Hullo there gentle folk, welcome to my cave of plots and cackles.
I am absolutely the type of writer that likes to make my characters suffer. How that translates varies. Sometimes it shows up as mind numbing tragedy or violence, and sometimes it shows up as making my commitment phobic idiot settle down.
I don't have any triggers and prefer writing darker/more mature themes. I LOVE me some gore and violence so BRING ME THE HORROR.
I'm down to follow the plot/story/characters, and if they lead us to romance or sex, I'm cool to explore that, but it's really going to be depdendent on mood. But again with sex, I'm much more open to darker themes. If I was to plot up some sexual relations, I'd be most interested in exploring plots that involve BDSM/edge play. Details to be worked out per plot.
I typically play women or non binary folk and they are typically pan or homosexual. However, I am open and willing to play male characters for the right plot.
I can probably commit to a few posts a week. I do tend to be long winded, but I'd say my average post length is between 500 and 1000 words. Though I can guarantee there will be times when muse is low and my word count is much lower. In general, I'd like to TRY and match both quality and quantity with my partner.
General Vibes/Themes I'm Feeling:
But yeah, I'm Viper. Hit me up for plots. Character sheets to come. I'm super open to pretty much anything at this point. I'll be adding random plots here as they auto populate in my noodle. Anything that I didn't explain well enough here or address, feel free to ask. :)
Plot: Open (Horror)
Plot: Open (Witches/FxF/MAYBE Group?)
Plot: Open (FxF or FxM)
Writing Sample:
I am absolutely the type of writer that likes to make my characters suffer. How that translates varies. Sometimes it shows up as mind numbing tragedy or violence, and sometimes it shows up as making my commitment phobic idiot settle down.
I don't have any triggers and prefer writing darker/more mature themes. I LOVE me some gore and violence so BRING ME THE HORROR.
I'm down to follow the plot/story/characters, and if they lead us to romance or sex, I'm cool to explore that, but it's really going to be depdendent on mood. But again with sex, I'm much more open to darker themes. If I was to plot up some sexual relations, I'd be most interested in exploring plots that involve BDSM/edge play. Details to be worked out per plot.
I typically play women or non binary folk and they are typically pan or homosexual. However, I am open and willing to play male characters for the right plot.
I can probably commit to a few posts a week. I do tend to be long winded, but I'd say my average post length is between 500 and 1000 words. Though I can guarantee there will be times when muse is low and my word count is much lower. In general, I'd like to TRY and match both quality and quantity with my partner.
General Vibes/Themes I'm Feeling:
- Something with demons and witches. I'm thinking underworld travels, divination, and blood contracts.
- Norse mythology/cosmology inspired.
- Victorian/Gothic era horror. Something sinister.
- Cryptids. In Appalachia.
But yeah, I'm Viper. Hit me up for plots. Character sheets to come. I'm super open to pretty much anything at this point. I'll be adding random plots here as they auto populate in my noodle. Anything that I didn't explain well enough here or address, feel free to ask. :)
Plot: Open (Horror)
My MC (20 something female) has driven out into the middle of nowhere to find somewhere secluded to brood and write. She finds an old building, practically falling apart. She goes into the building and starts to explore. Sitting in a second story room, she sees someone drive up. It's YC. They begin unloading things from their vehicle into the buildling. The last thing to come in from their car is a massive storage container (holding another woman). YC uses this building to torture and murder women and MC has been unlucky enough to catch YC in the act.
Plot: Open (Witches/FxF/MAYBE Group?)
A coven is about to initiate their new high priestess, the daughter of the current HP. However, during her cleansing ritual and bath, a member of the Committee of Voices informs her Guard (MC) that the two women must flee immediately before the initiation ceremony. The member of the committee of voices has just confirmed that the coven's initiation ritual is actually a body snatching ritual. The High Priestess is a vessel for a goddess and the initiation ritual is what allows the goddess to move her spirit into the next vessel.
The pair flee and encounter trials and tribulations, woe to the poor witches. YC is pretty strong magically because she grew up being trained by the High Priestess. MC is pretty weak magically, but physically capable and good with a sword.
The High Priestess eventually catches up to them and gets a chance to try the ritual. But when she does, it's not YC that falls victim to it. It's mine. The ritual only works on the witch whose birth right it is to be the next vessel. The coven member who warned them to leave switched MC and YC at birth and concealed MC's magic ability.
I'm feeling that both characters would be young to mid 20s.
I'm happy to play around with this one and tweak it as need be. But I do imagine MC and YC as secretly in love at first, and then on the run they open up and fall desperately in love with one another.
The pair flee and encounter trials and tribulations, woe to the poor witches. YC is pretty strong magically because she grew up being trained by the High Priestess. MC is pretty weak magically, but physically capable and good with a sword.
The High Priestess eventually catches up to them and gets a chance to try the ritual. But when she does, it's not YC that falls victim to it. It's mine. The ritual only works on the witch whose birth right it is to be the next vessel. The coven member who warned them to leave switched MC and YC at birth and concealed MC's magic ability.
