Multiple Settings Detailed writing, ahoy. (open) (all pairings)

[Husk]

; Shout out to @Edna for inspiring me to, at last, create a thread like this.
I am searching for a handful of partners, 1-4 at most, who can light my literary flame, if you will. Pompous sounding, perhaps, but bear with me for I seek individuals who wish to challenge themselves as writers alongside myself, where we weave tales to our fullest capabilities. Given that writing is a craft, I will give you all the time you need to work on said craft. There is no quota. I come with many plots and pairings, should that be to your fancy, but I'm leaving this an open door for now. I thoroughly enjoy banter outside of roleplay; therefore, I'm always open to OOC. I shall provide samples, be they not the best due to a hiatus in which I engaged in only casual roleplays and hence, garnered rust. However, rust aside, you'll get a gist of my style. I am a fan of darker themes, riddled with angst. I'll leave a few words to inspire you, perhaps, and so you may catch my drift alongside my samples. Samples are to be provided at the door, that's the catch, we swap samples. See it as my way of seeing if we are compatible writers, nothing more, nothing less.
Anyways, you prepared to challenge me?

; themes: angst ; slow burn; psychological ; gritty & dark; macabre; slight fluff; survival; thriller ; mystery ; the human psyche ; beasts ; revenge ; moralistic complexities ; phobias ; toxicity ; musically inspired ; death ; romance ; platonic ; mental illness (but only if played accurately) ; addiction ; Noire ; mafia & crime ; sexuality struggles ; Stephen King-inspired ; Lovecraftian; Fantasy; Sci-fi ; Historical ; Mythos and Mythology; post-apocalyptic; shifters and werebeasts; cops and criminals; fantastical settings; futurisitic; video game inspired;

dear semi-colon, sorry for your abuse.

Spoiler: ➦

I can pretty much come up with a plot for any of these but ones with "*" already have seedlings planted.
It's like Subway up in here bros, pick and match and mix.

*Detective|Serial Killer

*Killer with Amnesia|Dectective

*Killer|Spirit

*Serial Killer| Serial Killer's object of fancy

*Addict|Addict, Addict|Former Addict, Addict|Sober

*Darker twists on the Red String of Fate.

*Darker twists on fairy tales of all sorts.

*Cultist|Demon

*Cultist|God

*Ghost|Living, Ghost|Ghost, Ghost|Other Supernatural Being

Gods, maybe? Or entities such as Death.

*Criminal {thief, prostitute, etc.}|Officer {corrupt or not}

*Someone struggling with their sexuality|Someone open, or perhaps, two characters struggling with their sexuality. Addable to any plot.

Exploration of life after death, perhaps?

Something based off of the song Hotel California, or really, based off any song. Gotta love basing plots on songs.

*Shifters! Be they weres or something of the sort.

Toxic relationships or forbidden love, or both.

Survivor|Survivor in a post-apocalyptic or war-torn setting.

Soulmate AUs, but dark, maybe?

Rivalry to Romance.

Ex|Ex

Cthuloid shenanigans

Time Traveler|Normal Human, Time Traveler|Time Traveler

Sadist|Masochist

Alien|Human

Dragon Shifter| Dragon Hunter

*Kidnapper|Kidnapped

Angel|Demon

Monster|Human

Immortal|Immortal

Immortal|Human

*Shifter|Human

Experiment|Scientist

Experiment|Experiment

Disordered|"Neurotypical" (must be construed well)

*Competent Survivor| Incompetent Survivor

* Werewolf|Human

Werewolf|Werewolf

Kitsune|Human

*Psychologist|Killer

Psychologist|Mentally troubled

Criminal|Upstanding Citizen

Alternate Personality|Alternate Personality

Mental Hospital Patient|Mental Hospital Patient

Depressed|Neurotypical

Good|Bad


Your ideas! pls, gimme them.

A taste of my writing

Spoiler

So came a particular shade of tumult to the facility, abrupt, taut as a strung wire, however, not of the abnormal. A cacophonous din erupted in the hospital in rumorous spillage whenever a miserly soul became admitted to the hellhole known as Laurel Ridge. Accommodated with ivory pigmented walls and tiled floors, many viewed the enclosing achromatism disconcerting; the smell of chemicals permeated through the air, the smell of the sick, ailing in ways where the traits of such illnesses might not unfurl in manifestations physical to the untrained eye. Of course, they elected to section all inmates- as he coined it- to individualistic wards associated with need as apropos, and marvel among his had reached a climax.

