- 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.
Astaroth07/14/2020
"Verfault?" "...It's Misk," the young man corrected, turning to look at the speaker from behind a pair of round smoky quartz glasses. Judging from the pointed tips of his ears and the dark violet freckles across his face, he was at least part elvish, but his height put the lie to any full elf blood; he stood well over six feet tall. He seemed to have a black eye on his right side, the same fresh-bruise hue as his freckles. "Misk, sorry," the girl said. "I was wondering if I could copy your notes from today's lecture?" "I suppose," he said after a moment, frowning. He dug into his satchel and produced a neat bundle of used parchment, all covered in the same neat, fluid script. "Th-thanks," the other student said, reaching for it, but stopped short when he pulled it back against his chest. "I need it back tomorrow," he told her. "Not any later. Understand?" "Alright," she squeaked, face falling, and was quick to scurry away when he handed it over. Misk watched her leave, then rubbed a hand over his face, slipping his glasses off and folding them precisely before stowing them in his bag. It had been a long and arduous day of classes. He was more than ready to turn in for the night. Fairly sure I'll sleep like the dead.
The Mood is Write07/14/2020
"Hey... Speaking of mortem studies... I heard the ghost from Rosesabre's finally stopped going to the third building, but it's going to the first more. Hopefully it doesn't come to mine..." a whispered voice said quietly. "You don't think it'll go to the fourth, do you?" "I thought Jonnes saw it in 40F last week," another voice whispered. "Noooo...!" the first voice whined softly. "Don't say that..." It was just a few students, interrupted from their studies by the local flavor of the university: a story of a ghost that haunted Rosesabre.(edited)
Astaroth07/14/2020
Misk didn't pay their gossip much mind. He reckoned such stories were commonly spread to the younger students, and there were much scarier things in the world than ghosts. The story of a ghost that crawled into bed with young men and ate their souls was pure silliness. The only reason their conversation even registered in his tired brain was the mention of his building. Misk was housed in Rosesabre Court with the other medical scholarships, and his room in the fourth dormitory was only a few doors down from 40F. Perhaps that was why, as he shrugged out of his white robe and changed into his nightshirt for the evening, he felt a strange sense of foreboding. Dismissing it as exhaustion, he shook his head, pulled the covers up to his chest, and snuffed his bedside lamp. It wasn't long after his head hit the pillow that sleep began to take him.
The Mood is Write07/14/2020
His sleep was largely uninterrupted... right up until three in the morning or so. A croaking voice whispered at him, and a weight rested atop him, pinning the blankets to him on either side as something rough and sharp brushed against his face. "Elbeee..." the voice rasped, hoarse. He could smell something sour and feel something dropping onto his blankets. "Nnnahhhhh....!" The weight shoved itself onto his chest suddenly, and the sharp-and-rough things jerked against his face, scraping at the skin as panting, quiet moans filled his ears in the otherwise silent night.
Astaroth07/14/2020
Jolting awake, he recoiled back until his head hit the headboard, pushing and grappling in reflex as fear choked him. One hand found a bony appendage and pried it from his face; the other grasped a fistful of loose, rough cloth. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness and shed the fog of sleep, he found a small figure hunched over him. He dimly recognized the teal of the patient tabard by the moonlight seeping through his window, and his panic bittered into something harsher. Whatever this was, it was no ghost. "Who are you?" he demanded, voice rough and prickly-sharp. "What the hell are you doing in my room?"
The Mood is Write07/14/2020
The stripe was black, someone intended for the morgue, and his answer didn't come right away. Hot liquid squished in the hand that held her wrist, and blood adorned her thin body, especially on the outer parts of her joints. "Ahh'hh...!" The sour smell grew, and he felt something patter against his blanket as her hips moved and tears and drool spilled onto his chest.
