#sample starter

[drydenvosofthecrimsondawn]

🌀Sample piece🌀

Promised a sample before work....here it is.

**if you would like this as an actual starter please message me and I'll repost it**

Dryden Vos sat behind his large desk he chair leaned back as far as it would go. His legs where stretched out in front of him while his elbows rested on the arms of the chair, his hands could fold together over his chest.

The crime boss was waiting, which was not something he was very good at. He had caught a smuggler trying to steal from him and before he had ended the poor souls life they had made him a proposal. One he could not pass up.

The smuggler had promised a fair amount of Ryll. While he personally had no real use for it he knew of someone who did. It would make him a large sum of money. It was worth the risk, so he allowed the thief to live for the moment.

But, now he was losing what little patience he had. The smuggler was running late. The pale Mark's on his face were darkening and the white of his eyes were starting to burn red.

Imagines of what he would do to the smuggler started passing though his head each image worse then the one before and he was about to settle on disembowelment when a small voice on the com sounded.

"Sir, the smuggler is back"

The voice snapped Dryden from thought, " Send them in" his deep voice dripped in a threatening manner. While he wait he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. It would do him no good if he killed the person on sight.

[aristhmetic]

**Writing Sample 1**

Two sets of footsteps echoed through the cavernous corridors of the citadel, reverberating off cold steel walls; one brisk and heavy, making little effort to slow for the other shuffling softly behind it. The boy was swimming in the too-large woolen coat, his feet slipping inside boots that were similarly oversized as he hurried after the guard ahead of him. Narrow and half starved, finding suitable clothing had been a struggle his wardens put slim effort towards resolving, though it was sufficient. While his teeth still chattered with an unfamiliar, interminable cold the boy was past the worst of it now. He couldn’t fathom how people survived in such a place, and yet clear evidence stood at every turn that they did much and more than just survive. What were they like, these people who lived under such conditions? Surely, they must be as cold as the barren expanse housing their city if the soldiers he’d encountered were anything to go by.

Yet as inauspicious as they were, he’d been treated with a marked lack of cruelty since departing his home. No harsh words were spoken, no motions made to strike him. He’d been fed, clothed, even some of his fresher hurts tended to. All care no doubt intended to ensure he had the capability of traveling unhindered, but he appreciated it, nonetheless.

No tears were shed on either side when the exchange was finished. The only parting words from his father warnings of what would transpire should he ruin this opportunity for them. His mother hadn’t even spared him a second glance. He didn’t care. He didn’t mourn. Perhaps because he was as cold as the soldiers and the homeland, they bore him to. His parents had certainly made it clear from the beginning that he barely qualified as human. Even a dog would flinch when shouted at, shy away when a hand was raised. No _normal_ child could hear so keenly, see as closely, know what had never been shared. As much a threat as a burden, and one happily traded for a chance a better life. The qualities that frightened them had somehow proven valuable.

Those selfsame senses were serving now to stand the boy’s hair on end as the guard escorting him came to a stop outside a wide doorway, behind which he could hear a deep thrumming. Since they’d stepped inside the whole building had a steady hum, like a living, breathing thing. The fortress had a nervous system and here was a somatic center. Rather than fear, he felt a sharp curiosity about what and who lay beyond and he looked from the doors to his escort expectantly. Without acknowledging him she held some sort of card to a panel on the side, triggering a beep that preceded a hiss as the doors slid open.

[underwoodinsp]

sample starter

He’d just woken up. This much was obvious.

It was lucky that he knew the route from home to coffee as well as he did, stumbling along like a fawn in a concrete wood, eyes rubbed with the back of tired hands and chapped lips stretched into a permanent yawn. His hair was tousled, shirt lazy and haphazard in the way that it draped over broad, princely shoulders; he looked quite as if he’d rolled from the pages of an ad for expensive sleepwear - and perhaps he had. He was a sleepy piece of sunlight, dancing from one curb to the other, pushing through the tinkling front door of the cafe which seemed to have not changed in the slightest since his most recent habitual departure; even on the brink of sleep, Harry was ever alight with smile and charm, no matter the sleepy quality of his particular brand of habitual flirtation.

Coffee in hand, he plopped at the first open seat he came to; it hardly occurred to him to find an unoccupied table, for by this time of day, it was quite full, quite busy. And besides, there was nothing like a little good conversation to rouse him from his sleep - and his hangover, if the rushing of his head in the descent into the chair was any indication. With a groan, he let his coffee mug settle on the table before him, head falling to the heels of his hands as he squeezed his eyes shut. Nose scrunched, lips pursed, Harry felt the room swim about him; he’d had worse, but dramatics were always warranted.

“Tell me a joke,” he commanded, though the sleepy quality of his voice made him sound rather like an overgrown child asking for a bedtime story. He waved his hand indiscriminately at the body opposite him - for he’d not taken the time to discern just who it was he’d decided to spend his morning with - as if to prod them forth: “A good one.” Surely that would be the hangover cure to end them all.

Hopefully.

[mockorla]

It was a tried and true tradition, a faultless set of steps which demanded to be followed – speaking with Kristof would inevitably lead to frustration, which would inevitably lead to a tumult of conflicting emotions, a back and forth of epic proportions contained within a pristine porcelain package. The utterly prickling of frustration mingled with the lasting high of her act, the success of which had kept her high for days, leading her to find herself here,at a usual haunt. A barstool upon which she perched whenever she needed to calm the tumult and a familiar cocktail nursed between her lips, and Orla was comfortable, settled into the beginning of a night dedicated to emotional repression.

Emotional repression was the name of the game; she was a goddamn pro.

Surrounded by faceless bodies – and did it really matter? – Orla was most comfortable. To no one in particular, with a tip of the head back and a sharp rush of lime and vodka down the back of her throat, she let out a languid laugh, “Think I can make the whole bottledisappear?” Tossing raven curls over her shoulders, she wiped at the corners of her lips; thoroughly pleased with her own wit, sure, but in desperate need of something to disappear into.

“Or shall I read your fortune through the haze of booze? The future always seems clearer after a few drinks.”

[neverweepingwillow]

Sample Starter Two

What’re you doing here? I thought you said you never came on Saturdays. You broke my heart sayin’ I’d only see you one day a week. 

Well, c’mon, we have a lotta dancing to catch up on. And you still need to work on your twirling. 

[petrova-warrior-elena-blog]

Sample starter.

As Elena quickly tried to hide her surprised face, Stefan tilted his head slightly to the side. Not only was she surprised to see him, but she looked sad. Her eyes glazed over with tears that were just about to fall. Slowly, his eyes moved to the gravestones she stood before. Grayson and Miranda Gilbert. “Are you alright?” Stefan asked tentatively, taking a step toward her. He didn’t need an explanation, because he knew exactly who they were, exactly what had happened. Stefan knew because he was there, though it was something Elena did not know or needed to know anytime soon. It was in those brighter days, when Stefan had actually been trying to eliminate the ripper inside of him all together, trying to somehow get his life back together. But it had failed, and he still continued to feed for the mere pleasure of it. It should have been Damon who stood in his place, but his older brother had somehow managed to improve his human traits as Stefan became all vampire.

If the doppelganger didn’t have such a close similarity to Katherine, Stefan was sure there would be no holding back his blood-lust. He could smell her blood. It filled his senses with angst as he used all of his willpower to keep his fangs receded and his face normal. She looked so innocent, so unlike the previous doppelganger before her that he had developed such strong feelings for, only to realize how crazy it really was. “I wasn’t expected to find you here, Elena,” he let his arms drop to his sides, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he watched the young girl stare back at him.

Elena looked around for a second, they were alone. The cemetery was quiet as always. When Stefan asked her if she’s alright it took her a second to realize that she was sitting next to her parents’ graves, with tears in her eyes. She shook her head slightly, smiling a small smile. “I’m… I’m fine, I guess.” she said and looked at the boy. There weren’t a lot of people around town that looked the way that he did, Elena could look at the boy all day if she could, but she couldn’t. She shook her head again. “What about you” she asked him. 

Elena was wondering what he did there, maybe he’s visiting his family, she heard that he used to live in Mystic Falls a long time ago, but she didn’t know how long. Usually she knew everyone around, but she couldn’t remember his face. “I can say the same about you” she said honestly, she really wasn’t expected to find him here. ”I’m just visiting my parents’ graves” she said, but she couldn’t smile when she talked about it. “I don’t do it really often, I just…” she stopped talking realizing that she was lying, she visited the cemetery almost everyday. “Anyway” she tried to talk about something else. “What are you doing here?” she asked, looking at him again, smiling slightly.