Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)((¯`'•.¸Introduction¸.•'´¯))
Hey all.
Back from a hiatus and here with another topic.
Please excuse the construction and likewise, any ring rust.
So hey, check out an embarrassment of riches below where I try to play as a futa / intersex / femboy / other and see what tickles your fancy.
[†] General Information [†]
- I've been writing on again, off again for about twelve years now. On a good day, I'd like to consider myself somewhat literate.
- General preference is PMs over threads. I don't have any available messengers at the moment and for whatever reason, Discord doesn't play nice.
- Expect at best a post within 24 hours, at worst within three days unless otherwise notified. If you don't hear from me within three days, apologies in advance. Health and all that. Post length varies, with intros usually longer and standard replies being at least a few paragraphs. Likewise, in most cases, expect a happy medium of narrative and smut.
- I'm more than happy to entertain any plots or ideas you may have, including existing or canon material. Do let me know ahead of time your expectations when it comes to depth of knowledge however.
[†] Kinks [†]
Hard Limits:
M-Preg
Scat
Vomit
Watersports
'Soft No':
Death
Gore
Harem / Reverse Harem
Incest
Vore
Kinks:
Ass Worship
Dirty Talking
Edgeplay
Face Fucking
Light Bondage
Messy (Drool, Fluids)
Sexual Exhaustion
[†] Plots [†]
Section 1:
Section 2:
[†]Writing Samples[†]
Under construction.
Can provide older material if interested.
((¯`'•.¸Thanks!¸.•'´¯))
Hey all.
Back from a hiatus and here with another topic.
Please excuse the construction and likewise, any ring rust.
So hey, check out an embarrassment of riches below where I try to play as a futa / intersex / femboy / other and see what tickles your fancy.
[†] General Information [†]
- I've been writing on again, off again for about twelve years now. On a good day, I'd like to consider myself somewhat literate.
- General preference is PMs over threads. I don't have any available messengers at the moment and for whatever reason, Discord doesn't play nice.
- Expect at best a post within 24 hours, at worst within three days unless otherwise notified. If you don't hear from me within three days, apologies in advance. Health and all that. Post length varies, with intros usually longer and standard replies being at least a few paragraphs. Likewise, in most cases, expect a happy medium of narrative and smut.
- I'm more than happy to entertain any plots or ideas you may have, including existing or canon material. Do let me know ahead of time your expectations when it comes to depth of knowledge however.
[†] Kinks [†]
Hard Limits:
M-Preg
Scat
Vomit
Watersports
'Soft No':
Death
Gore
Harem / Reverse Harem
Incest
Vore
Kinks:
Ass Worship
Dirty Talking
Edgeplay
Face Fucking
Light Bondage
Messy (Drool, Fluids)
Sexual Exhaustion
[†] Plots [†]
Section 1:
((¯`'•.¸Abstain¸.•'´¯))
“To put it bluntly, people are coming as they're going."
To put it simply, we're fucked.
Nobody knew how it started. People are arguing over 'how' it started. That energy could have been better allocated in building up encampments and quarantining the dead. But I'm getting ahead of myself and despite the fact that the world is going to hell, I'm sure some politically correct zealot will come knocking on my door. But they are dead. Don't be fooled. The most popular story is that it started at some rave, some experimental drug. Makes the body overclock on stimulus, people were thinking it was for a sexual high. Turns out the body can't handle that much in a single moment and just like that, you're gone.
Well, medically that is. For a little.
You've seen zombie films right? Don't shake your head. I know you have. Well, they come back, but the drug never leaves their system. It's kinda like a disease or something, both biologically and venereal before some wise crack tries to get the joke in. And guess who they look for? Warm bodies. Humans. Normals like us. We don't really call them dead though, since they're still functioning. It'd be fine if they just walked around stiff and moaned (I know, the jokes are too easy), but when they start acting like us just to get past security? To get into our havens? Things get scary. Kids use stupid terms, call em 'gang bangs' or 'the stalking dead' or some crap like that. Sleeper agents. Someone tries to hook up with you? Just be careful out there.
((¯`'•.¸Homecoming¸.•'´¯))
“We can't come back. I know you'll understand. The screaming won't stop."
Desperate times come for desperate measures.
