallen down a flight of stairs, sufficiently ending an otherwise outdated life, Bishop turned to the most logical next career choice.
There were probably good perks to being a rent boy, at least if you were high enough class to earn aforementioned perks. Bishop was naught but a boy blessed with vantablack eyes and a smile like the edge of a knife, people liked him because he looked scrappy but slight enough to beat into submission before taking what they had really paid for. Whatever perks there were to being beaten and fucked into a dirty mattress, well he couldn't seem to figure them out. But, then again, money was money and prostitution was decent enough money to work a few college classes into his schedule. When he went missing the summer of his twenty-first year of life, nobody thought twice to look for him.
Missing, thought dead probably, he's wound up in the training program of a non-descript, non-government funded letter organization. It wasn't a bad career jump, and actually he'd been fairly impressive from the start. His high marks and improvisational skills were why he'd been pulled from training and invited to Richard Aemes' funeral.
It was a small gathering, black suit, black tie. Respectful, in the way that funerals should be. And unusual, but not in the "surprise, the man isn't actually dead," or "we've misplaced the body" sort of a way. Unusual because whilst there was on massive gaping hole in the organization's ranks because of Aemes' untimely demise, there was also about to be a hole filled by the young upstart with a filthy childhood and low marks in the two subjects that seemed imperative for success in this particular line of work: teamwork, and rule following.
Obviously Bishop had the good sense to agree to take the job. What was less obvious were the terms and conditions. At least until he found the file splayed out across his new desk--let the record reflect that it had only been cleaned of Richard Aemes' things two hours prior to his arrival. The file, as he peered down the consider the date and photos present, detailed a facility he was to infiltrate... A facility for the experimentation and incarceration of genetically mutated people; more commonly known as mutants.
Two
Original Character Content:
Nathaniel Ansley Thace was still what one might consider young. A young inheritor of a dynasty gone nuclear within the first year of his taking the proverbial throne. Some said he was too young, too untested, too untried. For the bit of time that he operated before that dynasty had gone tits up, Nathaniel had made a significant amount of money and an even more significant number of enemies. Not that he could honestly control who liked and didn't like him. He thought himself an amiable enough person to spend time with.
Unfortunately others thought otherwise.
A price was put upon his head, raised twice after the first two attempts had ended in lost lives. Nathaniel was still alive, fortunately.
Unfortunately now, he stood silently backed into a corner with one of the only men in existence that he could equate to a blood hound, and mean it as a compliment. And some harrowing number of authorities hot on their trail.
"They'll take you in too." He began carefully, watching that hunter with narrowed golden eyes. "They won't stop 'til your dead or imprisoned."
Three
Daredevil x Punisher (MCU) Content:
It hadn't dawned on him that he had become a safe second choice to the murder-frenzied Punisher, but he supposed if there were anyone he wanted watching his back, it would be Frank--sort of. They both skirted a very illegal line and although Matt made it very firmly clear that he did not condone the murdering of even the most villainous criminals, there was at least solid reasoning behind most of what Frank did. He only wondered if and when his head might be added to the man's hit list.
Made lame by his own recent endeavors in vigilantism, or at least injured enough that he'd been forced to turn in early, Matt heard that heavy thud resonate from near his residence and approached with caution, well enough aware of the fact that there were dangerous people still within the city that did not necessarily agree with his methods of cleaning up.
The closer he came, however, the more he realized just whom it was that sat waiting for him. Approaching with care, Matt practically tasted the pungent coppery tang of Frank's blood, as well as the lingering traces of gunpowder residue. Shot then. And as he approached, he strained his hearing to get a rough idea of just where the man had taken the hit, or hits.
"If you wanted to spend the night, Frank, you could have just asked." Belaying with concern with a small quip, Matt dropped down to crouch and carefully dragged a gloved hand over the one Frank held firmly to his abdomen before cocking his head and listening more closely. "Can you move if I help you?"
I go by the Marauder or TK, I am a twenty-eight, nearly twenty-nine year old male with a penchant for writing queer, slow-burn plots that tend toward the more adult-themed and prefer to write with people over the age of twenty-one. For nearly seventeen years, I have been experimenting with the joyous world of writing and role playing, and over that time I have learned quite a lot about myself, my likes, and my dislikes and I hope to find some compatible writing partners here.
Thank you for this wonderful opportunity, and I hope to be able to join the ranks of the glorious individuals upon this site soon.
-TK
Writing Examples:
One
Original Character Content:
Richard Aemes was a good man and a good agent, up until being good got him killed. He was the sort of man that could smile and it lit up a room, useful when entertaining and even more so when coercing a mark into expunging the information they had on something he needed. He fancied himself a James Bond sort of man, at least before the suited brute went off script. Aemes was no brute, not by any means. Because of this lack of hostile vigor, he hadn't managed to outlast a particularly rough mark. Unfortunately it left an opening in the incredibly non-descript, "nameless" three-letter secret agency organization, and a hole in the hearts of those that really knew him.