However, Elias, svelte frame nestled into a corner, perched on the edge of a recliner, the prominence of his skeletal figure clad in a baggy sweater that created the perception of weightlessness that he ever so lavished in, endeavored to stray from the discordance. Donning scrub pants about double his size, knotted fast to affix around his jutting hip bones, Eli could find no grievances in regards to his wardrobe today, for it served its convoluted purpose to conceive distortion when he glimpsed his appearance in the mirror.
A pill lay under his tongue, acrid and bitter, dissolving; a sleep-aid, Ambien as it was, one he pilfered prior, how being his little secret, yet, despite pursuing a high, the fervent impulse for inebriation, it did not lessen his nuisance at the turbulence around him, that perpetual chattering of the restless.
Beside him propped a smaller man, scars marring the span of his forearms, and, moreover, if one perceived well enough, the blemishing to his pallid skin appeared to be the result of self-mutilation.
Relatable, truly. Along the length of Elias's forearms bore similar marks, although he kept his obscured beneath articles of clothing.

Elias's meticulous glower flicked to a clock mounted on the wall, ticking with an audibleness grating and reverberating in his ears like a hum- a terrible reminder that time crawled at a sluggish, sufferable pace in this damnable place.
Furthermore, it served as a remembrance that the nurses would be taking medication rounds soon, drugging patients until reduced to the ambulating dead in function; patients certainly including himself, urging forth an exasperation vehement.

"Y'know, i-it's S-smoke break s-soon, Eli, y-you think the new p-person w-will-"
Stammering came from Ben, who clenched his own hands in a wrenching, clutch stemming from neurosis, blossoming into a habit.
Also gaunt, Ben's emaciation matched Elias's, and his bony knuckles stuck out with evident recesses between them.

"No, I don't particularly care about the new person, nor to speculate if our ward will be their new home, I don't listen to the grapevine, Ben."
Retaining a fractious mood, Elias came across brusque in his statements, rolling fierce, hazel eyes upward as if he fancied Ben's vexatious self elsewhere, especially as he had lugged his entirety from bed to this position, to skirt past the rumor-mill. Since his brusque utterance, Ben fell into a reticence, and Eli sought rapture in it; everyone played the part of bothersome gnats with mouths fluttering like droning wings today, with the whole ward brimming with jabber.
Given such ruckus, Elias surmised the hapless sod would be coming to their ward, one for adults, both male and female, although, they kept the rooms gendered and apart, so a yawning gap lay between the two. The trickling of patients in their ward stalled in eventuality, and, perhaps that indeed was why everyone could not contain their un-collective shit.

In the meanwhile, two nurses, of whom Elias held no fondness for, corralled the idlers and gossipers up for medication like cattle, encouraging "hushed voices," which elicited a snort from Elias; there would be no tranquility until the newcomer made their grand reveal.
For now, Ben withdrew with a curt nod, while Elias opted not to stir for he found medication time to be abhorrent, albeit, it was to no avail. One of the nurses brought him a minuscule plastic cup, topfull with a myriad of meds indicated for a multitude of disorders.
Expectant the nurse who handed him the medications gave him a connotative glare and Eli knew the unraveling of what it meant.
While holding inclination to obstinacy, he swallowed the medications in one gulp, aversion striking him as they slid down his gullet, however, he endured.
These medications gave him the urge to eat, with an insatiable hunger perturbing. Of course, such hunger became bestial in the turmoil of his ruminating mind creating a complete and utter fervent fear. As usual, when not under the sights of a nurse, with a sliver of pain, he expectorated the medications. Especially since on agog days such as these where, despite his agitation, intrigue burrowed through him, piqued- something inclination would allow admittance of, and therefore, he chose not to be sedated.

With the stolen Ambien kindled in effect throughout him, the room seemed to waver, moving like wild tides, and a sensation of being upon a rocking ship encompassed him.
Steadiness from acclimation to the hallucinogenic effect, Elias lumbered to the front of the room, near the exit that promised freedom. Two guards awaited him, yet he lingered, loitering; what was he waiting for, it seemed elusive from his wrenching clutches.