Overpopulation. Exhaustion of resources. Earth was a doomed prospect from the beginning and humanity turned heavensward once more for salvation, looking towards the stars in times of crisis. However, in ages prior when they would have sought guidance and divination, now the governments and technology allowed for the possibility of migration to more hospitable worlds. Salvaging together enough money and equipment to send a squad of four into the reaches of the void, a vessel was sent towards the perimeters of the system to find a location that was ideal for chance of settlement. All four people were placed under hibernation to survive the initial journey and through that maiden voyage, everything was quiet until approximately two years in. Only two facts were known; the message above was transmitted back with no additional context and the system indicated all life aboard perished.
Considering the first attempt a scrapped failure, mankind was willing to consider a second transport but needed to revive public confidence and amass together enough funds to complete a secondary shuttle. A year later in the second campaign and another message was delivered from coordinates that were in the direction of the Apollo, the mainframe indicating that its crew was apparently alive and well. In addition, a message was sent back requesting for assistance and permission to return, as cryptic and mysterious as the first.
'This is the Apollo reporting in. Permission to return home. Mission was an initial failure, however there is a possibility of future success.'
When the message was replied to and the messenger requested to identify themselves, this was the last transmission:
'I would have expected a more warm welcoming. You're all acting like you're talking to a ghost. Permission to come home?'
((¯`'•.¸Kingdom Come¸.•'´¯))
“I have lost my love, my country. I will not lose my honor."
People are defined by their station. In a world of kingdoms, of kings and inheritance, of divine right and imperial might, often the class one is born into is the class one resides in. Whether this is in regard to race, blood line, lineage or name, it defines us all as either chains that drag us down, or promises of everlasting glory. Sex and gender are particularly cruel mistresses of the times, women often either used as bartering pieces in order to raise an eventual heir or, in the case of a barren queen, as a figurehead or indentured slave to the bedroom. In a time where empires are crafted and legacies lost to the ages, all pieces are laid bare on the chessboard with their own plans and aspirations, all the while at risk for the taking and in danger of losing their invaluable king.
The Crownless Queen. The Witch of House Morris. The Queen of Kings. There is a piece that was introduced that goes by many names, a colorless token that pledges no allegiances except to a King that had been recently slain, to a side lost in chaos. Unlike those pieces that stand tall behind lines of Pawns, she was a different creature in that, like her barren sisters, unable to provide a heir, but like her brothers in arms, born with the birthrights to the title of King if luck played its hand. On a theater with defined rules, lead by houses manned with known pieces, what turmoil follows for a Queen that takes up her fallen love's crown? Some may wish to dominate such a force, either militarily or for personal reasons. Others may simply be interested in such a unique piece that has entered the fray. Regardless...
Let Kingdom Come.
((¯`'•.¸Little Red¸.•'´¯))
“As I’ve said, there are no wolves within these woods.”
What humans try to take, nature will inevitably claim once more, often ensuring that due interest is paid for whatever was stolen. For fifteen years, when the moon becomes full, a strict curfew has been enforced in the boundaries of Graften Marshes, often falling after times of plentiful harvest and ushering in biting winds and bitter seasons. It wasn’t until the first few disappearances that the mayor and officiating body conducted additional searches, first during the witching hour, later only when provided with sunlight when their own numbers dwindled. Even though it has been at least a century since wolves have been in this landscape, many have sworn they hear the sounds of wolves howling at night and will swear to the strict dogma at the first sign of claw marks at their door step.
Travelers are often treated as foreigners to the best kept secret of their little sleepy hollow, oblivious to the first settlers that cleared the land and scoured it of green, painting it in red to make sure they had enough wolf meat to survive the first brutal winter. Nor would they be told of the stories of the disappearance of the first girl that wandered too far into the tree line when dusk kissed the horizon and, when the ‘wolves’ howl in the distance, villagers swear they see a girl in a red hood moving amongst the shadows.
When the full moon stirs, the forest awakens and the pack will hunt, but in the most hushed of whispers in the back of bars, you’ll always hear one half truth:
There are no wolves within these woods.
((¯`'•.¸Maneater¸.•'´¯))
“It’s all about finding the best man for the job. Amusing, no?”
For the longest time, white collar was considered a boy’s club, an exclusive clique that was attainable for few and happened to abuse the many. General progress in social studies and more egalitarian societies would challenge and erode the membership criteria of the finest and richest, promising the idea of variety and possibility for the majority while threatening the thought of novelty for the old guard. Of course, in the corporate world, loopholes are the norm and backstabbing a definite quality on one’s resume, reflected even in some of the most liberal of work places. For at least three generations, the upper hierarchy of mediAPP had stagnated, routinely hiring from outside or promoting specific candidates despite having a vast and talented staff.
