-I don't care what your gender is as long as you can write a male character well.
-Third person, past tense, please. I find it hard to write against present tense.
-Modern day time periods with some rare exceptions for fantasy worlds. I enjoy my modern luxuries.
-Common courtesy to let me know if you're going to be a month or longer on a reply. My reply time can be sporadic so I don't mind waiting, but I appreciate not going three months no contact before I have a hard time getting back into the plot. Just keep me updated and I'm happy to work with you.
-Give me more than a three line reply and I'll return in kind. I don't require a novel of a reply, but I need something to work with.
-No flat out rape or abuse. I'm not here for a bunch of smut so no kink list, and I'm pretty vanilla.
-For the love of everything holy, do not flirt with me. I'm here to write and make friends, nothing more.
-If you don't have any public threads, please let me peek at your writing. I will, of course, present a longer sample of my own if my public threads aren't satisfactory. This is to assure that we both feel we are compatible with each other before we get into plotting.
My first plot that I've been especially craving is one I'd be willing to take on multiple partners with varying results. I have a starter from a story that never took off that I'd be more than happy to use and was crafted to play against an opposing mafia character, or we could create an entirely new pairing with the plot.
Sister, it's time to wake up.
Another century, brother.
Two of our sisters are dead, our mother mourns, and our brother cannot be controlled.
How long have I slept?
A long, long time.
Time period: Modern Day
Source: Greek mythology with a twist
Smut level: Dependent
Fluff level: Dependent
Violence level: High
Character: Keres [singular; Ker] were female death-spirits. They were the goddesses who personified violent death and who were drawn to bloody deaths on the battle fields.
Age: Unknown
In a family made of darkness, death, and the odd addition of slumber, what does one do? When your twin sisters reign the battlefield and leave you nothing but scraps, when violence is not the way of your other siblings. You slumber, and await your turn to reap the souls of warriors. You wake to complete chaos, a family torn asunder by the deaths of its own. The responsibility you always wanted is yours, but the world is nothing like it was before. How does one personify such violent deaths in times of growing peace? And if you can't, how do you live like the humans do?
The plot is meant to be worked as Keres waking to the news of her twins' death and being thrust down to Earth not knowing much about the modern world. Chaos and hilarity ensure on whatever poor soul ends up housing her.
March 30th
Why did it have to be so bloody cold? She didn't remember the human realm being so cold, but she'd slept for so long that her power needed some serious recharging before she would be back to full strength. That was, after all, why her brother had torn open the Aether and tossed her down when she didn't have the energy to open it herself, why they had gifted her with some modern clothing on her back and the instructions to find herself the lodging they were in the process of providing her.
This was also the first time it had snowed heavily since her arrival. It'd been a bit rainy on the night she'd first touched her feet to the modern world, and had taken hours upon hours to find the domicile in which her siblings expected her to reside. It was a small little rental of an apartment, as they called it, in a less than favorable part of the city and on a ground floor that allowed her to avoid the hassle of remembering keys and stairs constantly.
It wasn't as if she had many belongings. The clothes they'd sent her down in, as well as a few meager things once she'd finally managed to locate this so-called apartment she was to stay in. It was so small, so run down, trapped in darkness and a heavy sort of violent aura that made her feel right at home despite her annoyance at the size. Gone were the large temples that she could sprawl out in after a night of too much wine with Dionysus, gone were the abundantly flowered fields for her to lay in after a glorious battle. For all of the centuries that she had been asleep, the world had changed so much and yet still so little.
Humans were still lying and cheating one another, still murdering others in cold blood but with new weapons. She didn't quite understand the contraptions that they called guns, other than they spewed out metallic smelling projectiles that caused moderate to massive injury upon the person they landed on. The smell of gunpowder clung to the blood and garbage filling the alleyways of the disgustingly dilapidated buildings, some structures so broken and crooked that she feared they may topple at any moment, although she salivated at the thought of so much death.
