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Mx Male « that crawling chaos -- those dark desires »

just some cryptid

just some cryptid

tell me you're dreaming
Joined
May 25, 2020
Hungry For . . .​
Call me Cryptid. I'm a gainfully employed adult with a decent amount of free time, looking for some new long-term or short-term scenes. Usually, I'll be able to post up at least once a day, often more as time allows. I prefer a combination of character and story driven scenes with a nice blend of kinky smut, and I have a huge soft-spot or intense romances, slow-burns, and complicated / messy character dynamics. I'm open to writing over DMs, Discord, or threads.


The Ensemble . . .​

Character Profile Thread
【 creeps and cryptids 】​

While I'm always happy to use one of my existing characters, I'm just as likely to write up a new character to suit the scene. When it comes to both the characters that I play and the characters I'm playing again, I'm happy with a wide range in terms of age, appearance, and personality. I'm happy with non-humans, furries, monsters, etc, as well as male and masculine-presenting characters, including cis, trans, intersex, masculine or androgynous non-binary, agender, or alien-gender characters.

I also tend to double-up a lot in my role plays. I'll have one or two main characters and any number of named, recurring side-characters. I ask that these named side-characters remain mine to control, as I usually have some story-goal / purpose in mind when I introduce them.


A Quick Taste . . .​

Writing Sample: Vanish Point Introduction

Three weeks ago, Morgan had watched a man in lockup beat his own head against a metal bench until the side of his skull had caved inwards. They'd managed to restrain him, and Morgan could still remember just how fucking feral the bastard had looked with half his face swollen, one eye bugged out and facing the wrong direction. The man had slipped into a coma on route to the Massachusetts General Hospital, and two days later he'd died in a fit of convulsions. Morgan had seen his share of shit in his long career, but the pure, raw ferocity of that man had unsettled him; never in his life had he seen someone so determined to pry open their own brain-box.​

* * *​

"This city's going fucking insane, Buchanan." Bradshaw had said to him one week later. They'd been sitting in the front of an unmarked car, drinking lukewarm coffee and watching the siren's scream in front of a brownstone on the north end.

It had been a real meat-grinder, too. A husband, wife, and a 12-year-old boy had been found cleaved up on the floor of their apartment. They'd died at the hands of their 15-year-old daughter and, as far as forensics could tell, the family had just sat there. They'd let it happen. Hack, slash, plop; each swing of that kitchen knife had cut away another piece of them, painting red the walls, the floor, the fucking ceiling.

When they'd taken the girl out, she'd been calm. Relaxed. She'd asked Morgan if she'd still be able to attend her swim-meet the following afternoon.

"Boston's always been fucking insane, Shaw." Morgan replied.

"It's getting worse."

'Yeah. Suppose it is."
​
* * *​

Last week, Clint Bradshaw had slipped the business end of his Glock 22 between his teeth. They'd all been standing in the briefing room, staring numbly at the increasing list of homicides on the whiteboard, when Clint had simply sauntered up to the front of the group.

"Morgan, buddy," Bradshaw had said. They'd been partners for the last six years and they'd always gotten along well enough.

"Clint." Morgan had replied, brows raised. They had never quite gotten into the habit of calling each other by their first names.

"Been fun, old man."

And then he'd blown his brains out across the case-board.
​
* * *​

It was 3:19 on a Wednesday afternoon and Morgan was doing 45 down Shawmut avenue, heading south from Beacon Hill. White knuckle grip on the wheel, the detective swerved around an SVU, lights flashing. Home. He had to get home. Captain Dalton had been the one to bring him up to speed.

Internal memo, she'd said. Keep it quiet. I'm risking a lot by telling you this, Morgan.

The National Guard was mobilizing. They'd be putting the whole damn city under lock-down. A quarantine zone, because Boston had come in fourth place in the marathon murder-spree that had been plaguing the nation. New York was a write-off and there were rumours -- un-fucking-substantiated rumours -- that a god damn warhead had gone off in the heart of Las Vegas. Meanwhile, hurricane-force winds had been beating against the eastern seaboard for the better part of a month. It was bad up in Boston; it was a hellscape down in Florida. Morgan would't be surprised if there was nothing left of Miami.

If the storms and the crazies didn't kill him, the National Guard surely would. Locking down a sprawling city like Boston would be a logistical nightmare. People were panicked, confused. They were stockpiling supplies and boarding up their windows, looting, fighting, drinking, fucking; in the span of 30-days, the city had gone full Biblical, and Morgan wanted to be far away once the real apocalypse started.

He made a sharp turn onto Massachusetts Ave. He'd follow that to Columbia, he'd follow that to Geneva, he'd follow that to Park Street in Dorchester. A sharp left onto a side road, two blocks down, and he screamed the car to a halt in front of the red brick townhouse that he shared with his son. Keys in hand, Morgan took the front steps in two's.

As he pushed open the front door, he said, "Tell me you're fucking home, kid."​
Click to expand...

Story vs. Smut . . .​

While I am a fan of erotic writing, I prefer stories be driven by plot and character over raw smut. A stronger story is required for longer-running scenes. Slow-burn romances and slow build-ups are always adored, and I'm also perfectly happy to play out stories involving little to no smut, provided the romance is engaging. That said, I am also open to playing out shorter / one-shot scenes that are fully smut-focused. In those situations, we'd hash out the kinks and premise ahead of time, and have an agreed-upon end-goal.

The items below are just some rough ideas. A few have vague plots around them, most don't. This list is also not exhaustive; if there's something you're interested in and you don't see it here, pitch it anyway. The only real exception to that is fandom; there are very few existing universes that I'm interested in or comfortable writing in. With the few fandoms I am interested in, I'm only down for playing OC x OC pairings.

Cravings . . . ​
  • I am currently craving horror stories. I have several rough plots in mind, involving cryptids, the occult, and Lovecraftian apocalypses.

Genres . . . ​

  • Medieval / Traditional Fantasy​
  • Science Fiction​
  • Cyberpunk / Dystopian Future​
  • Crime Noire, Mystery​
  • Horror / Paranormal / Supernatural​
  • Time period: 1920 - 1970​
  • Time period: modern​
  • Time period: Victorian​
  • Fandom
    • The Elder Scrolls​
    • Fallout​
    • Pokemon​
    • The Legend of Zelda​
Click to expand...

Themes . . .​

  • Family drama​
  • Found family​
  • Dysfunctional relationships​
  • Complicated relationships​
  • Taboo relationships​
  • Hurt / Comfort​
  • Trauma and recovery​
  • Slow-burn romance​
  • Dramatic age differences​
Click to expand...

Pairings . . .​

  • Bodyguard x Client​
  • Agent x Handler​
  • Scientist x Experiment​
  • Priest x Sinner​
  • Authority x Punk​
  • Father x Son​
  • DILF x DILF​
  • Cop x Criminal​
  • Anthro x Human​
  • Monster x Human​
  • Vampire Slave x Human Master​
Click to expand...
​
 
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