Then a year ago they happened to hire another wave of temporary staff to increase holiday production, amongst the rank and file a female receptionist for morning shifts. Weeks later and nothing surprising had happened, with most of the outside staff released and a few of the more dedicated assets retained. When a few open promotions came around and candidates submitted their resumes, the same cynical bets were placed as if it were figuratively another day at the office; lo and behold, the research and development department happened to get a new shift manager! A few months later, with gossip burning about like wildfire, and another vacant spot appeared ripe and open for bidding. Yet again, despite previous habits in the company as far as practices went, once again they had a new department director who started in a modest receptionist position. Even more interesting was the fact that the candidate most of the people considered the favorite to win was given his own promotion, assigned to be her own personal secretary.
March 5th is in the future and talks of the CEO stepping down have made their way down the hierarchy…
((¯`'•.¸Pact of Temptation¸.•'´¯))
“Write down three, commit to flame
Wait til dusk, then call her name”
There was a time when a life wasn’t worth that much. Can you believe that? Maybe humans were more foolish or more power hungry… Perhaps lifespans were shorter or deviants were more desperate back then. Either way, it was easy to make a fair trade for the worth of a soul or the blood in one’s soul for limitless power, unrequited love, infinite knowledge or whatever other whimsical desire one can dream of. There’s a reason why you hear less of rituals and haunting, of the supernatural or encounters with beings just beyond the veil; many of them barter in only one trade and aren’t able to adapt to the times. It’s a terrible thing really, as it makes things less exciting overall, but many of those devils and demons weren’t the most pleasant to associate with and makes business less palatable for us more… noble of brokers.
Perhaps you’ve heard of me. Yes? No? Does the word succubus ring a bell? Don’t panic, as some of us have had centuries to refine first contact in order to seal the deal and make sure you sign the dotted line on that little contract of ours. The deal? Same as always, although it certainly doesn’t hurt to sweeten it up a little bit, right? You might have heard about how to summon me specifically, but if not, listen up, because this is a limited time offer. You need to find some paper… Parchment… Anything like that. Write down your name and three things that you desire; and don’t worry about being judged, I’m not ‘righteous’ and ‘condescending’ enough like some other supernatural beings to do that. Done? Good. Now find a heat source, anything will do, and make sure you burn it away. The whole thing. Then wait until midnight and the contract has been sealed.
Oh? What you have to offer? I do hope you read the contract…
((¯`'•.¸Second Life¸.•'´¯))
“You can’t take it all back… But I can.”
They say life can flash before your eyes.
Then it did.
The details are often grim and hard to remember, but focusing on the pain means you don’t have to think about regret, a decision that boils down to whichever poison would better suit you in those last moments. As the memories go by, what would you focus on the most? What you’ve done and accomplished, the people you’ve met and the memories you’ve forged in the life you’ve lived; or the future that you considered and the dreams and aspirations that may never come to be, tossing aside the notions of yesterday for the prospect of tomorrow? Do you break down and struggle in vain, trying to take back the life you once had, or surrender yourself to the fate that has fallen upon you and consider the wonders that may wait for you in the life afterwards?
Hard stuff to think about. A person is often defined in those moments of reflection. Now that you know who you are and whether it is worth it, two last questions for you: first, if you had another chance, would you take it? Surprised? Most are. Considering the fact that few get a first chance to really live life, how lucky can you be to get a second shot at living life at the fullest? You’ve had some moments of self reflection to think about this and thankfully, there’s only one question left, but it is quite the doozey.
You can get a second chance, but the price is high. What are you willing to give for another chance to live your life?
((¯`'•.¸Soul Survivor¸.•'´¯))
“Don't worry... I'll survive."
What makes you... well... you? Is it personality? Biology? Genes? Wavelengths? Ask one hundred people, you'll get one hundred variations... until recently, when it was discovered through trial, error and tragedy, that the soul was more than a concept often associated with religion and philosophy. I'm sure you've all heard of the 'Ship of Theseus' paradox, where if all the core components are changed, whether the object can be considered the same. Cells die or are replaced. Memories can change or be lost. Chemical imbalances can bring out the best, the worst, or even more frightening, a different side of us. It took a while for the public to catch on, leave it to the disturbingly wealthy to chase after eternal life, but someone figured out the secret to cheating death and surviving past your 'typical' human shelf life.