The amount she'd witnessed in the handful of days she'd been on Earth hadn't been nearly enough to restore her powers to fullness, and the short sleeve shirt and jeans she'd struggled to put on didn't provide much warmth on their own. Even the hideous things they called tennis shoes provided little when she was busy traipsing through the growing inches of snow, trudging her way through the alleys sniffing out her next potential prey. The darkness was a friend to her, domain of her mother above and a shelter in which to hide the unnatural red hue of her eyes and the glint of sharp canines when she attacked.
There he was, her prey-to-be, stumbling unsteadily into a back alley behind a brightly lit restaurant that had only a few cars still littering the parking lot. She could smell the drink on him, overpowering whatever disgusting type of perfume he had tried to mask it with, and beneath it all she smelled that familiar metallic hint of his weapon. Why he was slinking about in the shadows just as she was could hint at any number of things for the night ahead of him, but all she cared about was taking advantage of the mortal's stupidity and tearing out his heart to watch him bleed out.
What she hadn't prepared herself for was for him to hear her coming, to notice the rapidly increasing crunching noises in the snow as she fought through the onslaught still coming from the sky and hurled herself at the smelly human. She hadn't anticipated him pulling out another weapon on top of the one she'd smelled, the glint of a blade shining under one lone streetlamp that lit the edge of the alley. The fact that he'd managed to plunge it into her side was a direct blow to her ego as she snarled and wrapped her arms around his waist, sending them both tumbling into the snow as he howled and shoved at her frantically. A mortal had wounded her, a mortal had seen her coming and had gotten the jump on her and had drawn first blood. It was unforgiveable that she'd fallen so low from her former strength, from the rank she'd strived to get in the world of gods and goddesses, and now she was digging her sharp talons into his chest with a feral snarl and delighting in the scent of blood as it splattered the bright snow.
Would someone come to steal her bounty? No one had come when she'd watched one gangbanger, as they were apparently called, shoot another and then take off, and no one seemed to be making the effort to break up the fight that was turning the snow a deep red. She reveled in the feeling of blood soaking through his clothes, the way it clogged under the claws that had been delicate fingers just moments ago. She drank in the smell of it and the taste in the air, her lips parted as she shuddered briefly and then turned her attention to the fragile skin of his throat as she took a swipe at him just as the back door opened with a resounding thud against the brick wall. Great, the onetime she was caught unaware and someone felt the need to interrupt.
Fuck it. Kill them all.
Why did it have to be so bloody cold? She didn't remember the human realm being so cold, but she'd slept for so long that her power needed some serious recharging before she would be back to full strength. That was, after all, why her brother had torn open the Aether and tossed her down when she didn't have the energy to open it herself, why they had gifted her with some modern clothing on her back and the instructions to find herself the lodging they were in the process of providing her.
This was also the first time it had snowed heavily since her arrival. It'd been a bit rainy on the night she'd first touched her feet to the modern world, and had taken hours upon hours to find the domicile in which her siblings expected her to reside. It was a small little rental of an apartment, as they called it, in a less than favorable part of the city and on a ground floor that allowed her to avoid the hassle of remembering keys and stairs constantly.
It wasn't as if she had many belongings. The clothes they'd sent her down in, as well as a few meager things once she'd finally managed to locate this so-called apartment she was to stay in. It was so small, so run down, trapped in darkness and a heavy sort of violent aura that made her feel right at home despite her annoyance at the size. Gone were the large temples that she could sprawl out in after a night of too much wine with Dionysus, gone were the abundantly flowered fields for her to lay in after a glorious battle. For all of the centuries that she had been asleep, the world had changed so much and yet still so little.
Humans were still lying and cheating one another, still murdering others in cold blood but with new weapons. She didn't quite understand the contraptions that they called guns, other than they spewed out metallic smelling projectiles that caused moderate to massive injury upon the person they landed on. The smell of gunpowder clung to the blood and garbage filling the alleyways of the disgustingly dilapidated buildings, some structures so broken and crooked that she feared they may topple at any moment, although she salivated at the thought of so much death.