In the meanwhile, relinquished from the ordeal that is check-in- something that imprinted trepidation in Elias- was the new patient of which he bumped into an accident brought about by intoxication. At once, his body colliding into a petite frame, willowy as his, bone met bone, and he stepped backward, almost stumbling, taking in a girl with gray, monochrome strands of tendriled hair long and mane-like, with piercing eyes of a peculiar violet that took Elias back.
There was no disputing she had an engaging visage.

"Fuck, watch it."
Feigning ignorance that he had been responsible for the collision, Eli snapped, embittered for no particular reason besides his current vicious disposition.
"Oh, it's you, the newbie, who's caused quite the bustle. Welcome to hell, what are you in for?"
Given her emaciation of which he perceived during their clash, he could figure a semblance of theory what in part delivered her here.

 

[RoseSparrow]

A sample for a sample.
Husk

A taste of my writing.

Spoiler

There's nothing tragically beautiful about depression. It's not sad songs and poetry, shy glances or drowning in the bath. It's not ghostly white skin tainted by charcoal circles under sad eyes and large purple bruises stretching viciously up your arms. It isn't lonely walks, vacant coffee shops or smoking dusty cigarettes.

Depression is unwashed clothes and flaking skin. It's over eating and the inability to even get out of bed. It's giving up on yourself and not taking pride in your appearance anymore. It's empty inboxes, bursts of anger and late night tears. It's a feeling of disgust within yourself that makes you want to tear off your own skin just so you can feel clean. It's uncertainty and confusion. It's losing weight, long showers and greasy hair. It's constantly wishing you could be somewhere or someone else. It's losing the will to even live.
Depression is not tragically beautiful, it's just tragic and until your shrinks can mind read, she decides that the conversation is done. No more cozy chats, no more honesty, no more drugs, no more rooms without door handles. She doesn't need you anymore.

Madeline Adams suffers from depression. Once, someone asked her to describe her addiction to pills. She looked at the therapist woman, with the pinched face and oval glasses, with her dead eyes and said "Imagine a rat gnawing on your living flesh. Now imagine you had a magic stick to poke that rat away with in your hand, and if you poked that rat you would be filled with the most glorious feeling of contentment and warmth. Imagine using that stick would bring you to a level of happiness you had never achieved before, a personal nirvana that you never wanted to leave. Now imagine you are told not to use that stick and to let the rat keep on gnawing. That's my addiction, that's why all these therapies and groups will never work. You can detox me all you want but that rat is going to come back one day and when it does I'm going to be reaching for my magic stick. Nothing will stop me.”

Doctors and social workers talk at her with sterile voices, leaning in with well crafted professional caring, before going home to self-medicate with television and junk food. At least, with her addiction, Madeline can see and feel whatever she wants, when she wants, for how long she wants. All things considered, living in the moment and searching for serotonin was a high she was willing to live and die for.

Depression is the unseen, unheard, silent killer. It's the pain that's too much to cope with, too hard to deal with and so misunderstood. You can't escape it no matter how hard you try, because it follows you around like a black shadow that's on the inside, eating you or in Madeline’s case, the rat, that gnaws continuously. She reaches for the pills in the filing cabinet, pops the cap, and swallows the white pills down with haste. Tonight she would float in bliss and chase that never ending high. She laid down on her bathroom floor, the cold from the tiles seeping into her warm flesh. When her thoughts became nonsense, and all the more interesting for it, she knew she was falling asleep. Now all she had to do was let go.

 

[dontdropmycoffee]

You already know I'm in. (;

 

[mistereo]

You've sold me at angst.

 

[Lilbutterfli94]

Hmm, after seeing your writing style I think we would fit quite well. I could send some writing samples if you’d like

 

[Husk]

@Well, everyone.

Messaging you all.

 

[mon]

I resonate with nearly everything you've listed down. I don't have a particular "standard" writing style. I tend to mimic what my partners give me, but I think the closest thing I have to my original writing style is probably this one: sample here

If we're compatible, great! If we aren't, oh well. You win some, you lose some :`)

 

[HotshotXXV]

Love it. I can send a writing sample if you'd like. A small group would be something that I would enjoy a lot.

