- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- Multiple posts per week
- Online Availability
- It varies wildly.
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Nonbinary
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- I'm open to a wide range of genres. Obscenely wide. It's harder for me to list all I do like than all I don't like.
My favorite settings are fantasy combined with something else, multiverse, post-apoc, historical (mixed with something else), and futuristic. I'm not limited to those, but it's a good start.
My favorite genres include mystery, adventure, action, drama, tragedy (must be mixed with something else and kept balanced), romance (again must be mixed, and more.
I'm happy to include elements of slice-of-life and romance, but doing them on their own doesn't hold my interest indefinitely.
One foot fell, and the other dragged forward before picking up and falling in turn. There was a town ahead last time he looked up from the too-bright asphalt beneath his feet. His own shadow offered little comfort in the late afternoon sun.
Slick sweat ground salt into his burning armpits and between his legs. It dripped down his neck, back, and face. That he had enough hydration left in his body to sweat offended him with the sheer lack of logic.
He closed his eyes, but his legs continued onward. He had momentum enough that stopping was too much work despite how his body begged for rest. Stubbornness kept him moving forward.
Every breath burned his lungs as humid heat tried to slam him down onto the road itself. A tiny and artistic part of K's mind compared the rising heat from below to arms that tried dragging him to his knees, but every continued step pulled him from the grip of one set of arms and into reach of another.
K made no attempt to wipe the sweat from his eyebrows until it became heavy drops that threatened his eyes. The artistic part of his mind wanted his suffering visible, though not for the sake of pity—or maybe it was. K wasn't so introspective that he understood his own urges.
Sudden coolness—relief from the beating sun—pulled his eyes open, and he looked around. Half-lidded eyes found a tree behind him, and ahead were buildings. A cafe drew his eye, and he entered, just as the baristas were cleaning up.
"Free water," he started in a croak, then cleared his throat, "Please."
The young man behind the counter almost offered a correction, that it wasn't free, but a glance at the traveler silenced him, and he filled a styrofoam cup with water, then handed it to him.
"Thanks," K nodded, then left before anymore interaction could happen. He emerged from the back door, and the heat nearly sent him back in. Dazed, he turned to find himself in front of a door that looked different—the back door of a flower shop. With the cafe's name already forgotten, he entered and then slipped into a small nook and sipped at his water as chatter and other busy noises gnawed at the edges of his already unraveled patience.
The cool air conditioning and the icy water turned his legs to stone as he stood in place, away from everyone, concentrated on how his sweat began to evaporate from his skin.
The lights turned off.
K froze.
Wide eyes stared forward, and he heard a door shut, then click. In his mind, he saw the faceless male barista closing and locking up, but K couldn't bring himself to step out and make his presence known.
In terror, he remained still for another hour before he stepped out of his comfortable nook. It didn't take long to discover he was not in a cafe, but a flower shop. The flower shop was comfortable, and though it smelled too strongly, K found it strangely comfortable.
The spotless-seeming linoleum floor wasn't bad. The glass counter had display space inside, offering a look at various bouquet treatments, and vases lined a couple shelves behind. There was a rotating card holder nearby, and a till rested on the left side of the counter.
Longer-lasting flowers stood out in treated water, while others were in refrigerated cabinets with glass doors.
To K, none of this seemed strange for a flower shop. There were flowers, shrubs, and miniature trees in the bay windows, and more outside, visible in the yellow light from street lamps.
K almost wished he knew more about plants. Were any of these edible? He found a few chocolates, but though they called him, he turned away and continued to explore. He worked at his cup of water as he wandered the dark store, until exhaustion set him to seek a place to rest.
The seat behind he counter didn't do it. The floor was right out. He couldn't sleep on a plant. He didn't want to go around opening doors...
His gaze landed finally on the counter.
Morning came unnoticed for the traveler. The linoleum floor had foot prints, and the glass counter and cool cabinets had fingerprints. Most shocking, a strange person slept on their stomach on the counter. With their face covered by an arm, and a backpack under their head, greasy brown hair looked soaked. Dirt and sweat stains stood out on the stranger's clothing.
Whoever it was reeked of sweat, car exhaust, asphalt, and too much body odor. A foam cup sat on its side on the floor in front of the counter.
K shifted in his sleep as he heard sounds, and a dirty, sunburnt, and freckled face came into view. The backpack slid onto the floor with a heavy thud and a puff of dirt, and K pressed his red cheek against the glass with a quiet groan of appreciation as he let himself sink back towards sleep, despite the light that teased at his eyelids.
Slick sweat ground salt into his burning armpits and between his legs. It dripped down his neck, back, and face. That he had enough hydration left in his body to sweat offended him with the sheer lack of logic.
He closed his eyes, but his legs continued onward. He had momentum enough that stopping was too much work despite how his body begged for rest. Stubbornness kept him moving forward.
Every breath burned his lungs as humid heat tried to slam him down onto the road itself. A tiny and artistic part of K's mind compared the rising heat from below to arms that tried dragging him to his knees, but every continued step pulled him from the grip of one set of arms and into reach of another.
K made no attempt to wipe the sweat from his eyebrows until it became heavy drops that threatened his eyes. The artistic part of his mind wanted his suffering visible, though not for the sake of pity—or maybe it was. K wasn't so introspective that he understood his own urges.
Sudden coolness—relief from the beating sun—pulled his eyes open, and he looked around. Half-lidded eyes found a tree behind him, and ahead were buildings. A cafe drew his eye, and he entered, just as the baristas were cleaning up.
"Free water," he started in a croak, then cleared his throat, "Please."
The young man behind the counter almost offered a correction, that it wasn't free, but a glance at the traveler silenced him, and he filled a styrofoam cup with water, then handed it to him.
"Thanks," K nodded, then left before anymore interaction could happen. He emerged from the back door, and the heat nearly sent him back in. Dazed, he turned to find himself in front of a door that looked different—the back door of a flower shop. With the cafe's name already forgotten, he entered and then slipped into a small nook and sipped at his water as chatter and other busy noises gnawed at the edges of his already unraveled patience.
The cool air conditioning and the icy water turned his legs to stone as he stood in place, away from everyone, concentrated on how his sweat began to evaporate from his skin.
The lights turned off.
K froze.
Wide eyes stared forward, and he heard a door shut, then click. In his mind, he saw the faceless male barista closing and locking up, but K couldn't bring himself to step out and make his presence known.
In terror, he remained still for another hour before he stepped out of his comfortable nook. It didn't take long to discover he was not in a cafe, but a flower shop. The flower shop was comfortable, and though it smelled too strongly, K found it strangely comfortable.
The spotless-seeming linoleum floor wasn't bad. The glass counter had display space inside, offering a look at various bouquet treatments, and vases lined a couple shelves behind. There was a rotating card holder nearby, and a till rested on the left side of the counter.
Longer-lasting flowers stood out in treated water, while others were in refrigerated cabinets with glass doors.
To K, none of this seemed strange for a flower shop. There were flowers, shrubs, and miniature trees in the bay windows, and more outside, visible in the yellow light from street lamps.
K almost wished he knew more about plants. Were any of these edible? He found a few chocolates, but though they called him, he turned away and continued to explore. He worked at his cup of water as he wandered the dark store, until exhaustion set him to seek a place to rest.
The seat behind he counter didn't do it. The floor was right out. He couldn't sleep on a plant. He didn't want to go around opening doors...
His gaze landed finally on the counter.
Morning came unnoticed for the traveler. The linoleum floor had foot prints, and the glass counter and cool cabinets had fingerprints. Most shocking, a strange person slept on their stomach on the counter. With their face covered by an arm, and a backpack under their head, greasy brown hair looked soaked. Dirt and sweat stains stood out on the stranger's clothing.
Whoever it was reeked of sweat, car exhaust, asphalt, and too much body odor. A foam cup sat on its side on the floor in front of the counter.
K shifted in his sleep as he heard sounds, and a dirty, sunburnt, and freckled face came into view. The backpack slid onto the floor with a heavy thud and a puff of dirt, and K pressed his red cheek against the glass with a quiet groan of appreciation as he let himself sink back towards sleep, despite the light that teased at his eyelids.
