Vixere
12/11/19 update!
Melbourne Member
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There may be jokes here one day. I'm not very funny, so it will take a while.
Current avatar credit because the world needs art.
Current avatar credit because the world needs art.
Most Recent Posts
12/11/19 update!
Childhood in Avery’s railyard hometown had been a crash course in Boys’ Club politics. For years, it had only been her, Sam, and their dad in the house. Jimmy Costello liked to lean on his horn in traffic, point at a woman on the corner, and say to his kids in the backseat, “Don’t worry, she’s your mother.” He said the same thing when he found a Playboy Sam had wedged between the toilet tank and the wall. “Come on, Sammy, why do you have to jack it to your own ma?” Everyone was their mother. The news anchor, Avery’s third grade teacher, Jimmy’s favorite bartender. Once, Jimmy was arrested on the front lawn, and the two kids rolled their eyes while he “let” the female cop cuff him. “I’m only doing it,” he slurred, drunk, “because she helped me make the both of you.” He stayed a few extra days in a holding cell for that one.
In high school, she was “Sam’s little sister,” but that was a double-edged sword. Her brother’s friends were a pack of wild dogs that roved the streets with baseball bats, spray paint, and liquor bottles stolen from a rotating selection of family cabinets. They taught her how to drink, skip class, and sell Xanax prescriptions to rich people in Bunker Hill. You clean up okay, so they’ll trust you because you’re white. When she wanted to try out for the school soccer team, Jack Bilson laughed. “Have fun with the dykes.” Bilson probably gave her the most shit, but he also had her back the hardest. As teenagers do, some started a rumor that Sam’s friends only tolerated Avery because she gave them all blowjobs -- Bilson found that guy that started it and slashed his car tires. “I told him that if he started shit again, that I’d stuff his body inside the next tire, set it on fire, and leave it on his mother’s porch. Fucking bitch.”
She found it difficult to completely divorce herself from her hometown attitude. After college, she dated a nice guy who went to therapy and had a gay, polyamorous sister -- he acted like it gave him street cred for being a paragon of thoughtfulness. Avery was attracted to him at first because he was the opposite of what she was used to. Reluctantly, she accepted that she found his sensitivity grating. He asked her one night what she wanted in bed. “I want you to shut up,” she muttered, “and fuck me.” The relationship was doomed after that. She got drunk and called him a bitch, and he called her a hopeless charity case that only got into Northeastern because of Title IX. Yeah, she told Sam later that night on the phone, the nice ones are so much worse.
So when Thomas Duke, resident charmer of the ABI, said some sly comment about women and football, she saw a chessboard unfold. She bit back, sacrificing a pawn, but it was expected. His harmless Midwestern douchery was an empty shell compared to the minefield of bro-dude bullshit she’d waded through growing up. Avery was from that minefield, and as far as she was concerned, you don’t forget where you came from.
So far, Duke was harmless. It didn’t hurt that he was conventionally attractive, but “conventional” wasn’t really her bag. While maybe she thought he was a little too Wonderbread for her, a stranger would probably put her on the same shelf. Her wardrobe was half J. Crew and half free t-shirts from college. Average height, brown hair, good posture. Sam liked to give her shit for her blue eyes and say they were “from Mom,” but neither of them knew who that was. A running scholarship got her out, and she tried to keep up with it. Her body was the result of midnight circuits around her neighborhood -- something to get her mind to rest at night. Otherwise, she stood like a cop. It was impossible not to, and it was a dead giveaway.
She stuck a hand in one pocket while she flipped through photos, suppressing the urge to look away. Her other hand went to her necklace, something Bilson had given to her before he went overseas and gotten himself killed like a fucking idiot. McCann’s claim that he was sending them to the Fox Islands because of their quibbling rendered false to her -- maybe this was their chance. Sink or swim. Fuck it up, and their future was probably desk work. Sixteen unsolved murders was a big deal. If they couldn’t handle it, the Feds were the next step. Giving up her first big case because she couldn’t cut it wasn’t on her agenda.
The amount of disappearances was what stuck with Avery. It was eerie. Just...odd. Her eyes moved from the photos when she felt both McCann and Duke looking at her. “No questions,” she said. She nodded at Duke. “Guess we’re crashing here tonight, huh? Grab your sleeping bag.” They had two days to come up with a game plan before they showed up on someone else’s turf, asking their big city questions. The sleeping part was only half a joke. They likely wouldn’t have time for any rest of any sort before they left.
McCann gave them the room, and the balance in the air shifted somewhat.
“I’m sorry. About yesterday.” Avery rolled up the sleeves of her white collared shirt and looked Duke in the eye, to make up for how flat her apology sounded. She blinked, embarrassed by what she had to say next, and turned her back to him. She put her hands on her hips and looked down at the table, knowing that it would be worse to fake it than to pony up. “Any advice on how to start? This is my first big case.”
Great. Cool. Here we go.
In high school, she was “Sam’s little sister,” but that was a double-edged sword. Her brother’s friends were a pack of wild dogs that roved the streets with baseball bats, spray paint, and liquor bottles stolen from a rotating selection of family cabinets. They taught her how to drink, skip class, and sell Xanax prescriptions to rich people in Bunker Hill. You clean up okay, so they’ll trust you because you’re white. When she wanted to try out for the school soccer team, Jack Bilson laughed. “Have fun with the dykes.” Bilson probably gave her the most shit, but he also had her back the hardest. As teenagers do, some started a rumor that Sam’s friends only tolerated Avery because she gave them all blowjobs -- Bilson found that guy that started it and slashed his car tires. “I told him that if he started shit again, that I’d stuff his body inside the next tire, set it on fire, and leave it on his mother’s porch. Fucking bitch.”
She found it difficult to completely divorce herself from her hometown attitude. After college, she dated a nice guy who went to therapy and had a gay, polyamorous sister -- he acted like it gave him street cred for being a paragon of thoughtfulness. Avery was attracted to him at first because he was the opposite of what she was used to. Reluctantly, she accepted that she found his sensitivity grating. He asked her one night what she wanted in bed. “I want you to shut up,” she muttered, “and fuck me.” The relationship was doomed after that. She got drunk and called him a bitch, and he called her a hopeless charity case that only got into Northeastern because of Title IX. Yeah, she told Sam later that night on the phone, the nice ones are so much worse.
So when Thomas Duke, resident charmer of the ABI, said some sly comment about women and football, she saw a chessboard unfold. She bit back, sacrificing a pawn, but it was expected. His harmless Midwestern douchery was an empty shell compared to the minefield of bro-dude bullshit she’d waded through growing up. Avery was from that minefield, and as far as she was concerned, you don’t forget where you came from.
So far, Duke was harmless. It didn’t hurt that he was conventionally attractive, but “conventional” wasn’t really her bag. While maybe she thought he was a little too Wonderbread for her, a stranger would probably put her on the same shelf. Her wardrobe was half J. Crew and half free t-shirts from college. Average height, brown hair, good posture. Sam liked to give her shit for her blue eyes and say they were “from Mom,” but neither of them knew who that was. A running scholarship got her out, and she tried to keep up with it. Her body was the result of midnight circuits around her neighborhood -- something to get her mind to rest at night. Otherwise, she stood like a cop. It was impossible not to, and it was a dead giveaway.
She stuck a hand in one pocket while she flipped through photos, suppressing the urge to look away. Her other hand went to her necklace, something Bilson had given to her before he went overseas and gotten himself killed like a fucking idiot. McCann’s claim that he was sending them to the Fox Islands because of their quibbling rendered false to her -- maybe this was their chance. Sink or swim. Fuck it up, and their future was probably desk work. Sixteen unsolved murders was a big deal. If they couldn’t handle it, the Feds were the next step. Giving up her first big case because she couldn’t cut it wasn’t on her agenda.
The amount of disappearances was what stuck with Avery. It was eerie. Just...odd. Her eyes moved from the photos when she felt both McCann and Duke looking at her. “No questions,” she said. She nodded at Duke. “Guess we’re crashing here tonight, huh? Grab your sleeping bag.” They had two days to come up with a game plan before they showed up on someone else’s turf, asking their big city questions. The sleeping part was only half a joke. They likely wouldn’t have time for any rest of any sort before they left.
McCann gave them the room, and the balance in the air shifted somewhat.
“I’m sorry. About yesterday.” Avery rolled up the sleeves of her white collared shirt and looked Duke in the eye, to make up for how flat her apology sounded. She blinked, embarrassed by what she had to say next, and turned her back to him. She put her hands on her hips and looked down at the table, knowing that it would be worse to fake it than to pony up. “Any advice on how to start? This is my first big case.”
Great. Cool. Here we go.
ALASKA BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
ANCHORAGE, A.K.
“There is reality, and there is imagination. Do you know what the difference is? In reality, shit can be touched and seen. Imagination is for things that don’t exist, like the wage gap or Jesus or vampires – ”
“You need to shut up, or I’m not calling you ever again.”
“ – so when you tell me that I’m making something up, I want to be sure that you know the difference between imagination and reality.”
Costello family conversations were never-ending circles of bantering and bickering. As it were, only two members remained, and Avery wasn’t averse to removing her brother’s vocal cords so she could live the rest of her life in peace. Because arguments were their primary mode of showing affection, Sam was the only person alive she let give her shit.
“Fine,” she conceded. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Come and visit me, but we both know you’re not going to sit in a place for eleven hours.” He laughed and made a weak attempt at insisting otherwise, but she cut him off again. “Listen, I have to go. I’m carrying coffees, and if I drop these, I’m going to – ”
“Coffees? Plural?”
“New partner. He’s a dick, but we kind of got into it yesterday and I’m trying to apologize. I don’t have time to explain.”
Avery balanced one coffee on top of the other and stuffed her phone into her coat. With her free hand, she flashed her badge in the lobby, but she was still stopped. It as only her first week with the Bureau. In addition to her badge, she needed another ID, and the guard sighed when he looked at her driver’s license. “Oh, right. You’re the Massachusetts girl. Just go.”
The ABI office inhabited the fourth and fifth floors of a non-descript government building that was, conveniently, near absolutely no modes of public transportation. Her car was still in Boston, so she’d walked the mile to work from her shoebox downtown apartment. As penance for hoofing it in the cold, her first sip of coffee was lukewarm at best. Here, Duke. Sorry I called you an insufferable asshole yesterday. Enjoy your bathwater coffee. Sincerely, Costello. It hadn’t been her finest moment, but she blamed her temper on not being “settled in” yet. The new job, state, and apartment were full of eccentricities that required patience and grace – neither of which she had in abundance.
She barely got to her desk and took off her coat when the Captain McCann called for her. “Costello. Conference room. Now.”
Something was happening. The last week had been full of trainings and a slog of deskwork – a rookie welcoming, she supposed. For the most part, Anchorage wasn’t teeming with murders and mysteries, and she was beginning to regret upheaving her life to chase this job opportunity. A dark feeling in her stomach insisted that this particular summoning was bad. Maybe it had something to do with her attitude the day before.
The blinds were up in the conference room, and Avery saw McCann chatting with Duke. They had folders spread all over the table. Her bad feeling eased a bit, but as soon as she shouldered open the door, she heard the tail end of what McCann had been saying.
“ – ferry doesn’t run again until after the solstice. Small-town bullshit, you know. You’ll be there for a month and a half, at least.” He looked up when Avery entered the room. “You’re taking the rook. A little bonding trip. You two need it.”
Whatever McCann was saying, she stopped listening. Her eyes were glued to the glossy photos displayed on the table. They were poor quality, she noticed. Likely they were blown up from a smartphone. She set the coffees down and tucked her hair behind her ears before touching the edge of one of the pictures. The specific kind of carnage depicted she'd only seen as results of animal attacks.
"A little bonding," Avery murmured, still engrossed in the files. "Is that what you're calling this?"
ANCHORAGE, A.K.
“There is reality, and there is imagination. Do you know what the difference is? In reality, shit can be touched and seen. Imagination is for things that don’t exist, like the wage gap or Jesus or vampires – ”
“You need to shut up, or I’m not calling you ever again.”
“ – so when you tell me that I’m making something up, I want to be sure that you know the difference between imagination and reality.”
Costello family conversations were never-ending circles of bantering and bickering. As it were, only two members remained, and Avery wasn’t averse to removing her brother’s vocal cords so she could live the rest of her life in peace. Because arguments were their primary mode of showing affection, Sam was the only person alive she let give her shit.
“Fine,” she conceded. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Come and visit me, but we both know you’re not going to sit in a place for eleven hours.” He laughed and made a weak attempt at insisting otherwise, but she cut him off again. “Listen, I have to go. I’m carrying coffees, and if I drop these, I’m going to – ”
“Coffees? Plural?”
“New partner. He’s a dick, but we kind of got into it yesterday and I’m trying to apologize. I don’t have time to explain.”
Avery balanced one coffee on top of the other and stuffed her phone into her coat. With her free hand, she flashed her badge in the lobby, but she was still stopped. It as only her first week with the Bureau. In addition to her badge, she needed another ID, and the guard sighed when he looked at her driver’s license. “Oh, right. You’re the Massachusetts girl. Just go.”
The ABI office inhabited the fourth and fifth floors of a non-descript government building that was, conveniently, near absolutely no modes of public transportation. Her car was still in Boston, so she’d walked the mile to work from her shoebox downtown apartment. As penance for hoofing it in the cold, her first sip of coffee was lukewarm at best. Here, Duke. Sorry I called you an insufferable asshole yesterday. Enjoy your bathwater coffee. Sincerely, Costello. It hadn’t been her finest moment, but she blamed her temper on not being “settled in” yet. The new job, state, and apartment were full of eccentricities that required patience and grace – neither of which she had in abundance.
She barely got to her desk and took off her coat when the Captain McCann called for her. “Costello. Conference room. Now.”
Something was happening. The last week had been full of trainings and a slog of deskwork – a rookie welcoming, she supposed. For the most part, Anchorage wasn’t teeming with murders and mysteries, and she was beginning to regret upheaving her life to chase this job opportunity. A dark feeling in her stomach insisted that this particular summoning was bad. Maybe it had something to do with her attitude the day before.