 

[Cosmos]

*HISSESS* THIS WHERE YA BEEN!?

 

[Husk]

Replying to you all~

 

[Cat.Chrestomanci]

Are you still looking for partners?

 

[pointmango]

You're probably full by now, but damn I really need to roleplay with you, your detail and skill are what I need. I love roleplays like this and have some ideas about your themes listed, hopefully, you are still looking.

 

[Husk]

Bump because I need moar.

 

[Husk]

tiny bump~

 

[CriticalRogue]

Hi!

I'm completely new to this site, but not new to RPing! (I feel like I've written that so many times today). I've been dying to find a roleplay partner who I can practice writing with, and I think you may be the one! Your writing is gorgeous (and I must say, way better than mine). But I am an experienced writer, comfortable with most genre's, themes and characters and happy to play whatever suits the plot we come up with! I'm a sucker for long, complex, plot-lines, character development and DRAMA! I love to chat OOC and get to know who I'm writing with... and sometimes I can be funny. Sometimes.

If you're happy to have a partner who want's to also improve and practice through roleplay, then let me know! I can send you a writing sample if you want one. Even though I'm incredibly intimidated by your skill with words.

 

[Husk]

Awh, please don't be too intimidated by me, your words are so kind and mean more than I can say! I'm not looking for perfection, so I'm sure you will be a lovely partner and I'll shoot you a PM. I don't bite everyone, I promise.

 

[Husk]

tiny bump~

 

[Black Mariah]

Hi Husk!
Your request thread is just my kind of gig. I've literally just joined, so if I can work out / anyone can tell me how to use the spoiler button on an android I will add a sample of my writing.

I write and rp a lot of horror, angst, psychological 'upset' through to criminal insanity, often in supernatural / mythological worlds but I do enjoy a good abandoned building as well. I can promise decent amounts of work and dedication as currently convalescing. In fact, you would be saving me from dying from boredom if you fancy letting me tag along

 

[EvenEcho]

Hello. I'm really interested. I have been in the mood for fandom RPs, but this looks way too interesting to just not even give a chance. I think I like too many of your idea character sets to really list them all, and it would be really interesting to mix and match. Here's a sample of my writing. It's not from an RP, but I write outside of RPing. I typically write similarly, but if you decide to try it out and you don't like the way I write, you can tell me and I won't be offended (I promise) and we can stop or I can try to change it up.

Spoiler: Writing Sample

Wilhelm loved his job. Honest to God he did, but he couldn’t stand the cases where he was forced to autopsy children. Never having children of his own, but not due to lack of want but lack of ability, he was always especially tired after being forced to dissect and takes intricate notes on the corpse of a little one. Wilhelm was a man of many things, but normality was not one of them. That is why he decided to be a forensic pathologist, that and the major benefits it gave. He was one of the smartest -- most educated -- people he knew and he was making much more money than anyone else in his family and his brothers were a variety of things. His youngest brother was a model and was currently in Seoul, South Korea for the next big fashion show while his oldest-younger brother was a video game designer for one of the hottest video game companies in the world. His middle brother, well, he was a lawyer so he was too snooty to talk to Wilhelm and in all honesty, nobody cared to talk to Ernest much due to his nasty attitude and aptitude for insulting you every five seconds.

So, he had been standing over the body of four year old Daniel Brock for the past three minutes; contemplating his next move. He only knew of the boy’s name due to dental confirmation. The boy wasn’t an ounce recognizable as a child, boy or even human. He was just charred to a crisp. He had been locked in a plastic storage bin in his parent’s closet and when the electric blanket caught fire, nobody bothered to save him (but he heard that Mr. Brock had managed to save his four electric guitars and Mrs. Brock collected her three jewelry boxes before calling the fire department. It was a sad case when not even the family loved the little boy. He wished, every time a child made their way into his morgue, that he could have saved them and given them a proper life. The life he and his brothers never had. It just so happens that the case of Daniel Brock was the breaking point and after that, Wilhelm suffered a serious mental break. One so intense that the hospital he was institutionalized in felt it necessary to bring up his childhood records. He had been a child with many ‘issues’. He was depressed, anxious and suffered from an undiagnosed mood disorder. Later in life he was diagnosed with a personality disorder giving him the proper mindset for a job buried in death and the darkness in the world.

