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Moon
- Joined
- May 1, 2020
- Location
- Utopiosphere
doms to the front of the line!
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t a b l e o f c o n t e n t s
i. r u l e s
ii. p l o t s
iii. s a m p l e s
iv. c o n t a c t
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i. r u l e s
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┌────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────┐
t a b l e o f c o n t e n t s
i. r u l e s
ii. p l o t s
iii. s a m p l e s
iv. c o n t a c t
└────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────┘
i. r u l e s
┊ ┊
˚☪ ⋆｡˚✩
non:
━ semi-lit / asterisks: i'm not interested in roleplaying with asterisks, or short baby posts. no disrespect if you are but it's not my cup of tea personally!
━ furries / bestiality: this is non negotiable.
━ underage characters: i'm 21, so it's extremely uncomfortable to me and feels a little sketchy! i will not write smut/romance with anyone under 18 and i expect the same from you.
━ toilet stuff: again, non negotiable.
━ most incest: i'm open to step relationships, but am not willing to consider anything involving someone and an older blood relative.
━ all smut: i need plot! i need romance! if you're just looking to get off i am not the rp partner for you!
━ poor grammar: i have very little patience for it. ooc, i couldn't care less (clearly) but i need literate grammar in posts. careless mistakes are fine!
oui:
━ lit / adv lit: i tend to mirror posts, and i firmly believe there's a time and a place for everything! sometimes i'll write 15 paragraphs, and sometimes i'll write 2. i prefer shorter posts during rapid action scenes, but 2 paragraphs is my absolute minimum.━ ooc chat: i need to be friends with my rp partners! not just to feel more comfortable with you, but because i love to casually headcanon and plan plot points out together. this is supposed to be fun!
━ monsters: my preferred genres are fantasy and sci-fi, and i absolutely love to invent fantasy races! i don't have any limit on how monstrous is acceptable to me as long as it's not a furry.
━ dark elements / drama: i love to make my characters miserable. essentially nothing is off limits when it comes to non-sexual plot elements.
━ holy themes: i love love absolutely love any plot to do with anything angelic/demonic!
━ plot heavy: i'm more for the plot/romance than the smut, but the smut is a great addition.
━ multiple characters: the more the merrier! i love to have multiple characters and multiple ships within a single rp. (and while i am posting here for mxm, i would be more than happy with fxf or fxm side couples!)
ii. p l o t s
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you can find my plots here.
that thread will be randomly updated whenever i'm not being lazy!
pairings:┊ ┊
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you can find my plots here.
that thread will be randomly updated whenever i'm not being lazy!
my preferred role will be in italics.
━ stalker x pop idol
━ priest x satan
━ king x literally anything
━ antichrist x god
━ god x satan
━ evil human x angel
━ monster prisoner x monster prisoner
━ post-apocalypse human x robot
━ incubus x priest
━ robot x anti-robot human
themes:
━ royalty
━ religion
━ prison
━ horror
━ fantasy adventures
━ sci-fi war
━ apocalypse
━ armageddon
━ dystopia
━ pirates (space or sea)
iii. s a m p l e s
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a collection of my most recent posts to give you an idea of my writing style!
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a collection of my most recent posts to give you an idea of my writing style!
As Nikolai snatched the kitchen knife away with little regard for its sharp edge - intended to cut things sturdier than just fingers - Kalani let out a soft, but dramatic gasp, filled with an inherent French pompousness he couldn't seem to get rid of. "Fuck you," Kalani spat back, meeting Nikolai's intense stare with one of his own. "Stupide Russe." He rolled his big blue eyes - before a fist suddenly connected with his jaw. A sound spilled from his full lips - though whether it was an excited moan or cry of agony was, ambiguous to say the least. With his chin tucked against his shoulder, icy blue eyes glared daggers at Nikolai through the strands of his snow white bangs. There was something in Kalani's eyes besides anger - something that could only be described as thrill.
"Who the f-" Kalani's angry demand twisted into a shocked squeak as Nikolai yanked his hair, undoubtedly getting his perfect white waves dirty with those disgusting little goblin hands. Like water with a few hints of red food coloring, Kalani's useless, ironless blood began pouring from his nose once again. He flinched when Nikolai spat on him - more out of disgust than fear - but remained silent for a bit, glaring at the shorter but unfortunately stronger man. "Kill me," Kalani taunted, as the blood from his nose mixed with the much darker blood that had been smeared across his feminine lips. He licked the sanguine combination up, before spitting it right back out at Nikolai's face. "I probably have HIV now anyways." It became clear that Kalani was becoming more and more delirious, as the blood loss began to really take effect. Hemophilia and anemia was a terrible combination, especially when Kalani had no doubt he was face to face with someone who wouldn't hesitate to leave his unconscious body in an alley somewhere.
Kalani stumbled a bit, gripping Nikolai's shirt to keep his balance. "Tu ne me fais pas peur," he slurred, whining in response to the hand in his hair. As his consciousness slowly faded, Kalani began to feel like he didn't exactly hate this situation, at least currently. No one had been brave enough to manhandle him in such a way before, it was undoubtedly exciting. Though, he didn't seem like he'd he awake to experience it much longer. "Je... mm," Kalani muttered, eyes fluttering shut as he fainted, reliant on Nikolai lest he fall to the marble floor.