Astaroth07/14/2020
"Hold still," he blurted, his fear spiking again for entirely new reasons. His grip on her wrist slackened and he reached with his other hand for the lamp. Her squirming was getting in the way, though, and he couldn't quite reach with her pinning him under the blanket. "Stop crying," he snapped, and flinched at the sound of his own voice. He tried again, softer, "It's alright. Let me see." His fingertips grazed over the lamp, and the soft bluish glow of the mage-light flickered to life.
The Mood is Write07/14/2020
Pink skin, cracked and bleeding. Black sclera and red eyes. Long ears and freckles and pale pink hair. Not only an elf, but a corrupted sky elf—one that was horrifically underfed and who slurred in her snot-clogged and rasping voice for help. Unlike other sky elves, her nails weren't smooth, but ragged and cracked. Her skin held little warmth and even less mass, and her hips kept moving on their own. More than that, he could feel wetness seeping through his blanket.
Astaroth07/14/2020
He grimaced as he confirmed the source of the sour smell, wiping his bloody hands on the already-ruined blanket. "I'll help you, just--stop moving, dammit," swore Misk, grabbing the edges of the soft blanket and pulling them up and around her. "Calm down." What was a Corrupted elf doing loose at night? According to policy, she ought to have been under lock and key or tied up, and certainly not roaming where she might come in contact with vulnerable individuals. ...And then there was the black stripe, which only raised more questions, ones which Misk wasn't sure he'd like the answer to. What he did know was that her infection was advanced. "Just let me think," he muttered, casting about. He didn't have much in the way of medical supplies in his room, only his meager student kit. There was enough to prepare a simple painkiller, perhaps, but he'd have to move her off of him first.
The Mood is Write07/14/2020
She fell over beside him and shuddered as she watched him, eyes starting to close. "Elb... meee..." She forced her eyes open again. Her skin hurt, and she was so tired, so tired all the time. "... Goop...?" she requested, "And... rock... take out of... NnaHH!" She jerked violently and trembled. Her eyes rolled upward, and her hips spasmed.
July 15, 2020
Astaroth07/15/2020
"What is wrong with you?" he blurted. "What rock? Where--" Eyebrows furrowing, he sat up, carefully pulling aside the blanket and hiking up her gown to get a look at her pelvis.
The Mood is Write07/15/2020
There were fluids and blood there, and she was engorged, with fresh tears in the skin. Her legs parted, and he could very faintly see her lower belly vibrate in the few moments she managed to remain still.
Astaroth07/15/2020
His palm pressed lightly against her pale belly, and he nearly jumped when he felt a steady buzz. "Fuck," he swore, mind going blank for a moment. Dark blue eyes snapped to meet hers. When he remembered himself, he broke eye contact and reached over the side of the bed for his medical kit and the pitcher of water from his nightstand. Shifting position, he fumbled for a small basin and the poultice powder to mix a quick cataplasm. When the ash-colored powder turned to a pale green, gooey paste, he tipped the rest of the water over her swollen crotch and his own hands, and then reached out to spread the cooling salve across the inflamed area between her thighs. "Try not to move," he told her, voice clipped as he nudged her legs wider apart to get a better look. There were gloves in his kit, but in the heat of the moment he'd forgotten them, and she was already covered in so many fluids that Misk wasn't sure it mattered.
The Mood is Write07/15/2020
Her skin stretched and threatened to tear, but she spread her legs and sniffled. Thanks to her small size, he could faintly see the edge of... something that was in deep inside. The small elf whimpered, and her hips moved against her will again.
Astaroth07/15/2020
Misk's long, salve-coated fingers slipped more easily than he'd expected past her puffy vaginal opening and into slick, wet heat. His breath hitched, and he took a minute to spread more of the cataplasm on the inside of her as well, rubbing it into her inner walls with shallow curls of his fingertips. A delicate probing motion and he bumped into the base of the vibrating, solid piece inside her. "Just relax," he rasped, not entirely sure which of them he was talking to now. When she was thoroughly coated with the gooey green mixture on both sides, he slowly spread his fingers until he could grip the edges of the still-buzzing item between two slippery fingers as best he could and very gently started to pull.