The amount she'd witnessed in the handful of days she'd been on Earth hadn't been nearly enough to restore her powers to fullness, and the short sleeve shirt and jeans she'd struggled to put on didn't provide much warmth on their own. Even the hideous things they called tennis shoes provided little when she was busy traipsing through the growing inches of snow, trudging her way through the alleys sniffing out her next potential prey. The darkness was a friend to her, domain of her mother above and a shelter in which to hide the unnatural red hue of her eyes and the glint of sharp canines when she attacked.
There he was, her prey-to-be, stumbling unsteadily into a back alley behind a brightly lit restaurant that had only a few cars still littering the parking lot. She could smell the drink on him, overpowering whatever disgusting type of perfume he had tried to mask it with, and beneath it all she smelled that familiar metallic hint of his weapon. Why he was slinking about in the shadows just as she was could hint at any number of things for the night ahead of him, but all she cared about was taking advantage of the mortal's stupidity and tearing out his heart to watch him bleed out.
What she hadn't prepared herself for was for him to hear her coming, to notice the rapidly increasing crunching noises in the snow as she fought through the onslaught still coming from the sky and hurled herself at the smelly human. She hadn't anticipated him pulling out another weapon on top of the one she'd smelled, the glint of a blade shining under one lone streetlamp that lit the edge of the alley. The fact that he'd managed to plunge it into her side was a direct blow to her ego as she snarled and wrapped her arms around his waist, sending them both tumbling into the snow as he howled and shoved at her frantically. A mortal had wounded her, a mortal had seen her coming and had gotten the jump on her and had drawn first blood. It was unforgiveable that she'd fallen so low from her former strength, from the rank she'd strived to get in the world of gods and goddesses, and now she was digging her sharp talons into his chest with a feral snarl and delighting in the scent of blood as it splattered the bright snow.
Would someone come to steal her bounty? No one had come when she'd watched one gangbanger, as they were apparently called, shoot another and then take off, and no one seemed to be making the effort to break up the fight that was turning the snow a deep red. She reveled in the feeling of blood soaking through his clothes, the way it clogged under the claws that had been delicate fingers just moments ago. She drank in the smell of it and the taste in the air, her lips parted as she shuddered briefly and then turned her attention to the fragile skin of his throat as she took a swipe at him just as the back door opened with a resounding thud against the brick wall. Great, the onetime she was caught unaware and someone felt the need to interrupt.
Fuck it. Kill them all.
A violent lycan the "shelter" is trying to adopt out, set in a world where lycans are clearly known about captured/"rehabbed" before being sent off to new "owners". Ah, I miss my violent girl. I would very much like this to be someone either on site when this happens who's intrigued and says "fuck it I want that one" and NOT any type of "I want to break that one" deal. Not my thing.
"We're never going to be able to adopt her out."
"What if we drop the price down and use the excuse of trying to home the ones that have been here longer? She's at least pretty.. When she's not trying to rip your face off. Thank god for that collar, I heard what she did to the men that brought her in when they first caught her."
"Who's in charge of feeding her today, anyway?"
"Dave, the poor bastard. He's still afraid of her after the last time he went near and she dug her claws into his sleeve. Keeps himself several inches away from the cells now, even from the docile ones that have a better area. Her? Nah, the bitch can stay in that little cell until someone takes pity on her. Fuck if I care."
"Talking about Azariah?" One of the men walking past the break room paused and backtracked before sticking his head into the room. "She get someone again?"
"She'll get Dave if he's not careful, but I wouldn't put it past him to come up with some excuse to go home sick before it's time to feed her. Hell, she got John to quit last week when she tore his leg open through the fuckin' bars!" The room was filled with a mixture of laughter and horror at the thought of having to be the one to tend to the Lycan in any manner. She had gotten quite a reputation since first arriving at the shelter some many months ago, and between her initial introduction that had left them bleaching an entire floor to clean up the blood, her multiple escapes; both successful and not, and her treatment of the workers now. The creature simply refused to be tamed, and as such was currently a filthy mess of tangled hair and sharp teeth.