Fortune, however, had a way of shitting on some and smiling upon others.
In this particular case of lady luck had chosen a young man not even fully ripe and out of training, but marked for his improvisational skills and the pure audacity that drove him to keep on keeping on, as it were. Bishop Six was still the very definition of green around the collar when it came to letter organizations, but certainly not discretion.
Raised as an only child with a step father that had been particularly spectacular at tying one over with hard liquor, most days before four in the afternoon, and spouting obscenities whilst beating the willowy thing within an inch of his life, discretion and secrecy were all but bred into the boy. When penny pinching and under-the-table labor did not earn him enough to survive on his own once the old man had drunken himself into a stupor and fallen down a flight of stairs, sufficiently ending an otherwise outdated life, Bishop turned to the most logical next career choice.
There were probably good perks to being a rent boy, at least if you were high enough class to earn aforementioned perks. Bishop was naught but a boy blessed with vantablack eyes and a smile like the edge of a knife, people liked him because he looked scrappy but slight enough to beat into submission before taking what they had really paid for. Whatever perks there were to being beaten and fucked into a dirty mattress, well he couldn't seem to figure them out. But, then again, money was money and prostitution was decent enough money to work a few college classes into his schedule. When he went missing the summer of his twenty-first year of life, nobody thought twice to look for him.
Missing, thought dead probably, he's wound up in the training program of a non-descript, non-government funded letter organization. It wasn't a bad career jump, and actually he'd been fairly impressive from the start. His high marks and improvisational skills were why he'd been pulled from training and invited to Richard Aemes' funeral.
It was a small gathering, black suit, black tie. Respectful, in the way that funerals should be. And unusual, but not in the "surprise, the man isn't actually dead," or "we've misplaced the body" sort of a way. Unusual because whilst there was on massive gaping hole in the organization's ranks because of Aemes' untimely demise, there was also about to be a hole filled by the young upstart with a filthy childhood and low marks in the two subjects that seemed imperative for success in this particular line of work: teamwork, and rule following.
Obviously Bishop had the good sense to agree to take the job. What was less obvious were the terms and conditions. At least until he found the file splayed out across his new desk--let the record reflect that it had only been cleaned of Richard Aemes' things two hours prior to his arrival. The file, as he peered down the consider the date and photos present, detailed a facility he was to infiltrate... A facility for the experimentation and incarceration of genetically mutated people; more commonly known as mutants.
Two
Original Character Content:
Nathaniel Ansley Thace was still what one might consider young. A young inheritor of a dynasty gone nuclear within the first year of his taking the proverbial throne. Some said he was too young, too untested, too untried. For the bit of time that he operated before that dynasty had gone tits up, Nathaniel had made a significant amount of money and an even more significant number of enemies. Not that he could honestly control who liked and didn't like him. He thought himself an amiable enough person to spend time with.
Unfortunately others thought otherwise.
A price was put upon his head, raised twice after the first two attempts had ended in lost lives. Nathaniel was still alive, fortunately.
Unfortunately now, he stood silently backed into a corner with one of the only men in existence that he could equate to a blood hound, and mean it as a compliment. And some harrowing number of authorities hot on their trail.
"They'll take you in too." He began carefully, watching that hunter with narrowed golden eyes. "They won't stop 'til your dead or imprisoned."
Three
Daredevil x Punisher (MCU) Content:
It hadn't dawned on him that he had become a safe second choice to the murder-frenzied Punisher, but he supposed if there were anyone he wanted watching his back, it would be Frank--sort of. They both skirted a very illegal line and although Matt made it very firmly clear that he did not condone the murdering of even the most villainous criminals, there was at least solid reasoning behind most of what Frank did. He only wondered if and when his head might be added to the man's hit list.
Made lame by his own recent endeavors in vigilantism, or at least injured enough that he'd been forced to turn in early, Matt heard that heavy thud resonate from near his residence and approached with caution, well enough aware of the fact that there were dangerous people still within the city that did not necessarily agree with his methods of cleaning up.
The closer he came, however, the more he realized just whom it was that sat waiting for him. Approaching with care, Matt practically tasted the pungent coppery tang of Frank's blood, as well as the lingering traces of gunpowder residue. Shot then. And as he approached, he strained his hearing to get a rough idea of just where the man had taken the hit, or hits.
"If you wanted to spend the night, Frank, you could have just asked." Belaying with concern with a small quip, Matt dropped down to crouch and carefully dragged a gloved hand over the one Frank held firmly to his abdomen before cocking his head and listening more closely. "Can you move if I help you?"