I'm feeling that both characters would be young to mid 20s.
I'm happy to play around with this one and tweak it as need be. But I do imagine MC and YC as secretly in love at first, and then on the run they open up and fall desperately in love with one another.
Plot: Open (FxF or FxM)
Okay, so this plot and the writing sample below are a discarded short story of mine. But I think it would be fun to come back to it with a partner! I have this idea of a couple willfully entering a survival simulation machine to see if 1) they would somehow manage to find one another, and 2) if they'd be able to cooperate well enough to survive together.
In the simulation, they have no memory of who they are, where they came from, or that this is a simulation. The goal is to induce a high stress environment to test base personalities and compatibility in extreme conditions. Marketers of the simulation call it a Soulmate Endurance Exam. What can you endure to be with your soulmate?
I'd be playing a 30 something female. :)
This one isn't a full thought, but I'd love to develop it with someone!
Also, the writing sample below would probably be my opening post with a few tweaks and edits here and there.
In the simulation, they have no memory of who they are, where they came from, or that this is a simulation. The goal is to induce a high stress environment to test base personalities and compatibility in extreme conditions. Marketers of the simulation call it a Soulmate Endurance Exam. What can you endure to be with your soulmate?
I'd be playing a 30 something female. :)
This one isn't a full thought, but I'd love to develop it with someone!
Also, the writing sample below would probably be my opening post with a few tweaks and edits here and there.
Writing Sample:
Consciousness comes in waves. Sounds and sensations jar the chaotic dreamland of the motionless figure sprawled out in the woods. She finally collects the entirety of her awareness into this moment, coming to with the speed of a slug through beer.
The sound of the wind swirling viciously through tree branches and creaking trunks whips through her. The creaks sound like chants to keep the trees from falling over. A loud prayer that their roots are deep and strong enough to withstand the wind's efforts to topple them over. The gusts squeal and startle her senses, but everything is jumbled, tossed about in the gale.
She is wet and cold. It's raining. Hard. The rain on her face feels like acupuncture gone wrong, blunt stabs unable to find their healing mark. She is laying down, face up towards the sky, on something soft and almost spongy. Her fingers run over the top of it. Moss, maybe?
It takes a minute for her to realize her mouth is full of water. She rolls over and sputters, begging for air from under the deluge. She is a relentless mouth breather when she sleeps. Someone told her once that turkeys are likely to accidentally drown themselves by staring at the rain clouds with their mouths open. Is that true? Is she a turkey?
No. She can see her fingers tangled in the fallen leaves and moss covering the ground. Turkeys don't have fingers.
A foggy understanding of inherent wrong-ness begins to grow between the creases of her eyebrows. It spreads into her mind, pushing past the haze of her confusion. Questions begin to bloom. Why was she sleeping here in the middle of a rain storm? Where is here? Perhaps most importantly, who was she?
The final question was the most alarming. She felt the weight of all she could not remember battling against the storm around her. But she seemed to be a fairly rational person, and she quickly set her mind to dealing with the life threatening issue of being stranded in the woods during a thunderstorm first.
The rain continues to pound away at her. Air is hard to find between droplets. She might as well be under water. Another cough comes and conquers her lungs. More water sprays from her mouth and onto the moss beside her. It doesn't seem bothered by the moist constancy of this rain. It almost seems to liven up as it soaks in the memories from the rainfall.
She coughs and coughs until it feels like her organs are sure to come out of her mouth. They don't, but a small, metal key does. It plops down with a silent thud in the moss, making an indent similar to a well worn body mark in a beloved mattress. Gasping against the soreness in her throat, she reaches out and grabs it.
It's so small. Smaller than any key she's ever seen before. She can't imagine what it unlocks. A journal? Handcuffs? A locket? Her free hand rushes to her neck to check for a locket and comes up empty.
Lightning dances across the sky. Thunder cracks quickly behind. The Gods are convening in a drum circle. Is that another line of hearsay? So many things about this exact moment ooze with the uncanny feeling of familiarity and yet she can remember nothing about how she got here or where she was before she was laying on her back in the woods.
Another crack reverberates through the forest. It's different from thunder. More sharp. A slow, hollow falling sound follows it and she lifts her head to see a tree broken half way down its trunk a short distance in front of her, its branches clawing at the surrounding trees as it plummets, trying to take them down, too.
"Fuck," she tries to say.
Another surprise, because no sound comes out. She tries again to curse. She try again and again and again. She tries sentences. She tries other expletives. Nothing but a barely audible squeak comes out.
"Fuck!" she screams in her head. She lets herself fall face first into the moss and weep for a moment.
The cold is an instant deterrent to lay here. She has to get out of the rain. It was time for straight forward thinking and movement. More trees could fall. She got lucky with that last one, but there's no telling where the next one will land.
A deep breath and she pulls herself up. The world spins. There is a deep ache in her head and in her right thigh. She decides not to check on the source of the pain past a quick check for active external bleeding. She can't stomach another surprise until she's gotten out of the rain. No blood.
She takes a step forward as another test. Will her leg withstand the step? She places her foot gingerly down in front of her, waiting for her leg to give out. It doesn't. The leg aches, badly, but it feels more like a bad bruise than a mortal wound in need of any real care.
The wind is picking up, howling like a pack of wolves ready to swallow her up. With the storm, there's no way for her to tell which way is which, but more hearsay bubbles up inside of her.
Moss likes to grow on the north side of trees and rocks because it gets the least amount of sun. Though, what good does knowing which way is north do her? Directions mean nothing when you literally have no freaking clue where you are.
Unable to give any energy to choosing "the right" direction, she instinctively starts moving towards higher ground up towards the mountains.
The sound of the wind swirling viciously through tree branches and creaking trunks whips through her. The creaks sound like chants to keep the trees from falling over. A loud prayer that their roots are deep and strong enough to withstand the wind's efforts to topple them over. The gusts squeal and startle her senses, but everything is jumbled, tossed about in the gale.
She is wet and cold. It's raining. Hard. The rain on her face feels like acupuncture gone wrong, blunt stabs unable to find their healing mark. She is laying down, face up towards the sky, on something soft and almost spongy. Her fingers run over the top of it. Moss, maybe?
It takes a minute for her to realize her mouth is full of water. She rolls over and sputters, begging for air from under the deluge. She is a relentless mouth breather when she sleeps. Someone told her once that turkeys are likely to accidentally drown themselves by staring at the rain clouds with their mouths open. Is that true? Is she a turkey?
No. She can see her fingers tangled in the fallen leaves and moss covering the ground. Turkeys don't have fingers.
A foggy understanding of inherent wrong-ness begins to grow between the creases of her eyebrows. It spreads into her mind, pushing past the haze of her confusion. Questions begin to bloom. Why was she sleeping here in the middle of a rain storm? Where is here? Perhaps most importantly, who was she?
The final question was the most alarming. She felt the weight of all she could not remember battling against the storm around her. But she seemed to be a fairly rational person, and she quickly set her mind to dealing with the life threatening issue of being stranded in the woods during a thunderstorm first.
The rain continues to pound away at her. Air is hard to find between droplets. She might as well be under water. Another cough comes and conquers her lungs. More water sprays from her mouth and onto the moss beside her. It doesn't seem bothered by the moist constancy of this rain. It almost seems to liven up as it soaks in the memories from the rainfall.
She coughs and coughs until it feels like her organs are sure to come out of her mouth. They don't, but a small, metal key does. It plops down with a silent thud in the moss, making an indent similar to a well worn body mark in a beloved mattress. Gasping against the soreness in her throat, she reaches out and grabs it.
It's so small. Smaller than any key she's ever seen before. She can't imagine what it unlocks. A journal? Handcuffs? A locket? Her free hand rushes to her neck to check for a locket and comes up empty.
Lightning dances across the sky. Thunder cracks quickly behind. The Gods are convening in a drum circle. Is that another line of hearsay? So many things about this exact moment ooze with the uncanny feeling of familiarity and yet she can remember nothing about how she got here or where she was before she was laying on her back in the woods.
Another crack reverberates through the forest. It's different from thunder. More sharp. A slow, hollow falling sound follows it and she lifts her head to see a tree broken half way down its trunk a short distance in front of her, its branches clawing at the surrounding trees as it plummets, trying to take them down, too.
"Fuck," she tries to say.
Another surprise, because no sound comes out. She tries again to curse. She try again and again and again. She tries sentences. She tries other expletives. Nothing but a barely audible squeak comes out.
"Fuck!" she screams in her head. She lets herself fall face first into the moss and weep for a moment.
The cold is an instant deterrent to lay here. She has to get out of the rain. It was time for straight forward thinking and movement. More trees could fall. She got lucky with that last one, but there's no telling where the next one will land.
A deep breath and she pulls herself up. The world spins. There is a deep ache in her head and in her right thigh. She decides not to check on the source of the pain past a quick check for active external bleeding. She can't stomach another surprise until she's gotten out of the rain. No blood.
She takes a step forward as another test. Will her leg withstand the step? She places her foot gingerly down in front of her, waiting for her leg to give out. It doesn't. The leg aches, badly, but it feels more like a bad bruise than a mortal wound in need of any real care.
The wind is picking up, howling like a pack of wolves ready to swallow her up. With the storm, there's no way for her to tell which way is which, but more hearsay bubbles up inside of her.
Moss likes to grow on the north side of trees and rocks because it gets the least amount of sun. Though, what good does knowing which way is north do her? Directions mean nothing when you literally have no freaking clue where you are.
Unable to give any energy to choosing "the right" direction, she instinctively starts moving towards higher ground up towards the mountains.
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