As his nineteenth birthday approached, Ilya Starkovich felt a pit of anxiety and dread in his already pained stomach. February 24th, what should have been a time of celebration, felt like nothing more than the anniversary of the day he ruined his mother's life and a yearly reminder that he was never supposed to be born. Usually, the young, sickly Ukrainian tried to stay positive despite everything that was going on - there was no point in moping too much over things he couldn't control - but this didn't feel like something that had been out of his control. It felt like it was entirely his fault.
Ilya's annual birthday anxiety was only relieved by a man about six years his senior named Kaimu. They had met a few months ago on a popular cosmetology forum. Kaimu was a hairdresser, and Ilya had dreams of being a fashion designer if he ever beat cancer. The other man was the first real friend Ilya ever had, even if it was only online.
Until it was discovered that they lived in the same city. Then his new friend made an offer Ilya had never, ever heard before - spending his birthday together. The sickly boy was ecstatic, he couldn't remember doing anything but cry on his birthday since... well, forever. Ilya had a vague, distant memory of his mother getting him a slice of chocolate cake from the supermarket back in Ukraine and a small gift, a few days before he turned five. But like every other year Ilya actually spent with her, she became incredibly hostile on the actual day.
Because he couldn't drive, couldn't walk far, and didn't live anywhere near public transport (which was something he generally wanted to avoid anyways due to his fragile immune system), the only place they could really meet up was at his home on the outskirts of New York City. Which was fine with him; years of abuse from his biological mother and a series of American foster families prevented Ilya from developing any kind of survival instincts. They agreed that Kaimu would come over to his small, rural cabin on the 24th, and for the first time in his life, Ilya was thrilled waiting for his birthday.
The morning of the 24th finally came, and Ilya awoke with a smile already on his face. It was bitter and cold outside, and while the radiators (he didn't know what they were called and probably wouldn't use them if he did know the name) in his cabin worked hard to keep it in the seventies, that was still a bit chilly for him. Ilya slid his small feet into a pair of thick hospital socks, with rubber padding on the bottom to keep him from slipping on the wooden floor. He wore a pair of leggings under his grey pajama pants, patterned with white constellations. Then to cover his tight fitted tank top, Ilya wore a light, desaturated blue sweatshirt that was more than a few sizes too big. After straightening his bed up, Ilya headed to the bathroom to get ready.
Once he finished up his morning routine, Ilya pulled a roll of bandages from the bathroom cupboard and loosely wrapped some around his neck to cover his rather large thyroid tumor. He tied his long, ashy brown hair up with a piece of ribbon and smiled weakly at his reflection. Ilya didn't feel particularly pretty, and he honestly really wanted to impress Kaimu, but... he was just so, so fatigued all the time. He couldn't put much more effort than this into his appearance.
Ilya lightly padded over to the kitchen, crinkling his slender nose at the sight. It was by no means filthy, but... it definitely needed some work to be presentable. Especially with the almost overflowing trash can... Ilya hated taking out the trash. With a deep sigh to prepare himself, the sickly boy grabbed the sides of the bag and pulled up - and absolutely nothing happened. It was too heavy for his frail arms to lift out of the can. Determined, Ilya instead grabbed the side of the trash can, and began dragging it across the floor. It took more than 10 minutes to make the less than 10 meter walk to the front door, and Ilya felt about ready to faint.
The cold, northern air hit him in the face like a truck as soon as he pushed the front door open. Ilya's labored pants had escalated into full on wheezing, as he grabbed the door frame to hold himself up. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't just leave this full trash can in front of his door, but he didn't know if he could drag it any farther. He should have just hid it... he was a fool for thinking he could actually accomplish something. Tears stung at the corner of his eyes, burning in the cold weather, but Ilya refused to let them fall. This was supposed to be a good day... he wouldn't ruin it with self pity over something as trivial as a trash can. Ilya was trying so hard not to cry, he didn't even notice the car pull up in his empty driveway.
iv. c o n t a c t
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my preferred methods of communication!
ooc via discord is HIGHLY preferred, bordering on necessary. i am pretty opposed to roleplaying via email, but can possibly be convinced. if the rp is carried out via discord, we'll need either A. a separate server or B. we can make a group chat then kick the third person from it. roleplaying here on the forums is fine too - but not pm's! it's just too cluttery for me, and i like to reread things.
if you've read through all of this, you are legally obligated to message me! i promise i'm nice!!
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˚☪ ⋆｡˚✩
my preferred methods of communication!
ooc via discord is HIGHLY preferred, bordering on necessary. i am pretty opposed to roleplaying via email, but can possibly be convinced. if the rp is carried out via discord, we'll need either A. a separate server or B. we can make a group chat then kick the third person from it. roleplaying here on the forums is fine too - but not pm's! it's just too cluttery for me, and i like to reread things.
if you've read through all of this, you are legally obligated to message me! i promise i'm nice!!