The Mood is Write07/15/2020
She panted. Tear-filled eyes stared at him. Even with the slime, it felt painful as he stretched her, but the slime itself was soothing. His fingers grazed the object, and she gasped sharply. Her hips jerked against him, and as he began to pull, her voice echoed off the walls in anguished pleasure. The object was hard, and it refused to pull out. It buzzed violently against his fingers, threatening to numb them as her legs spasmed and flailed to either side. She squirted, and the sour-smelling liquid nearly hit his face.
Astaroth07/15/2020
"Damn it! Just stop!" he growled as he recoiled from the spurt of her fluids, and then winced. He took a deep breath. "It's okay," he told her in a strained voice, smothering his frustration, and reached up to stroke her hair as he felt around the base for some kind of mechanism to switch the blasted thing off. As he wiggled his fingers, he also tried to spread the salve as much as possible in order to ease its progress and get a better grip.
The Mood is Write07/15/2020
The thing was entirely smooth, and had the buzz of magic to it. She whimpered and leaned her head into his hand. The round object, only about the size of a thumbtip to the nearest knuckle, was steadfast and refused to move. It seemed attached to her, and every movement he made of it and every wiggle of his fingers made it all the more difficult for her to stay still. "Sdug... is sdug...!" she sobbed as her hips moved against her will.
Astaroth07/15/2020
"I can see that," he snapped, pressing his face briefly against the mattress. "What do I do?" Misk asked her, though he didn't really expect an answer. She could barely seem to talk, let alone figure out how to dispel whatever magic was powering the thing. Even so, he was afraid to let it go now he'd gotten to it--what if it slipped farther inside her? For the time being he just tried to close his fingers around it as best he could to stop it from making direct contact, brushing the thumb of his other hand over her cheek in an attempt to be reassuring. "How did you even end up like this?"
The Mood is Write07/15/2020
She panted, and with his fingers wrapped around it, the attachment magic suddenly released. The pressure inside shot his hand out as she yelped, then began to cry in relief, panting hard between sobs. "Denk... denk you...!" she managed
Astaroth07/15/2020
"Yes, alright," he replied stiffly, awash with relief as he looked down at the object. Relieved, at least, until he realized that the tension in his shoulders was not only from the situation, but because he was half-hard under his nightshirt. His stomach turning, he grimaced and dropped the thing onto the floor, wiping his slick hand on his ruined sheets and rubbing his clean fingers over his mouth as if to wipe away the feeling. Now that she was done writhing on his bed, he took another ragged breath and glanced around in search of how she'd even gotten into his room. He was certain he'd locked his door.
The Mood is Write07/15/2020
The object was a stone, of the random sort a person might pick up outside. It happened to be smooth save for some etching that enchanted it to vibrate until it ran out of the mana it had been charged with. Another etched sigil instructed it to cling to a woman's insides, again, until it ran out of mana. It continued to vibrate against the floor when he dropped it. She panted as she laid on his bed, spent and unable to move as her eyes slid shut. Misk's investigation was rewarded by the sight of his window open, the screen out of the frame and on the floor. The night breeze was comfortably cool tonight.
Astaroth07/15/2020
She really scaled the wall with that thing in her? Misk stared at the small body on his bed, already resigned to the fact she wouldn't be vacating the spot anytime soon. He pushed himself up on his feet and moved to close the window, leaving the screen where it was for the time being, and then grabbed the scalpel from his kit and carefully scratched through the markings on the enchanted stone. With that accomplished, he pulled the soaked blankets off of her and threw them in a heap on the floor. Her patient's tabard was next, peeled from her body as carefully as he could, and he replaced it with the spare nightshirt from his drawer. The black fabric was comically long on her, the sleeves drowning her little arms and the hem reaching her ankles, but at least it was dry and clean and wouldn't show the inevitable bloodstains. "Move over," he muttered, slipping back onto the bed beside her. He didn't think he'd be getting much sleep, but at least he could rest and be alerted if she tried to leave.
The Mood is Write07/15/2020
She rolled onto her side, facing away from him and closing her legs. The elf still took up quite a bit of bed, though, and when she felt his warmth against her back, she leaned against him, even as she steadily fell asleep. When morning came, she didn't wake. Elves were, after all, quite nocturnal by nature, and she'd had a very exhausting night.
"Verfault?" "...It's Misk," the young man corrected, turning to look at the speaker from behind a pair of round smoky quartz glasses. Judging from the pointed tips of his ears and the dark violet freckles across his face, he was at least part elvish, but his height put the lie to any full elf blood; he stood well over six feet tall. He seemed to have a black eye on his right side, the same fresh-bruise hue as his freckles. "Misk, sorry," the girl said. "I was wondering if I could copy your notes from today's lecture?" "I suppose," he said after a moment, frowning. He dug into his satchel and produced a neat bundle of used parchment, all covered in the same neat, fluid script. "Th-thanks," the other student said, reaching for it, but stopped short when he pulled it back against his chest. "I need it back tomorrow," he told her. "Not any later. Understand?" "Alright," she squeaked, face falling, and was quick to scurry away when he handed it over. Misk watched her leave, then rubbed a hand over his face, slipping his glasses off and folding them precisely before stowing them in his bag. It had been a long and arduous day of classes. He was more than ready to turn in for the night. Fairly sure I'll sleep like the dead.
"Hey... Speaking of mortem studies... I heard the ghost from Rosesabre's finally stopped going to the third building, but it's going to the first more. Hopefully it doesn't come to mine..." a whispered voice said quietly. "You don't think it'll go to the fourth, do you?" "I thought Jonnes saw it in 40F last week," another voice whispered. "Noooo...!" the first voice whined softly. "Don't say that..." It was just a few students, interrupted from their studies by the local flavor of the university: a story of a ghost that haunted Rosesabre.(edited)
Misk didn't pay their gossip much mind. He reckoned such stories were commonly spread to the younger students, and there were much scarier things in the world than ghosts. The story of a ghost that crawled into bed with young men and ate their souls was pure silliness. The only reason their conversation even registered in his tired brain was the mention of his building. Misk was housed in Rosesabre Court with the other medical scholarships, and his room in the fourth dormitory was only a few doors down from 40F. Perhaps that was why, as he shrugged out of his white robe and changed into his nightshirt for the evening, he felt a strange sense of foreboding. Dismissing it as exhaustion, he shook his head, pulled the covers up to his chest, and snuffed his bedside lamp. It wasn't long after his head hit the pillow that sleep began to take him.
His sleep was largely uninterrupted... right up until three in the morning or so. A croaking voice whispered at him, and a weight rested atop him, pinning the blankets to him on either side as something rough and sharp brushed against his face. "Elbeee..." the voice rasped, hoarse. He could smell something sour and feel something dropping onto his blankets. "Nnnahhhhh....!" The weight shoved itself onto his chest suddenly, and the sharp-and-rough things jerked against his face, scraping at the skin as panting, quiet moans filled his ears in the otherwise silent night.
Jolting awake, he recoiled back until his head hit the headboard, pushing and grappling in reflex as fear choked him. One hand found a bony appendage and pried it from his face; the other grasped a fistful of loose, rough cloth. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness and shed the fog of sleep, he found a small figure hunched over him. He dimly recognized the teal of the patient tabard by the moonlight seeping through his window, and his panic bittered into something harsher. Whatever this was, it was no ghost. "Who are you?" he demanded, voice rough and prickly-sharp. "What the hell are you doing in my room?"
The stripe was black, someone intended for the morgue, and his answer didn't come right away. Hot liquid squished in the hand that held her wrist, and blood adorned her thin body, especially on the outer parts of her joints. "Ahh'hh...!" The sour smell grew, and he felt something patter against his blanket as her hips moved and tears and drool spilled onto his chest.
"Hold still," he blurted, his fear spiking again for entirely new reasons. His grip on her wrist slackened and he reached with his other hand for the lamp. Her squirming was getting in the way, though, and he couldn't quite reach with her pinning him under the blanket. "Stop crying," he snapped, and flinched at the sound of his own voice. He tried again, softer, "It's alright. Let me see." His fingertips grazed over the lamp, and the soft bluish glow of the mage-light flickered to life.
Pink skin, cracked and bleeding. Black sclera and red eyes. Long ears and freckles and pale pink hair. Not only an elf, but a corrupted sky elf—one that was horrifically underfed and who slurred in her snot-clogged and rasping voice for help. Unlike other sky elves, her nails weren't smooth, but ragged and cracked. Her skin held little warmth and even less mass, and her hips kept moving on their own. More than that, he could feel wetness seeping through his blanket.
He grimaced as he confirmed the source of the sour smell, wiping his bloody hands on the already-ruined blanket. "I'll help you, just--stop moving, dammit," swore Misk, grabbing the edges of the soft blanket and pulling them up and around her. "Calm down." What was a Corrupted elf doing loose at night? According to policy, she ought to have been under lock and key or tied up, and certainly not roaming where she might come in contact with vulnerable individuals. ...And then there was the black stripe, which only raised more questions, ones which Misk wasn't sure he'd like the answer to. What he did know was that her infection was advanced. "Just let me think," he muttered, casting about. He didn't have much in the way of medical supplies in his room, only his meager student kit. There was enough to prepare a simple painkiller, perhaps, but he'd have to move her off of him first.
She fell over beside him and shuddered as she watched him, eyes starting to close. "Elb... meee..." She forced her eyes open again. Her skin hurt, and she was so tired, so tired all the time. "... Goop...?" she requested, "And... rock... take out of... NnaHH!" She jerked violently and trembled. Her eyes rolled upward, and her hips spasmed.
July 15, 2020
"What is wrong with you?" he blurted. "What rock? Where--" Eyebrows furrowing, he sat up, carefully pulling aside the blanket and hiking up her gown to get a look at her pelvis.
There were fluids and blood there, and she was engorged, with fresh tears in the skin. Her legs parted, and he could very faintly see her lower belly vibrate in the few moments she managed to remain still.
His palm pressed lightly against her pale belly, and he nearly jumped when he felt a steady buzz. "Fuck," he swore, mind going blank for a moment. Dark blue eyes snapped to meet hers. When he remembered himself, he broke eye contact and reached over the side of the bed for his medical kit and the pitcher of water from his nightstand. Shifting position, he fumbled for a small basin and the poultice powder to mix a quick cataplasm. When the ash-colored powder turned to a pale green, gooey paste, he tipped the rest of the water over her swollen crotch and his own hands, and then reached out to spread the cooling salve across the inflamed area between her thighs. "Try not to move," he told her, voice clipped as he nudged her legs wider apart to get a better look. There were gloves in his kit, but in the heat of the moment he'd forgotten them, and she was already covered in so many fluids that Misk wasn't sure it mattered.
Her skin stretched and threatened to tear, but she spread her legs and sniffled. Thanks to her small size, he could faintly see the edge of... something that was in deep inside. The small elf whimpered, and her hips moved against her will again.
Misk's long, salve-coated fingers slipped more easily than he'd expected past her puffy vaginal opening and into slick, wet heat. His breath hitched, and he took a minute to spread more of the cataplasm on the inside of her as well, rubbing it into her inner walls with shallow curls of his fingertips. A delicate probing motion and he bumped into the base of the vibrating, solid piece inside her. "Just relax," he rasped, not entirely sure which of them he was talking to now. When she was thoroughly coated with the gooey green mixture on both sides, he slowly spread his fingers until he could grip the edges of the still-buzzing item between two slippery fingers as best he could and very gently started to pull.