The controversy first started when rich clients wanted to experience youth again and runaways or street urchins 'mysteriously' started to disappear off the streets. The transition, as horrifying as it may seem, should have been expected; you're only as comfortable as the flesh you wear. Black markets and 'skin rings' as they were called were shut down, leading to more scandalous but less terrifying racketeers profiting in cybernetics and cutting edge technology. The initial prototypes were easy enough to spot when athletes, say retired from crippling injuries returned to the field and beat the competition easily. Or when supermodels made a second return despite being in their late years in a body that transcended all logic. Money talks though and can buy one an edge in life or, as absurd as it seems, even a second life.
“To put it bluntly, people are coming as they're going."
To put it simply, we're fucked.
Nobody knew how it started. People are arguing over 'how' it started. That energy could have been better allocated in building up encampments and quarantining the dead. But I'm getting ahead of myself and despite the fact that the world is going to hell, I'm sure some politically correct zealot will come knocking on my door. But they are dead. Don't be fooled. The most popular story is that it started at some rave, some experimental drug. Makes the body overclock on stimulus, people were thinking it was for a sexual high. Turns out the body can't handle that much in a single moment and just like that, you're gone.
Well, medically that is. For a little.
You've seen zombie films right? Don't shake your head. I know you have. Well, they come back, but the drug never leaves their system. It's kinda like a disease or something, both biologically and venereal before some wise crack tries to get the joke in. And guess who they look for? Warm bodies. Humans. Normals like us. We don't really call them dead though, since they're still functioning. It'd be fine if they just walked around stiff and moaned (I know, the jokes are too easy), but when they start acting like us just to get past security? To get into our havens? Things get scary. Kids use stupid terms, call em 'gang bangs' or 'the stalking dead' or some crap like that. Sleeper agents. Someone tries to hook up with you? Just be careful out there.
((¯`'•.¸Homecoming¸.•'´¯))
“We can't come back. I know you'll understand. The screaming won't stop."
Desperate times come for desperate measures.
Overpopulation. Exhaustion of resources. Earth was a doomed prospect from the beginning and humanity turned heavensward once more for salvation, looking towards the stars in times of crisis. However, in ages prior when they would have sought guidance and divination, now the governments and technology allowed for the possibility of migration to more hospitable worlds. Salvaging together enough money and equipment to send a squad of four into the reaches of the void, a vessel was sent towards the perimeters of the system to find a location that was ideal for chance of settlement. All four people were placed under hibernation to survive the initial journey and through that maiden voyage, everything was quiet until approximately two years in. Only two facts were known; the message above was transmitted back with no additional context and the system indicated all life aboard perished.
Considering the first attempt a scrapped failure, mankind was willing to consider a second transport but needed to revive public confidence and amass together enough funds to complete a secondary shuttle. A year later in the second campaign and another message was delivered from coordinates that were in the direction of the Apollo, the mainframe indicating that its crew was apparently alive and well. In addition, a message was sent back requesting for assistance and permission to return, as cryptic and mysterious as the first.
'This is the Apollo reporting in. Permission to return home. Mission was an initial failure, however there is a possibility of future success.'
When the message was replied to and the messenger requested to identify themselves, this was the last transmission:
'I would have expected a more warm welcoming. You're all acting like you're talking to a ghost. Permission to come home?'
((¯`'•.¸Kingdom Come¸.•'´¯))
“I have lost my love, my country. I will not lose my honor."
People are defined by their station. In a world of kingdoms, of kings and inheritance, of divine right and imperial might, often the class one is born into is the class one resides in. Whether this is in regard to race, blood line, lineage or name, it defines us all as either chains that drag us down, or promises of everlasting glory. Sex and gender are particularly cruel mistresses of the times, women often either used as bartering pieces in order to raise an eventual heir or, in the case of a barren queen, as a figurehead or indentured slave to the bedroom. In a time where empires are crafted and legacies lost to the ages, all pieces are laid bare on the chessboard with their own plans and aspirations, all the while at risk for the taking and in danger of losing their invaluable king.
The Crownless Queen. The Witch of House Morris. The Queen of Kings. There is a piece that was introduced that goes by many names, a colorless token that pledges no allegiances except to a King that had been recently slain, to a side lost in chaos. Unlike those pieces that stand tall behind lines of Pawns, she was a different creature in that, like her barren sisters, unable to provide a heir, but like her brothers in arms, born with the birthrights to the title of King if luck played its hand. On a theater with defined rules, lead by houses manned with known pieces, what turmoil follows for a Queen that takes up her fallen love's crown? Some may wish to dominate such a force, either militarily or for personal reasons. Others may simply be interested in such a unique piece that has entered the fray. Regardless...
Let Kingdom Come.
((¯`'•.¸Little Red¸.•'´¯))
“As I’ve said, there are no wolves within these woods.”
What humans try to take, nature will inevitably claim once more, often ensuring that due interest is paid for whatever was stolen. For fifteen years, when the moon becomes full, a strict curfew has been enforced in the boundaries of Graften Marshes, often falling after times of plentiful harvest and ushering in biting winds and bitter seasons. It wasn’t until the first few disappearances that the mayor and officiating body conducted additional searches, first during the witching hour, later only when provided with sunlight when their own numbers dwindled. Even though it has been at least a century since wolves have been in this landscape, many have sworn they hear the sounds of wolves howling at night and will swear to the strict dogma at the first sign of claw marks at their door step.
Travelers are often treated as foreigners to the best kept secret of their little sleepy hollow, oblivious to the first settlers that cleared the land and scoured it of green, painting it in red to make sure they had enough wolf meat to survive the first brutal winter. Nor would they be told of the stories of the disappearance of the first girl that wandered too far into the tree line when dusk kissed the horizon and, when the ‘wolves’ howl in the distance, villagers swear they see a girl in a red hood moving amongst the shadows.
When the full moon stirs, the forest awakens and the pack will hunt, but in the most hushed of whispers in the back of bars, you’ll always hear one half truth:
There are no wolves within these woods.
((¯`'•.¸Maneater¸.•'´¯))
“It’s all about finding the best man for the job. Amusing, no?”
For the longest time, white collar was considered a boy’s club, an exclusive clique that was attainable for few and happened to abuse the many. General progress in social studies and more egalitarian societies would challenge and erode the membership criteria of the finest and richest, promising the idea of variety and possibility for the majority while threatening the thought of novelty for the old guard. Of course, in the corporate world, loopholes are the norm and backstabbing a definite quality on one’s resume, reflected even in some of the most liberal of work places. For at least three generations, the upper hierarchy of mediAPP had stagnated, routinely hiring from outside or promoting specific candidates despite having a vast and talented staff.
Then a year ago they happened to hire another wave of temporary staff to increase holiday production, amongst the rank and file a female receptionist for morning shifts. Weeks later and nothing surprising had happened, with most of the outside staff released and a few of the more dedicated assets retained. When a few open promotions came around and candidates submitted their resumes, the same cynical bets were placed as if it were figuratively another day at the office; lo and behold, the research and development department happened to get a new shift manager! A few months later, with gossip burning about like wildfire, and another vacant spot appeared ripe and open for bidding. Yet again, despite previous habits in the company as far as practices went, once again they had a new department director who started in a modest receptionist position. Even more interesting was the fact that the candidate most of the people considered the favorite to win was given his own promotion, assigned to be her own personal secretary.
March 5th is in the future and talks of the CEO stepping down have made their way down the hierarchy…
((¯`'•.¸Pact of Temptation¸.•'´¯))
“Write down three, commit to flame
Wait til dusk, then call her name”
There was a time when a life wasn’t worth that much. Can you believe that? Maybe humans were more foolish or more power hungry… Perhaps lifespans were shorter or deviants were more desperate back then. Either way, it was easy to make a fair trade for the worth of a soul or the blood in one’s soul for limitless power, unrequited love, infinite knowledge or whatever other whimsical desire one can dream of. There’s a reason why you hear less of rituals and haunting, of the supernatural or encounters with beings just beyond the veil; many of them barter in only one trade and aren’t able to adapt to the times. It’s a terrible thing really, as it makes things less exciting overall, but many of those devils and demons weren’t the most pleasant to associate with and makes business less palatable for us more… noble of brokers.
Perhaps you’ve heard of me. Yes? No? Does the word succubus ring a bell? Don’t panic, as some of us have had centuries to refine first contact in order to seal the deal and make sure you sign the dotted line on that little contract of ours. The deal? Same as always, although it certainly doesn’t hurt to sweeten it up a little bit, right? You might have heard about how to summon me specifically, but if not, listen up, because this is a limited time offer. You need to find some paper… Parchment… Anything like that. Write down your name and three things that you desire; and don’t worry about being judged, I’m not ‘righteous’ and ‘condescending’ enough like some other supernatural beings to do that. Done? Good. Now find a heat source, anything will do, and make sure you burn it away. The whole thing. Then wait until midnight and the contract has been sealed.
Oh? What you have to offer? I do hope you read the contract…
((¯`'•.¸Second Life¸.•'´¯))
“You can’t take it all back… But I can.”