The murder of Daniel Brock by combustion was the last case that Wilhelm worked on by his lonesome. Something inside of him snapped and he could no longer handle the guilt and the rage that came with working on such cases. Perhaps he hadn’t gotten into the right field like he thought he had. He was always so scared of rejection, he feared public places due to embarrassment and he lacked the ability to form meaningful interpersonal relationships. He was built for working with the dead. Those corpses could not judge him or subject him to the harshness of their feelings of his inadequacy.

Four years after the death of the Brock child, Wilhelm was still working with the dead, only now he was taking many medications to allow him to comfortably work with the living as well. He was a teacher, an instructor on the methods of preparing and examining the dead. He spoke with classrooms full of students who all took turns looking at the cadavers of the elderly who had donated their bodies to science. Four years later also found him having troubles with his wife.

He wasn’t going to comment on her spending all of his hard-earned cash on booze and ladies night at the few strip clubs around town, he wasn’t even going to let her know that he knew of her affair with that fucking kid, Grigor. That little bastard had been a student of his, introduced to his wife at an event, and then they were busy getting busy together in Dafne’s room. Perhaps it was his fault, he didn’t even sleep in the same room as his wife, he hadn’t had sex since he was a teenager (and he was nearly forty now) and let the Lord help him but he didn’t even care about his wife and Grigor. Yeah, it made him angry that Grigor ate his food in the middle of the night after a round of rough sex with his wife, but he didn’t care about him in general. He cared about how the little twenty-something year old brat ate all of his favourite foods before he even got home from work. Food his wife hated, like kimchi and dill pickles. He would hate to kiss somebody with kimchi breath, he realized as he thought about it. He was driving home after a long day. He had taken to staying away from his home for longer than necessary just because he couldn’t take the stimulation of being in the same area as someone else. His ears would ring and he couldn’t possibly focus on Dafne’s shrill whining for something and even more, he couldn’t stand when she accused him of not listening and then tried to rip him a new asshole. It was ridiculous, childish and completely uncalled for.

He took a turn and drove further towards the opposite side of town, far away from his house. He would stay in an apartment that night. That seemed like a great idea and he needed the sleep that only time away from his wife could give him. He couldn’t go to work and sleep, not like he could at the morgue anyway. He had always been so much more comfortable around corpses. They were silent, didn’t need to speak to make themselves feel comfortable, didn’t need to stare at him since he could close their eyes, didn’t need to bother him and he, in return, didn’t feel like he was a burden to them. Wilhelm booked himself a night at a nice motel and crashed into slumber upon hitting the pillow.

When he went home a week later, his wife had packed her things and left him a bundle of divorce papers claiming that she was going to live with Grigor until he could either decide to be a better husband or divorce her and leave her alone. It wasn’t much to go on, but he sent the papers to his lawyer, a lawyer his wife couldn’t afford since she lived off of him, and waited for his response. In the meantime, he cleaned his house until his hands were chapped and bloody, his feet were sore and his legs ached while his arms tensed and relaxed at random intervals from overuse. He was glad Dafne was gone, he now just missed the presence of someone else, even if he didn’t like that presence, he missed having another body close to him, even if close to him was two stories away.

Wilhelm didn’t bother going into work for a few days since there were plenty of people that could cover for him, that and his boss had let him know that he needed the time off and the big ol’ boss man told him to get ‘some fucking sleep because you look like shit’. He hadn’t declined this chance at a break. He had a few emails from concerned students and brown-nosers but besides that, he was left in peace. A eerie silence that he would have been okay with if he hadn’t been trapped in his own disturbing thoughts. In his head, he recounted all the murders he had presided over, all the bodies he autopsied, all the everything he had to do with evil. He liked to think he was the closest to the true nature of humanity without losing his humanity in the process.

Also, I tend to write the characters that are vicitms/nervous-wrecks/anxious/depressed/etc best, which is disturbing, but true. Recently I've been learning more about, uh, the actual perpetrators/violent killers/serial killers/psychopaths/etc and I wouldn't mind trying to play/write for one. C: