- 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.
K stared at the King of Hell for several long moments as the silence dragged on and on. With a slow movement, he turned away—he had his answer, but... he didn't like it.
"Where do you think you're going, plaything?" the King asked.
K glanced back as he answered, "Home."
"Wrong." The king's grin spread wide, revealing vaporous black teeth with wicked barbs. "How easy was it to enter? To travel this deep, to enter my own sanctum at the very center of Hell?"
K looked back properly, brows furrowed as he tried to understand what this demon meant.
"For being so intelligent, you're not very clever, are you?"
K lifted his head, offended, but before he could object, the demon closed the distance between them and cupped K's chin in one hand.
"You oblivious little creature. Hell isn't for tourists. Hell is for torment. Hell has entrances, but no exits."
"People have left," K objected, stepping away from the unwanted touch.
"They came prepared. You have... nothing. No weapons. No equipment. You, Kasey Peterson, are an ant in a pitcher plant..." His grin grew wider.
K finally noticed the barbs, and his eyes shot wide. He wasn't stopped. They wanted him there, going ever-deeper. Everything in Hell was to punish sinners, and what action could be more prideful and sinful than entering alive and on purpose? Going deep into it, as deep as it went, just for answers?
The moment it clicked, his feet slammed the polished black floor as laughter echoed behind him. Shadowy spears narrowly missed him as he fled, gripping the straps of his backpack as he exited, then slammed the door.
THOCKTHOCKTHOCKTHOCKTHOCK
He slammed his back against the door, and slowly, the stone-like guards turned to look at him, their bodies clinking as the dark stones moved. They stared at K, and he stared back with wide eyes.
The quiet lasted only a beat before a dark aura pulsed suddenly from the guardians.
K gritted his teeth as they began to approach, the titanic beings no longer sounding like chimes, but a cacophony that burned into K's ears.
Past them, he saw Didi, staring at him with wide, confused eyes, one hand over her mouth. Horned, bald, and clad in business attire, the pure black demon wasn't very bright, but she waved to K regardless.
He ducked to one side as a guard launched a slow-moving attack at him, and K scrambled as his hands hit the black stone of hell's floor. He launched himself forward, toward Didi, expecting her to help him.
Instead, that peaceful face he'd come to trust morphed into wicked joy as her grin and her claws grew.
K veered and avoided her lunge.
Barely.
She cut his clothing, but he didn't stop to look back.
He ran.
If anything drew his blood, anything at all, he would never emerge from Hell.
Every level brought its own struggle. Heat. Cold. Guards. Demons.
Only at the first ring did he have chance to pause as he escaped the sight of the first ring's guardians. He pressed himself in a nook of the great red-stone spires and let the dust of Hell itself disguise him, even as it irritated his skin.
Moments became minutes became hours, and the sounds of the guards faded from cacophony to gentle tinkling, and then began to grow distant at last.
His shoulders slowly sagged, until he heard something else. Not the winds or the wailings, but a distinct voice.
"K? Is that you?"
K opened his eyes, then uncovered his mouth as he nodded, slow, and then more rapidly.
The man. They met before. K remembered him by his hair: a short ponytail with shaved sides.
"What happened to Marshall?" the man asked, and K began to hunch.
"Dunno," he managed, his voice choked by his own stress as he looked away.
"Shit, guy like him, probably got himself killed." The man sighed. "Listen, come on, I told you I'd talk to the others, they'd come around. You can come back to camp! They won't kick you out again, I promise." He smiled and offered his hand to K.
Slowly, K looked at the hand, and then up, only to spot a black spike in the man's chest. Red began to grow around it, soaking into the man's shirt, and as K looked up at the man's face for the first time, he saw the man's wide-eyed shock.
"Oh," the man said. His last word before his body was ripped back and away from K, then set upon by the first ring's demons: quadrupedal creatures larger than house cats. Spiked tails and bony bodies covered in ridges gave them an evil look, but their four-inch claws only cemented their menace.
K turned. He closed his eyes. He ran.
He ran as the man screamed.
He ran as he listened to flesh rip and blood drip, the sound so close he may as well have had his ear right beside the devouring beasts.
He ran until he slammed into and through something. It sent a ripple through him. Suddenly... he felt.
His body ached. His lungs burned. His skin screamed agony, and he gasped in his first breath since he first entered the gates of Hell.
He escaped.
His legs lost their energy all at once, and he made it only a few more steps before he collapsed against something hard.
He opened his eyes. A long wooden bench.
K let himself fall onto it. He panted as sweat and tears began to form and run down his skin, carving streaks through the dust that covered his sunburnt face.
So cold.
This place... so cold... So bright.
So silent. He heard his every ragged breath, heard his own pulse, heard the quiet sound of his palms squeaking against the wood, and heard even the brush of his layered clothing.
Too much.
Bile rose in his throat, and then spewed forth. Chunks of a meal long forgotten spewed onto the floor. Dazed eyes looked around, blurry and unfocused, before he shuddered and crawled the rest of the way onto the bench. A sob escaped, and then another.
He was free.
Freedom hurt.
"Where do you think you're going, plaything?" the King asked.
K glanced back as he answered, "Home."
"Wrong." The king's grin spread wide, revealing vaporous black teeth with wicked barbs. "How easy was it to enter? To travel this deep, to enter my own sanctum at the very center of Hell?"
K looked back properly, brows furrowed as he tried to understand what this demon meant.
"For being so intelligent, you're not very clever, are you?"
K lifted his head, offended, but before he could object, the demon closed the distance between them and cupped K's chin in one hand.
"You oblivious little creature. Hell isn't for tourists. Hell is for torment. Hell has entrances, but no exits."
"People have left," K objected, stepping away from the unwanted touch.
"They came prepared. You have... nothing. No weapons. No equipment. You, Kasey Peterson, are an ant in a pitcher plant..." His grin grew wider.
K finally noticed the barbs, and his eyes shot wide. He wasn't stopped. They wanted him there, going ever-deeper. Everything in Hell was to punish sinners, and what action could be more prideful and sinful than entering alive and on purpose? Going deep into it, as deep as it went, just for answers?
The moment it clicked, his feet slammed the polished black floor as laughter echoed behind him. Shadowy spears narrowly missed him as he fled, gripping the straps of his backpack as he exited, then slammed the door.
THOCKTHOCKTHOCKTHOCKTHOCK
He slammed his back against the door, and slowly, the stone-like guards turned to look at him, their bodies clinking as the dark stones moved. They stared at K, and he stared back with wide eyes.
The quiet lasted only a beat before a dark aura pulsed suddenly from the guardians.
K gritted his teeth as they began to approach, the titanic beings no longer sounding like chimes, but a cacophony that burned into K's ears.
Past them, he saw Didi, staring at him with wide, confused eyes, one hand over her mouth. Horned, bald, and clad in business attire, the pure black demon wasn't very bright, but she waved to K regardless.
He ducked to one side as a guard launched a slow-moving attack at him, and K scrambled as his hands hit the black stone of hell's floor. He launched himself forward, toward Didi, expecting her to help him.
Instead, that peaceful face he'd come to trust morphed into wicked joy as her grin and her claws grew.
K veered and avoided her lunge.
Barely.
She cut his clothing, but he didn't stop to look back.
He ran.
If anything drew his blood, anything at all, he would never emerge from Hell.
Every level brought its own struggle. Heat. Cold. Guards. Demons.
Only at the first ring did he have chance to pause as he escaped the sight of the first ring's guardians. He pressed himself in a nook of the great red-stone spires and let the dust of Hell itself disguise him, even as it irritated his skin.
Moments became minutes became hours, and the sounds of the guards faded from cacophony to gentle tinkling, and then began to grow distant at last.
His shoulders slowly sagged, until he heard something else. Not the winds or the wailings, but a distinct voice.
"K? Is that you?"
K opened his eyes, then uncovered his mouth as he nodded, slow, and then more rapidly.
The man. They met before. K remembered him by his hair: a short ponytail with shaved sides.
"What happened to Marshall?" the man asked, and K began to hunch.
"Dunno," he managed, his voice choked by his own stress as he looked away.
"Shit, guy like him, probably got himself killed." The man sighed. "Listen, come on, I told you I'd talk to the others, they'd come around. You can come back to camp! They won't kick you out again, I promise." He smiled and offered his hand to K.
Slowly, K looked at the hand, and then up, only to spot a black spike in the man's chest. Red began to grow around it, soaking into the man's shirt, and as K looked up at the man's face for the first time, he saw the man's wide-eyed shock.
"Oh," the man said. His last word before his body was ripped back and away from K, then set upon by the first ring's demons: quadrupedal creatures larger than house cats. Spiked tails and bony bodies covered in ridges gave them an evil look, but their four-inch claws only cemented their menace.
K turned. He closed his eyes. He ran.
He ran as the man screamed.
He ran as he listened to flesh rip and blood drip, the sound so close he may as well have had his ear right beside the devouring beasts.
He ran until he slammed into and through something. It sent a ripple through him. Suddenly... he felt.
His body ached. His lungs burned. His skin screamed agony, and he gasped in his first breath since he first entered the gates of Hell.
He escaped.
His legs lost their energy all at once, and he made it only a few more steps before he collapsed against something hard.
He opened his eyes. A long wooden bench.
K let himself fall onto it. He panted as sweat and tears began to form and run down his skin, carving streaks through the dust that covered his sunburnt face.
So cold.
This place... so cold... So bright.
So silent. He heard his every ragged breath, heard his own pulse, heard the quiet sound of his palms squeaking against the wood, and heard even the brush of his layered clothing.
Too much.
Bile rose in his throat, and then spewed forth. Chunks of a meal long forgotten spewed onto the floor. Dazed eyes looked around, blurry and unfocused, before he shuddered and crawled the rest of the way onto the bench. A sob escaped, and then another.
He was free.
Freedom hurt.
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