The blinds were up in the conference room, and Avery saw McCann chatting with Duke. They had folders spread all over the table. Her bad feeling eased a bit, but as soon as she shouldered open the door, she heard the tail end of what McCann had been saying.
“ – ferry doesn’t run again until after the solstice. Small-town bullshit, you know. You’ll be there for a month and a half, at least.” He looked up when Avery entered the room. “You’re taking the rook. A little bonding trip. You two need it.”
Whatever McCann was saying, she stopped listening. Her eyes were glued to the glossy photos displayed on the table. They were poor quality, she noticed. Likely they were blown up from a smartphone. She set the coffees down and tucked her hair behind her ears before touching the edge of one of the pictures. The specific kind of carnage depicted she'd only seen as results of animal attacks.
"A little bonding," Avery murmured, still engrossed in the files. "Is that what you're calling this?"
THE GENERAL STUFF:
- 18+ mature themes here. Violence, language, drugs, sex, etc. I'm all for dirt and grit.
- Expect regular posts from me. That being said, I’m absolutely okay with less frequent posts – say weekly or every other week. Every thread is different. Also, the world is a garbage fire due to current events, so I think everyone gets a free pass on some of this stuff.
- Please understand basic grammar. Know where the punctuation goes in dialogue. I’m the first to admit that I fall into all sorts of traps (I love a good em-dash, I sometimes don’t write complete sentences, commas get lazy, whatever, like this) and humans are humans. If you care slightly more than the average person, we’ll be great.
- Call me out on my shit. Did I contradict myself, assume something about your character, or write something just…bad? Tell me! I genuinely want to hear. We’re creating together.
- I don’t have expectations for post length or content. Write, contribute to the story, acknowledge my post in a few ways, etc. Sometimes I’ll write a thousand words, and sometimes it will be a handful of sentences. I’ll work with what you give me.
- No fandoms or pre-made characters. I don’t want to be in someone else’s sandbox. Don’t get me wrong, I love reading a lot of it, but writing it just doesn’t work out for me.
- I’d like to stick with something modern and contemporary. I get too bogged down in world-building, historical settings, etc.
- MxF mostly. If it matters, I’m a woman who writes women and men with equal frequency. I’m pretty indifferent about which side I play.
- Last, please spare me your soft porn. I’m all in for the occasional sexy time, but if that’s your priority, let me save you the effort now.
Let’s make some characters, pick a plot, and drop them in the water! Stay true to your creation and don’t be afraid to fight with my character or cause drama. I revel in the moment where things are going horribly and I doubt if they’re ever going to fix it. People sometimes have a tendency to be garbage, and I enjoy exploring how humans behave at their worst or weakest – I’m a fighter for the underdog.
And now the fun stuff!
THEMES:
Crime
Addiction/recovery
Infidelity
Power differences
Melodrama
Military
Scars/injuries
PLOTS:
I’m 100% open to changing or mashing together any of these. They’re designed to get the juices flowing and show you a bit of what I’m looking for.
Soldier x Widow
After her husband dies overseas, a small-town mother reluctantly accepts the help of her brother-in-law with the house.
Politician x Bodyguard
He’s charged with protecting her, but as the differences between her public and private life become difficult to mitigate, he decides to set parameters.
Cop x Informant
His best source works at a seedy, downtown strip club. He often has to choose between her safety and his, but when the law becomes blurry, so does his judgment.
Detective x Detective
It’s been a few years since the big, unsolved case that drove their careers apart. When new evidence arises, they agree to take on that old case, but their personal bullshit threatens their ability to get the job done.
WRITING SAMPLE:
Because I’m new to the site, and there’s not a lot of my stuff on the boards yet --
UPDATES:
01/30/21: Give me anything melodramatic. I'm not picky.
Please respond via PM! Thanks, friends. See you out there!
What's up?
It's been a few years! I have such a nostalgia for RP forums -- these places helped me cut my typing chops when I was a teenager, and while my creative writing has taken me elsewhere, I do miss the forum community. I'm happy to be back!
I love character building and creating original plots (even if they're super cliche). I'm a sucker for melodrama, inner demon wrestling, dark romance, and letting the thread go where it may. For the most part, I steer pretty clear of fantasy, sci-fi, and fandoms. I do like reading them, though.
You'll probably find me on the casual boards or 1x1s. I'll catch you guys out there!
It's been a few years! I have such a nostalgia for RP forums -- these places helped me cut my typing chops when I was a teenager, and while my creative writing has taken me elsewhere, I do miss the forum community. I'm happy to be back!
I love character building and creating original plots (even if they're super cliche). I'm a sucker for melodrama, inner demon wrestling, dark romance, and letting the thread go where it may. For the most part, I steer pretty clear of fantasy, sci-fi, and fandoms. I do like reading them, though.
You'll probably find me on the casual boards or 1x1s. I'll catch you guys out there!
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