She panted. Tear-filled eyes stared at him. Even with the slime, it felt painful as he stretched her, but the slime itself was soothing. His fingers grazed the object, and she gasped sharply. Her hips jerked against him, and as he began to pull, her voice echoed off the walls in anguished pleasure. The object was hard, and it refused to pull out. It buzzed violently against his fingers, threatening to numb them as her legs spasmed and flailed to either side. She squirted, and the sour-smelling liquid nearly hit his face.
"Damn it! Just stop!" he growled as he recoiled from the spurt of her fluids, and then winced. He took a deep breath. "It's okay," he told her in a strained voice, smothering his frustration, and reached up to stroke her hair as he felt around the base for some kind of mechanism to switch the blasted thing off. As he wiggled his fingers, he also tried to spread the salve as much as possible in order to ease its progress and get a better grip.
The thing was entirely smooth, and had the buzz of magic to it. She whimpered and leaned her head into his hand. The round object, only about the size of a thumbtip to the nearest knuckle, was steadfast and refused to move. It seemed attached to her, and every movement he made of it and every wiggle of his fingers made it all the more difficult for her to stay still. "Sdug... is sdug...!" she sobbed as her hips moved against her will.
"I can see that," he snapped, pressing his face briefly against the mattress. "What do I do?" Misk asked her, though he didn't really expect an answer. She could barely seem to talk, let alone figure out how to dispel whatever magic was powering the thing. Even so, he was afraid to let it go now he'd gotten to it--what if it slipped farther inside her? For the time being he just tried to close his fingers around it as best he could to stop it from making direct contact, brushing the thumb of his other hand over her cheek in an attempt to be reassuring. "How did you even end up like this?"
She panted, and with his fingers wrapped around it, the attachment magic suddenly released. The pressure inside shot his hand out as she yelped, then began to cry in relief, panting hard between sobs. "Denk... denk you...!" she managed
"Yes, alright," he replied stiffly, awash with relief as he looked down at the object. Relieved, at least, until he realized that the tension in his shoulders was not only from the situation, but because he was half-hard under his nightshirt. His stomach turning, he grimaced and dropped the thing onto the floor, wiping his slick hand on his ruined sheets and rubbing his clean fingers over his mouth as if to wipe away the feeling. Now that she was done writhing on his bed, he took another ragged breath and glanced around in search of how she'd even gotten into his room. He was certain he'd locked his door.
The object was a stone, of the random sort a person might pick up outside. It happened to be smooth save for some etching that enchanted it to vibrate until it ran out of the mana it had been charged with. Another etched sigil instructed it to cling to a woman's insides, again, until it ran out of mana. It continued to vibrate against the floor when he dropped it. She panted as she laid on his bed, spent and unable to move as her eyes slid shut. Misk's investigation was rewarded by the sight of his window open, the screen out of the frame and on the floor. The night breeze was comfortably cool tonight.
She really scaled the wall with that thing in her? Misk stared at the small body on his bed, already resigned to the fact she wouldn't be vacating the spot anytime soon. He pushed himself up on his feet and moved to close the window, leaving the screen where it was for the time being, and then grabbed the scalpel from his kit and carefully scratched through the markings on the enchanted stone. With that accomplished, he pulled the soaked blankets off of her and threw them in a heap on the floor. Her patient's tabard was next, peeled from her body as carefully as he could, and he replaced it with the spare nightshirt from his drawer. The black fabric was comically long on her, the sleeves drowning her little arms and the hem reaching her ankles, but at least it was dry and clean and wouldn't show the inevitable bloodstains. "Move over," he muttered, slipping back onto the bed beside her. He didn't think he'd be getting much sleep, but at least he could rest and be alerted if she tried to leave.
She rolled onto her side, facing away from him and closing her legs. The elf still took up quite a bit of bed, though, and when she felt his warmth against her back, she leaned against him, even as she steadily fell asleep. When morning came, she didn't wake. Elves were, after all, quite nocturnal by nature, and she'd had a very exhausting night.