Hello and Welcome! My Writing CriteriaI've been writing for about 13 years now, honestly ever since I was thirteen and had access to Wattpad I was roleplaying– XD but I moved on to writing on forums, took a long break and a year or two back I joined this site. I went from doing one liners to now writing 1k-2k words. The least I'll do is 800 words. I love diving into descriptive writing, character behaviors and the development they go through so that's mainly why. I'm hoping to find someone who could match my kind of writing! I'm also pretty plot heavy just because I love story writing dearly but I do also prefer smut/erotica in my stories, I'd like a nice balance!
Plots/PairingsHere you'll find my current plots! They're more on the darker side since I've been craving something more gritty and interesting, but I'll put trigger warnings below for anyone in case they need them! These plots only have their basic summaries set in stone so if you have any characters or plot beats you'd like to add, or just wanna brainstorm, please do pm and let me know! :)
TW : Gore, Toxic Relationships, Murderer/Detective
Mainly inspired by Hannibal and the Saw series (particularly Saw 4) I would love to do a plot based around a detective who is trying to solve a series of perplexing murders with the actual murderer becoming someone close to him. Not just a happenstance, I like to imagine the murderer is either one of the forensics who work with bodies (potentially able to hide and get rid of evidence) and is an incredibly respected doctor, or someone the FBI has hired onto help the detective work on the case since they can't trust him to do this by himself. I can see so much potential in this, especially if there were added supernatural elements, where the killings really can't be explained by human nature!
TW; Potentially Abusive Relationship(?), Christian Lore/Angelology, Demons, etc.
Angel/Demon
Now this one is my ultimate favorite! So, I've always had this idea in mind of Heaven and Hell "pulling" together to manage their populations and begin a Demon Redemption program, aka assigning Angels to Demons, then casting them to Earth until the Demon's soul repents. A young angel (MC) is brought up, just a wee lad in terms of angel years and status, is set up with a feral, traumatized and absolutely chaotically evil force of a demon who is determined to make his life miserable and get him to leave him for dust so he can live a good life on Earth now that he's "Free". Turns out, it isn't that easy. Not only is the angel young and stubborn, bouncing back like a puppy and eager to try and help, but what they didn't know was that there was a bond placed upon them both, a cord that held them together, one that felt like a strip of fire searing their hearts in one. The demons mission now is to corrupt the poor angel, bring him over to his side. Both to get back at him but it's almost like he wants him to understand his pain also.
A very vague-ish plot/idea, but I was hoping to make it a whole saving the world bit towards the end, where Heaven was cooking up some disastrous plot and it's up to the angel and demon to stop Armageddon before the new armies of angels can be raised up.
A very vague-ish plot/idea, but I was hoping to make it a whole saving the world bit towards the end, where Heaven was cooking up some disastrous plot and it's up to the angel and demon to stop Armageddon before the new armies of angels can be raised up.
TW; Christian Lore/Lucifer specifically, Gore, Supernatural, Exorcisms, etc
Priest/Lucifer
This is one of my older plots from an unfinished RP that I hope to one day actually finish and have a whole story for! It starts with a young priest (early 30s) who recently has got himself involved in strange occurrences and incidents happening in their town. Several parents had come to him with concerns about their children who've been acting erratically and it was easy to figure out that it wasn't behavioral issues, but demonic possession. At their request, he performed exorcisms and managed to save a few children at first. Quickly, the demonic corruptions escalated. All the exorcisms did was distress the demon and in turn, harm the kids further. So much so that one had to be rushed to a hospital.
That very night, his commune would hold a meeting and express how unhappy they were with him. After all, he'd went from preaching to going against the church, performing exorcisms on his own. He tried fighting for his cause, but they looked over his desperation, only seeing a man who lost his purpose. They hit him with sabbatical, to which he refused and stormed out into the night. He didn't bother taking the car with how his hands felt like they were on fire. Instead, his legs pumped lead and made him walk down, far away from the church. He didn't realize how far he'd gone until thick, dark storm clouds began to cover the town. A roar of thunder clapped over his head and he looked around, where a path appeared before him.
He followed it through a sea of trees, finding an abandoned church house that at least dated back to the 1900s. Upon walking in, the rain doubled its weight outside, hammering on the roof that could barely hold itself afloat. Yet no droplets fell through, and he took the moment of wordless sanctuary to sit at the pew and simply pray. He tightened his hands until they became white at the knuckles, asking endless questions, but none were answered. If Christ had followed him, he was saying nothing.
He didn't have time to wait. He thrust up from his seat, trailing the halls until he found the library that was surprisingly still intact. Books of many languages and topics were caked in dust and cobwebs. He strolled his fingers through them, determined and undeterred by his desperation. The books themselves looked like they dated back centuries, surely there must be some reason he was drawn here. One of these books must contain something he could use at the commune, to show them that he was doing the right thing. Yet each one of them contained useless information that didn't support his cause. Sitting it aside, he rushed back to the remaining books. There must be something here, there must be...
Out of them all, his fingers stopped on one that unlike the rest, looked pristine despite its old age. A red, thick cover that had a golden scrawl across it. Thumbing through the pages, pictures and aged pencil drawings showed the bane, the utter conflict plaguing his mind and those of the children. Demons, some he recognized and others he never seen popping up on Christianity anywhere. He took in each paragraph with care, locking that information in the back of his mind and yet, not one of them caught his eye like one of the last pages. Carefully written was a name no priest nor anyone could miss. Lucifer.
The Prince of darkness, the father of all evils, staring right back at him with his eyes of redemption. He continued reading, the air growing thick as he landed on the bottom header. Ritual. It felt like the surrounding air became a hand, dancing around his throat. His faith came as a worried whisper in his ear. You must avert your gaze! You can't turn away from the Father! Close the book and admit your loss!
But that was just it. He couldn't stand to lose. The ritual seemed simple enough. Smearing oil across his forehead like a newborn, while he sliced his palm and poured wine into his cupped hands, mixing it and creating new blood. Surprisingly, he found all he needed. Glass was scattered in every corner, not ideal but it worked in slicing his skin. In the office he found both women and oil, no more aged than yesterday. He then knelt down on his knees in the library, laying the cup of oil by his side. In one quick motion, his hand stung and poured the warm liquid like a faucet. Then, he handled the wine as best he could while shaking, pouring it in and quickly cupping his hands, hissing as it burned.
If there were any regrets, they seeked to challenge him now. What was he doing? Kneeling in front of someone that wasn't Jesus, in his own temple? Who was there to say of Lucifer, who must've still been locked away in his prison, his tomb, awaiting the Rapture to unleash hell on all. Why would he take pity on a cold, shivering priest? Still, he forced his hands up, shaking violently. He went into his cassock collar, the pain growing intense. This was all a mistake. He was an nerve ending away from screaming, throwing the bloody wine to the floor and damning it all, even himself to Hell. Just as he was going to burn up, a hand made out of glass and pearls snatched his hands and perfect lips dipped into that mixture, sipping it like the finest of elixirs.
The priests gasp came out choked, but this being cared not. They drank it dry, lapping at his wound that had magically been sealed. Then, the greasy oil had come over above his eyebrows, marking him like a baby. His reddened eyes peered slowly up, hesitant to witness who he'd summoned, widening as in the flesh, his auburn hair moving constantly like a solar flare, ever changing eyes gleaming down at him, who's pale hand raised his chin up towards him, was Lucifer.
That very night, his commune would hold a meeting and express how unhappy they were with him. After all, he'd went from preaching to going against the church, performing exorcisms on his own. He tried fighting for his cause, but they looked over his desperation, only seeing a man who lost his purpose. They hit him with sabbatical, to which he refused and stormed out into the night. He didn't bother taking the car with how his hands felt like they were on fire. Instead, his legs pumped lead and made him walk down, far away from the church. He didn't realize how far he'd gone until thick, dark storm clouds began to cover the town. A roar of thunder clapped over his head and he looked around, where a path appeared before him.
He followed it through a sea of trees, finding an abandoned church house that at least dated back to the 1900s. Upon walking in, the rain doubled its weight outside, hammering on the roof that could barely hold itself afloat. Yet no droplets fell through, and he took the moment of wordless sanctuary to sit at the pew and simply pray. He tightened his hands until they became white at the knuckles, asking endless questions, but none were answered. If Christ had followed him, he was saying nothing.
He didn't have time to wait. He thrust up from his seat, trailing the halls until he found the library that was surprisingly still intact. Books of many languages and topics were caked in dust and cobwebs. He strolled his fingers through them, determined and undeterred by his desperation. The books themselves looked like they dated back centuries, surely there must be some reason he was drawn here. One of these books must contain something he could use at the commune, to show them that he was doing the right thing. Yet each one of them contained useless information that didn't support his cause. Sitting it aside, he rushed back to the remaining books. There must be something here, there must be...
Out of them all, his fingers stopped on one that unlike the rest, looked pristine despite its old age. A red, thick cover that had a golden scrawl across it. Thumbing through the pages, pictures and aged pencil drawings showed the bane, the utter conflict plaguing his mind and those of the children. Demons, some he recognized and others he never seen popping up on Christianity anywhere. He took in each paragraph with care, locking that information in the back of his mind and yet, not one of them caught his eye like one of the last pages. Carefully written was a name no priest nor anyone could miss. Lucifer.
The Prince of darkness, the father of all evils, staring right back at him with his eyes of redemption. He continued reading, the air growing thick as he landed on the bottom header. Ritual. It felt like the surrounding air became a hand, dancing around his throat. His faith came as a worried whisper in his ear. You must avert your gaze! You can't turn away from the Father! Close the book and admit your loss!
But that was just it. He couldn't stand to lose. The ritual seemed simple enough. Smearing oil across his forehead like a newborn, while he sliced his palm and poured wine into his cupped hands, mixing it and creating new blood. Surprisingly, he found all he needed. Glass was scattered in every corner, not ideal but it worked in slicing his skin. In the office he found both women and oil, no more aged than yesterday. He then knelt down on his knees in the library, laying the cup of oil by his side. In one quick motion, his hand stung and poured the warm liquid like a faucet. Then, he handled the wine as best he could while shaking, pouring it in and quickly cupping his hands, hissing as it burned.
If there were any regrets, they seeked to challenge him now. What was he doing? Kneeling in front of someone that wasn't Jesus, in his own temple? Who was there to say of Lucifer, who must've still been locked away in his prison, his tomb, awaiting the Rapture to unleash hell on all. Why would he take pity on a cold, shivering priest? Still, he forced his hands up, shaking violently. He went into his cassock collar, the pain growing intense. This was all a mistake. He was an nerve ending away from screaming, throwing the bloody wine to the floor and damning it all, even himself to Hell. Just as he was going to burn up, a hand made out of glass and pearls snatched his hands and perfect lips dipped into that mixture, sipping it like the finest of elixirs.
The priests gasp came out choked, but this being cared not. They drank it dry, lapping at his wound that had magically been sealed. Then, the greasy oil had come over above his eyebrows, marking him like a baby. His reddened eyes peered slowly up, hesitant to witness who he'd summoned, widening as in the flesh, his auburn hair moving constantly like a solar flare, ever changing eyes gleaming down at him, who's pale hand raised his chin up towards him, was Lucifer.
Last edited: