5 - Jan - 2013 | 04:47 am
If you'd like to contact me you can do so in one of the following places
22 - Aug - 2012 | 08:52 pm
The new revised chapters have some alterations in the early ones, not many, but enough to warrant inclusion in the reposting, especially since I kinda forgot where I started making the major alterations. The version here on LJ will remain unaltered and unupdated until I'm done with Turnling (sorry about that). Relevant links at the end of the post.
( Clicky to read about personal issues.Collapse )
If you'd like to read Turnling you can do so at AdultFanFiction.net.
If you'd like to know when I update you can follow @Draconicrose.
21 - Aug - 2012 | 05:30 am
Here's the problem though. None of the ones I found allow for stories with explicit violent and sexual content. That's fine and dandy, but every single one of them? Are we, authors who want to post our stories that contain content for adults supposed to just... I don't even know!
I love adultfanfiction to bits, so much that I'm willing to put up with the quirkiness of the site, but that site needs a complete redesign. Badly. Unfortunately it's made by voluntaries and a complete redisign would be next to impossible for them. *sigh*
I just want an archive where I can accurately find the stories I'm looking for.
18 - Aug - 2012 | 01:22 am
28 - Jul - 2012 | 06:13 am
Oh he knew no one would pay a vampire to hunt other vampires. There was only one company in that business and they had declared him dead after he had been unwillingly turned into the very thing they killed.
That, of course, didn't mean his hatred for the creatures was any less intense. Though now he was forced to be one of them, he still attempted to fulfil his human purpose: to rid the world of vampires.
John was well aware that if his mission was successful, he would have to kill himself.
Musing on his purpose didn't make the logistics of it any less problematic, however.
For the time being, John had been resorting to taking the money from his victims, which, while it gave him a nice, tidy sum at the end of the night, wasn't actually much. These days almost everyone used plastic and kept only a bare minimum of actual money in their pockets.
It wasn't that food and bills were expensive. The apartment he had got himself, in a low key part of the city populated mostly by drug users, their dealers, vampires and the occasional halfbreed, didn't ask much of rent, he could usually get enough for it. Electricity, water and internet, though they weren't the most reliable of things, were cheap as well.
No, his financial problems came from the tools of his trade. Guns and other assorted traditional weaponry that needed ammunition and maintenance, both things that came costly even if obtained through illegal means, which was about the only way a vampire, especially one noted as a dead man, could obtain them.
John thought of what he could do to get more funding, staring at his computer screen, a hand coming up distractedly to the necklace he wore, this time one he had made out of empty bullet shells and a decent sized pair of fangs.
And then it hit him.
18 - Jul - 2012 | 10:58 pm
Nowadays, not so much. Different reasons for it too, but I think the most flagrant reason is that real life stopped being conductive to much creative or argumentative writing. It all started drying up when I went to college to study informatics engineering, which is mostly about programming and building software and maths. Amazingly, I stopped having time/will to write.
Lately I've been trying to get back into it and just write anything. Short posts in social networks, longer posts in tumblr or here at Livejournal. It's been working. I've been writing way more and suddenly there's not that much resistance to writing at all. This means I can actually go back to working on Turnling, though I'm not posting it until it's complete. I don't want to leave it hanging again.
20 - Jun - 2012 | 01:42 pm
What I like (in theory, haven't messed around with it yet) is that readers can give your story a heart (sort of like a like), leave a comment or a review. It's just perfect to get feedback from lazy readers, less lazy readers and non-lazy readers (or people who only review properly once the story is done). I definitely recommend at least checking it out.
P.S.: Unfortunately you can't submit stories with mature content. :(
6 - Jun - 2012 | 11:14 pm
John looked on, the corpse still. Sometimes they attempted to fake it, catch him unaware, but he was slowly learning, slowly beginning to trust his heightened inhuman senses.
There was no soft thump of a barely beating heart, no breathing, no circulation of the blood beneath the skin. This often meant nothing when dealing with the creatures.
Minutes passed and only then he was sure that the blood sucker was dead. His footsteps were silent in the concrete while he approached and leaned down over the vampire.
She had been beautiful, once. Fine features, high cheekbones, full lips still twisted back in a snarl. Even her fangs were not so terrible. He risked a smile at that thought. Beauty should not go to such waste.
John set to work removing the fangs, one more beautiful pair for his collection.
In all the months that he had spent hunting, honing his skills, becoming better than Hunter, racking up a kill count, he had never again found the one that had made him. He didn't feel anger anymore, either, but... unrest. He wanted to know why. He wanted to kill him and be done with it all.
The fangs were threaded through the string, joining his collection, which he then tied around his neck, listening to the very soft sounds they made while he moved.
A movement caught his attention, just beyond his vision. A girl stood at the mouth of the allay, staring down, wide eyed at him. He could see her, scantily clad, heavy make up, ready for the clubs.
“John? Is that... is that you? Brother?” The last word barely a whisper, yet all too audible to him.
It was as if a bullet had hit him, straight to the heart. His breath stopped and he stared, wide eyed, at the girl. His... his sister. They thought he was dead, the hunters had told them he was dead, how could she recognise him? When he was in the dark, when he was supposed to be dead.
“John...” she began to approach, reluctant but determined steps, was she insane?!
He turned and ran.
5 - Jun - 2012 | 05:41 pm
“It is their duty, my Mother Queen.”
Royalty always spoke as they wished. They thought they wouldn't be heard, from behind the windows of the palace. But the Guardians did. Senses higher than any natural creature, they heard all that was said around them, despite standing as statues, despite doing their best to tune it all out.
What no other human could understand, what none who hadn't entered a Guardian could, was that it was not a curse, but a blessing that was bestowed upon the vessels. To be freed of the utterly mortal, weak, fragile human body and inserted in a powerful magical construct.
None knew the beauty of the world. How could they, if they hadn't soared its winds by their own wing? How could they if they hadn't felt all its textures, smelled all its scents, tasted all its beings, heard all its whispers and seen all its colors? They didn't know. They had no idea what it felt like to push one's will upon reality, through magic and strength alike. They couldn't be aware of the intricate web of energy, of magic, that connected all things, living and unliving alike.
To be again confined to the original human body... it was hell. It was death, or at the very least a mockery of life.
Two Guardians stood above the battered, broken body of Argus. Their sharp teethed mouths chanting, glowing black eyes closed to the visible world. Their magic weaved, mended, brought Argus back to life.
All he could do was sit in the wheelchair nearby, watching, barely aware. Spells aided him. Spells did the work his brain was no longer fit to do itself. Regulating all the functions of the sack of meat that stored him temporarily. He was barely aware of himself. So dull, he felt cold, not for the temperature, which he guessed was warm due to humans dressed in light clothing, but because his senses did not work as they should. Everything was dead to him, liveless.
“Argus? Is everything alright?” Trinity asked him, reaching over to turn his head towards her, for he knew not how to do it himself any more, so different his neck and muscles were from the Guardian's long and flexible one. Trinity reached again, this time with a hankerchief to wipe his face. He barely felt it. “Why are you crying?”
He didn't answer.
5 - Jun - 2012 | 01:07 am
A voice. Female? Low.
“Argus! Argus please wake up!”
“Leave it Trinity, he hasn't had enough time to recover!”
“Argus! … No Jameson, he needs to wake up!”
“We don't even know if his conscience survived the--”
“Don't you dare!”
“Did he move? Trinity, check the crystals!”
“He's conscient! Argus, can you hear us? Wake up, love.”
He opened his eyes. Everything was blurry. Shapes, vaguely human. Or... no. His friends. Trinity, he could recognise her voice, though the words escaped him now. Another voice, male, he knew it. Jameson. Other voices. He didn't know those.
“Why is the...” Jameson, again. “... not breathing. Get the spell going.”
A flash of something, seeping towards his field of vision. Trinity's form. He gasped, suddenly. “Argus, you're not in the Guardian any more. You need to remember, how to function.” Her voice, so gentle.
Remember how to function. Not in the Guardian. What? “T-trin...” Strange. He felt numb. Couldn't speak, mouth felt unwieldy. Fuck, where were his teeth?! No, there but... blunt. Tongue, short. Throat... open for air but stuck, unmaleable.
“Argus, I'll release the spell. Breathe, ok? With your stomach.”
His throat tightened. What was going on? Breathe? Ok... his stomach expanded, pulling air into his lungs. Wait, lungs? Where was he?
“T-trinity whe-where?” The blurryness was fading. He was begining to breathe on his own. Her form was in front of him, glowing shapes moving at her fingertips. He would shake the rest of the blurriness away, but he didn't know how.
“It's ok Argus. Breathe, love, we need you to tell us where your Guardian is.” She smiled at him, a soft, compassionate smile. The world seemed so dull to his eyes though, even with the blurriness gone.
She had mentioned his Guardian. What was... ah. Yes, he was remembering. The reason he felt so strange, his body, his Guardian, lost out there. He remembered a flash of red, maybe flames and then... darkness. Until their voices. He was safe, but his body wasn't. Where had he been?
“There was an attack...” he managed to croak out. His body and limbs had feeling again, but they felt so... short, limited, unwieldy. Alien. There were limbs missing.
“We know, but where, exactly? We can't find your Guardian anywhere and if you're back, it can't have run off on its own.” Jameson's voice now, everything but worried about him, good old Jameson.
“I don't know. I saw red, I... fainted. Where am I?” He had a good idea, but he wasn't sure it wasn't familiar or maybe... it was, but a different perspective altogether.
“You're in the lab, love. Back to your body. Your...” Her gentle voice hesitated. “Your human body.”
Human? … HUMAN! His weak, pathetic, birth body, his, mortal, his, no!
“Trinity, the fuck?!” Jameson admonished, his fingertips flying up. “You know that upsets him!”
Fuck. Fuck! He had sense now, if his true body was captured, or destroyed... he would never be issued another, would never again fly, would never. “N-No! I need to go back! Send me back!”
“Argus, please, we don't know where it is, if it's even still alive, if--”
“It's ME! My body, get it get it back!” His voice had turned high pitched, hysterical. They needed to understand, needed to know, he couldn't live as this! “It was near the battlements!”
“... alright Trinity, put him under. Best we find the damn thing before he works himself up to a heart attack.”
Argus stared at Trinity's face, memorizing the distaste in her features before, once again, darkness.
Just random snippet based on this news story.