As luck would have it, for the men discussing the Lycan, Dave did not leave early, and stood shaking in his boots as he stared down the side hall that housed the Lycans that had yet to be tamed enough they'd moved into the larger, nicer cells closer to the front of the facility. Everything had to be kept immaculate, after all, and so the less well behaved creatures were kept more toward the back where less people tended to wander. Every once in awhile someone came trekking back to see what the fuss was all about, how wild the wolves truly were to be kept away from the first hall that displayed the ones eagerly awaiting adoption. Grinning, panting, they'd have been waving their tails if not for the collars kept around their necks!
"Buy you a beer tonight if you get her fed without a problem."
"Oh, shut the hell up, I'm just going to open the slat long enough to shove the tray through and then leave. She's not going to get me again, I ain't opening the big door like an idiot. I can't believe no one told me about that last time!" The man made his way slowly down the hall, clearly cautious and still a bit unsettled from his last encounter with the female wolf. While the silver collar around her neck did stop her from shifting into her lupine form, it didn't stop her nails from turning into claws, and it didn't stop her sharp teeth from being able to tear flesh.
"Believe it when I see it." Three workers stood down the hall from where Dave was approaching one of the cells, two middle aged men and one of the females that had just recently started training to deal with the ferals. They watched in silence, holding their breaths in anticipation as he approached the cell and looked inside.
The woman inside appeared to be sleeping, half sprawled on the cot inside and half on the floor midst a tangled mane of hair. Her eyes were closed, an arm draped over them as she dozed lightly despite all of the noise surrounding her. She'd been at the facility long enough to learn to tune out noise, but when Dave approached her cell directly one of her pointed ears twitched, and as soon as she heard the slat open she rolled off the cot and to her feet.
"Oh, shit." She couldn't have possibly cared less about the food now that he was there. For all of the whining he did about being injured by her, he'd left out the part where he'd banged loudly on her cage to wake her, where he'd kicked at the bars when she got close enough to reach. No, it was all about the blood she'd drawn and how terrified he was of her. Good, the bastard deserved it, and he definitely deserved this.
"Shit, Brian, get her off!" He had made the mistake of getting too close to the bars, and the consequence was her latching onto his arm, digging her nails deep into the flesh as her teeth snapped at him. "Brian! Get over here and do something! Tranq the bitch, I don't care, just get her off before she tears my fuckin' arm off!" She'd tear his throat out if she had her way, her teeth snapping as she tried to force him flush against the bars so that she could sink those sharp fangs into him.
"Tranq? Just get the goddamn gun, put her down! I don't care if there's people here, deal with that later. If you don't shoot her she's gonna try to tear out his throat. She hates him." Damn straight she'd try to tear out his throat. She already had her claws latched onto one of his arms and had tugged him back against the metal bars, her other hand sinking into the opposite shoulder to place him as a barrier before her and the men approaching with their guns drawn.
"Don't shoot her, boss'll have your hide if you do that without his permission."
"Sorry, Dave, this is gonna hurt. Beth, get the medics on the radio and let them they're gonna need to stitch him up and probably do a transfusion."
Azariah snarled as she felt the man leave her clutches, leaving her hands soaked in his blood as it dripped down the bars to the cell and joined the large puddle already on the floor. She had been so close to finally tearing out his throat, so close to making sure he never came near her again or taunted her, and they'd stolen him from her!
"Get him to the medics, and for fuck's sake, someone get the boss here so we can get the okay to put her down already!" They left her alone in the cell licking the blood from her claws, well, they were fingers now, and staring at the mess dripping down the hall as they drug off the heavily bleeding man.
"Ah, hell, don't let the customers see him—Shit, just get him out of here as fast as you can so we can get this mess cleaned up.. Fucking hell."
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