- 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.
Twiggy seemed to meander through HQ's stone halls. His cane tapped in front of him, seeking obstacles: subtle dips and bumps in the floor, objects, or people. His head turned side to side, scanning, as though the blindfolded man tried to see his surroundings. In truth, his attention was on his ears as he listened to all around him, trying to form a map.
His footsteps echoed off the stones in the narrow hall. His own breath quickened as something in his stomach tightened and yanked, and he picked up his pace slightly. He'd stopped questioning the strange urges that pulled him into and out of strange places and events at their whims.
The cane jerked as it struck something, and Twiggy stopped to feel it out through his socked feet. Instead of the expected wall, he found a step, and above it another. Three steps.
The tall man edged forward with caution, but regardless of intent, something clonked against his head and sent white stars into his mind. Twiggy grunted, then rubbed at his forehead with a quiet curse of "Frig". He ducked as he tried again, and another smack to his noggin nearly knocked him over.
At six centimeters short of two full meters, the massive man began to use his hands to feel out what was before him. A few moments found it was a tunnel, but much narrower than the hall he'd been walking. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed his cane and stuck it into one of his many pockets, then lowered himself to hands and knees. He crawled forward and forward. The sound of cloth rubbing stone accompanied him. The ever-present scent of ancient dust and his own sweat tickled at his nose.
His hands crushed some sort of dried film on the floor, but he kept on until his knees and the heels of his hands felt wet, and the scent of blood accompanied the stagnant air. Despite this, he kept forward, wishing he had some idea how far he'd come and how far he had still to go. His arms, shoulders, hips, and back burned as the urges sent him still forward.
The change came abruptly. An abundance of new scents and sounds surrounded him, clawing at his mind, demanding attention he wasn't able to give, and the floor underneath felt different, but the urge continued. He wasn't where it wanted him yet, but he had a strange feeling in his gut he couldn't identify. He paused, trying to explore the sensation further, but one hand shot forward, and the rest of him followed to keep from falling onto his face. A growing sense of anticipation gnawed his nerves raw, even as he felt the brushing of his hair against the ceiling cease as it grew taller. The urges kept him on hands and knees, anticipating and leading—wherever he was going next had a low ceiling.
So this time it warned him.
Twiggy tried to keep his commentary away, but a sudden jerk in the urges sent his face into a wall.
Sorry, Sorry!
He fumbled, dizzied, and began to follow the urge again, still trusting it to lead.
The ground changed beneath his bleeding hands and knees again, and more scents came. His mind couldn't comprehend them all. They felt so different from the place he lived, where most of what he could smell were stones and people, and sometimes the scents that the other Hunters brought home with them, of strange and faraway places that smelled so foreign he had no understanding.
He stopped still and turned his head around again, scanning for sounds, scents, anything to tell him where he was. The urge was gone. He was at his destination.
To someone who had vision, Twiggy crawled from the inside of a closet, a box on its side, a cupboard, from under a table, or any other strange place a strange person could crawl from, but never from anything tall enough for him to walk, no.
On hands and knees, he looked tall, but not nearly as tall as he truly was. The man looked as narrow and thin as a needle, and as awkward and gangling as an adolescent. His smooth face was offset by a startling square jaw, and his blindfold was tied in place behind his head, the knot rested against his short, buzzed undercut.
He wore colorful and mismatched socks and soft flannel pajama pants. Over his torso and most of his legs, he bore a long, dark leather jacket with too many pockets. As he remained on hands and knees, any shirt, if he wore one, was only visible as light-weight, dangling cloth that hung in front of his belly and between his arms.
The stranger turned his head side to side still, listening around him as his shoulders and back slowly stiffened, and his hands formed into trembling fists. Underneath him, smears of blood from hands and knees marked his path, disappearing mid-smear somewhere within the object from whence he crawled.
The man held still for a few moments, save the turning of his head and nervous gnawing at his lip, before he finally swallowed his unease and spoke. "Hel... Hello?," he called, his voice high and choked with panic.
"Oh," a woman's voice came from nearby, "Oh, no, you shouldn't be here, civilians should have been evacu—"
Her voice, scent, and all sensations faded as something like a punch to his collarbone registered to the thin Hunter's mind.
He woke suddenly with a jerk, wrists and arms bound to afford him none of the leverage a typical Hunter could have used to escape. His fingers were curled around something, and metal surrounded all sides of his arms and forced them bent behind his back, perhaps inside the cold metal at his back.
Cold metal on his back, wrapped around his arms...
They took his clothing! A quick squirm confirmed the presence of coverings on his lower body, but the lack of jacket left him defenseless. "Jacket!" He shouted, voice high and desperate. "Jacket! Please! I want my jacket! I won't struggle! I promise!"
His screams seemed to fall on deaf ears as he trembled in captivity
"Be quiet. Twiggy, is it?" A strange voice spoke nearby, calm and relaxed. "Doesn't matter. Your new designation is Subject H9421-dash-eyes. You have a week to memorize it. In the meantime, please remain still. Extraction is about to begin."
"Wha—,"
Twiggy's scream ripped and echoed through the room, only to fade with his consciousness as the Gift took its place at the fore. Twiggy's mind traveled away from the pain of his body, and when he opened his eyes, he saw before him the bleeding purple moon as a sea of blood flowed away from it: his own blood.
Without a thought, he began to walk towards the moon, and as he neared it, he split and his path branched toward other moons. Every step brought flashes of imagery, places and people he'd never seen and never would, but whose names he knew.
Jade. Kanna. Rare. Crow. Ygvaine. Shiloh. Silver. Aspa. Violi. Kibiira... The names went on, until finally he came to stand beneath the moon. Its silver-purple blood fell upon him, and he fell upward toward it.
On its surface, he saw the future rather than the present.
Outside, in the 'real world', Twiggy's face remained slack, with a hint of rebellion to his pale, unseeing eyes as he murmured nonsense.
"Behold, the ground brings ruin as its children rebel, oh Seekers of Paradise. The coming of the Vessel brings death and tears in a rain of agony that leaves a marsh in its wake. The coming of the Useless heralds the Unknowable, and likewise the Many-Armed heralds the Doll." He trailed off, and a shock to his lower stomach twisted his body as his muscles' forced contractions sent fire along his nerves, and he felt organs perish within himself
With a shuddering breath, the Gift continued to speak through him.
"Those who bring ruin damn themselves. The Uncollared and the Collared come one after the next and they bring no mercy upon their enemies. They come. They herald your end."
The Gift possessing Twiggy's body smirked as it witnessed the torturer call a superior and report. Oh, they were clever: they realized both prophecies were for the same event, and—
There it was.
The order to continue. The Gift's smirk fell, though he'd known it was coming. It was the only prophesy he would willingly give them, but the silver knife in the tormentor's tray niggled at his stubbornness, and as the knife lifted from the tray after the sixth repetition, he spoke before the tool could touch him, ready to give what they needed to keep Twiggy's skin intact.
Even inhuman Powers had things they would rather not deal with, one of which being finding a new vessel with unscarred flesh to take the tattoos.
"Fine. A new one," he growled, then began the brief process of scrambling before he began to tell.
"Red river flows and brings madness. Magic's essence from the moon brings power unnatural. To seek for survival is to Extinction and to seek for conquest is to Ozymandias. Draw upon the source of life in this way and bring poison to the waters of all—"
Burning pain seared through his body, and a scream ripped from his throat.
"Fuckers, that was a new one!" His voice boomed. "And I wasn't done! Hurt him more and I'll abandon this vessel and take another!"
The torment stopped, and another phone call began. Orders came to leave him for now, and the Gift sighed. Twiggy's body healed rapidly, and by the time the tormentor left, he was bloody, but whole, and the Gift pulled Twiggy from the moon and back into his body with gentle arms, though an outsider could only see Twiggy's body grow tense and begin to tremble and slouch.
His footsteps echoed off the stones in the narrow hall. His own breath quickened as something in his stomach tightened and yanked, and he picked up his pace slightly. He'd stopped questioning the strange urges that pulled him into and out of strange places and events at their whims.
The cane jerked as it struck something, and Twiggy stopped to feel it out through his socked feet. Instead of the expected wall, he found a step, and above it another. Three steps.
The tall man edged forward with caution, but regardless of intent, something clonked against his head and sent white stars into his mind. Twiggy grunted, then rubbed at his forehead with a quiet curse of "Frig". He ducked as he tried again, and another smack to his noggin nearly knocked him over.
At six centimeters short of two full meters, the massive man began to use his hands to feel out what was before him. A few moments found it was a tunnel, but much narrower than the hall he'd been walking. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed his cane and stuck it into one of his many pockets, then lowered himself to hands and knees. He crawled forward and forward. The sound of cloth rubbing stone accompanied him. The ever-present scent of ancient dust and his own sweat tickled at his nose.
His hands crushed some sort of dried film on the floor, but he kept on until his knees and the heels of his hands felt wet, and the scent of blood accompanied the stagnant air. Despite this, he kept forward, wishing he had some idea how far he'd come and how far he had still to go. His arms, shoulders, hips, and back burned as the urges sent him still forward.
The change came abruptly. An abundance of new scents and sounds surrounded him, clawing at his mind, demanding attention he wasn't able to give, and the floor underneath felt different, but the urge continued. He wasn't where it wanted him yet, but he had a strange feeling in his gut he couldn't identify. He paused, trying to explore the sensation further, but one hand shot forward, and the rest of him followed to keep from falling onto his face. A growing sense of anticipation gnawed his nerves raw, even as he felt the brushing of his hair against the ceiling cease as it grew taller. The urges kept him on hands and knees, anticipating and leading—wherever he was going next had a low ceiling.
So this time it warned him.
Twiggy tried to keep his commentary away, but a sudden jerk in the urges sent his face into a wall.
Sorry, Sorry!
He fumbled, dizzied, and began to follow the urge again, still trusting it to lead.
The ground changed beneath his bleeding hands and knees again, and more scents came. His mind couldn't comprehend them all. They felt so different from the place he lived, where most of what he could smell were stones and people, and sometimes the scents that the other Hunters brought home with them, of strange and faraway places that smelled so foreign he had no understanding.
He stopped still and turned his head around again, scanning for sounds, scents, anything to tell him where he was. The urge was gone. He was at his destination.
To someone who had vision, Twiggy crawled from the inside of a closet, a box on its side, a cupboard, from under a table, or any other strange place a strange person could crawl from, but never from anything tall enough for him to walk, no.
On hands and knees, he looked tall, but not nearly as tall as he truly was. The man looked as narrow and thin as a needle, and as awkward and gangling as an adolescent. His smooth face was offset by a startling square jaw, and his blindfold was tied in place behind his head, the knot rested against his short, buzzed undercut.
He wore colorful and mismatched socks and soft flannel pajama pants. Over his torso and most of his legs, he bore a long, dark leather jacket with too many pockets. As he remained on hands and knees, any shirt, if he wore one, was only visible as light-weight, dangling cloth that hung in front of his belly and between his arms.
The stranger turned his head side to side still, listening around him as his shoulders and back slowly stiffened, and his hands formed into trembling fists. Underneath him, smears of blood from hands and knees marked his path, disappearing mid-smear somewhere within the object from whence he crawled.
The man held still for a few moments, save the turning of his head and nervous gnawing at his lip, before he finally swallowed his unease and spoke. "Hel... Hello?," he called, his voice high and choked with panic.
"Oh," a woman's voice came from nearby, "Oh, no, you shouldn't be here, civilians should have been evacu—"
Her voice, scent, and all sensations faded as something like a punch to his collarbone registered to the thin Hunter's mind.
He woke suddenly with a jerk, wrists and arms bound to afford him none of the leverage a typical Hunter could have used to escape. His fingers were curled around something, and metal surrounded all sides of his arms and forced them bent behind his back, perhaps inside the cold metal at his back.
Cold metal on his back, wrapped around his arms...
They took his clothing! A quick squirm confirmed the presence of coverings on his lower body, but the lack of jacket left him defenseless. "Jacket!" He shouted, voice high and desperate. "Jacket! Please! I want my jacket! I won't struggle! I promise!"
His screams seemed to fall on deaf ears as he trembled in captivity
"Be quiet. Twiggy, is it?" A strange voice spoke nearby, calm and relaxed. "Doesn't matter. Your new designation is Subject H9421-dash-eyes. You have a week to memorize it. In the meantime, please remain still. Extraction is about to begin."
"Wha—,"
Twiggy's scream ripped and echoed through the room, only to fade with his consciousness as the Gift took its place at the fore. Twiggy's mind traveled away from the pain of his body, and when he opened his eyes, he saw before him the bleeding purple moon as a sea of blood flowed away from it: his own blood.
Without a thought, he began to walk towards the moon, and as he neared it, he split and his path branched toward other moons. Every step brought flashes of imagery, places and people he'd never seen and never would, but whose names he knew.
Jade. Kanna. Rare. Crow. Ygvaine. Shiloh. Silver. Aspa. Violi. Kibiira... The names went on, until finally he came to stand beneath the moon. Its silver-purple blood fell upon him, and he fell upward toward it.
On its surface, he saw the future rather than the present.
Outside, in the 'real world', Twiggy's face remained slack, with a hint of rebellion to his pale, unseeing eyes as he murmured nonsense.
"Behold, the ground brings ruin as its children rebel, oh Seekers of Paradise. The coming of the Vessel brings death and tears in a rain of agony that leaves a marsh in its wake. The coming of the Useless heralds the Unknowable, and likewise the Many-Armed heralds the Doll." He trailed off, and a shock to his lower stomach twisted his body as his muscles' forced contractions sent fire along his nerves, and he felt organs perish within himself
With a shuddering breath, the Gift continued to speak through him.
"Those who bring ruin damn themselves. The Uncollared and the Collared come one after the next and they bring no mercy upon their enemies. They come. They herald your end."
The Gift possessing Twiggy's body smirked as it witnessed the torturer call a superior and report. Oh, they were clever: they realized both prophecies were for the same event, and—
There it was.
The order to continue. The Gift's smirk fell, though he'd known it was coming. It was the only prophesy he would willingly give them, but the silver knife in the tormentor's tray niggled at his stubbornness, and as the knife lifted from the tray after the sixth repetition, he spoke before the tool could touch him, ready to give what they needed to keep Twiggy's skin intact.
Even inhuman Powers had things they would rather not deal with, one of which being finding a new vessel with unscarred flesh to take the tattoos.
"Fine. A new one," he growled, then began the brief process of scrambling before he began to tell.
"Red river flows and brings madness. Magic's essence from the moon brings power unnatural. To seek for survival is to Extinction and to seek for conquest is to Ozymandias. Draw upon the source of life in this way and bring poison to the waters of all—"
Burning pain seared through his body, and a scream ripped from his throat.
"Fuckers, that was a new one!" His voice boomed. "And I wasn't done! Hurt him more and I'll abandon this vessel and take another!"
The torment stopped, and another phone call began. Orders came to leave him for now, and the Gift sighed. Twiggy's body healed rapidly, and by the time the tormentor left, he was bloody, but whole, and the Gift pulled Twiggy from the moon and back into his body with gentle arms, though an outsider could only see Twiggy's body grow tense and begin to tremble and slouch.