They say life can flash before your eyes.
Then it did.
The details are often grim and hard to remember, but focusing on the pain means you don’t have to think about regret, a decision that boils down to whichever poison would better suit you in those last moments. As the memories go by, what would you focus on the most? What you’ve done and accomplished, the people you’ve met and the memories you’ve forged in the life you’ve lived; or the future that you considered and the dreams and aspirations that may never come to be, tossing aside the notions of yesterday for the prospect of tomorrow? Do you break down and struggle in vain, trying to take back the life you once had, or surrender yourself to the fate that has fallen upon you and consider the wonders that may wait for you in the life afterwards?
Hard stuff to think about. A person is often defined in those moments of reflection. Now that you know who you are and whether it is worth it, two last questions for you: first, if you had another chance, would you take it? Surprised? Most are. Considering the fact that few get a first chance to really live life, how lucky can you be to get a second shot at living life at the fullest? You’ve had some moments of self reflection to think about this and thankfully, there’s only one question left, but it is quite the doozey.
You can get a second chance, but the price is high. What are you willing to give for another chance to live your life?
((¯`'•.¸Soul Survivor¸.•'´¯))
“Don't worry... I'll survive."
What makes you... well... you? Is it personality? Biology? Genes? Wavelengths? Ask one hundred people, you'll get one hundred variations... until recently, when it was discovered through trial, error and tragedy, that the soul was more than a concept often associated with religion and philosophy. I'm sure you've all heard of the 'Ship of Theseus' paradox, where if all the core components are changed, whether the object can be considered the same. Cells die or are replaced. Memories can change or be lost. Chemical imbalances can bring out the best, the worst, or even more frightening, a different side of us. It took a while for the public to catch on, leave it to the disturbingly wealthy to chase after eternal life, but someone figured out the secret to cheating death and surviving past your 'typical' human shelf life.
The controversy first started when rich clients wanted to experience youth again and runaways or street urchins 'mysteriously' started to disappear off the streets. The transition, as horrifying as it may seem, should have been expected; you're only as comfortable as the flesh you wear. Black markets and 'skin rings' as they were called were shut down, leading to more scandalous but less terrifying racketeers profiting in cybernetics and cutting edge technology. The initial prototypes were easy enough to spot when athletes, say retired from crippling injuries returned to the field and beat the competition easily. Or when supermodels made a second return despite being in their late years in a body that transcended all logic. Money talks though and can buy one an edge in life or, as absurd as it seems, even a second life.
Section 2:
*Disc Job*
“Boys are like records. If you want to turn the volume up, you just have to play them the right way.”
Due to some unforeseen circumstances, a warehouse was converted into one of the cities' most popular clubs, a hotspot notorious for the music that was played and the drinks that were served. Just like its structural makeover, the place is rather legendary for one of the resident DJs, popular for her curvy appearance and supposedly open sexuality. Few know however that the club's most popular 'gal' is actually a femboy and fewer know that he happens to top more than the charts when he's playing tunes night after night. Another weekend is starting with the alcohol running wild, with a person or two on the guest list wandering in either for the atmosphere or to see whether the resident DJ surpasses the rumors.
*Domesticated*
“Collared but not owned; in name, but certainly not in flesh.”
Man's best friend. Animals started primarily as a form of sustenance, moving up the ladder to beasts of burden. As technology replaced the need for biological industry, creatures were regulated to companionship and everyday socializing. Soon enough however, whether it was due to curiosity or even further refinement, science started producing behind closed doors hybrids of humans and the common house pet, looking much like a person with a few anthro features. Advertised in high price markets as highly intelligent (but second class) people, the first batch ran into problems, often associating more with their bestial instincts. Whether through an auction or sheer luck (since several were abandoned projects) a lucky person happens to get one of the first waves of these creatures. But are they more than they anticipated?
*Hush*
“Shhhh....”
St. Mary's University was a campus founded on ideals of knowledge, purity, charity and community. Lo and behold, generations later and for the most part, the place has devolved into little more than a party school. 'For the most part' because while the campus is overall more known for debauchery than high marks, the library tucked away on the third floor is still somehow a civilized realm. Kept sane by its sole warden, few students bother brushing up on their studies... until rumors start popping up about her extra equipment and draconian policies. Whether on a drunken dare or pure curiosity, ducking out of a party, one of the students walks in to see if it's all talk and why the place is so quiet.
*Juiced*
“I like to show some skin in the ring, just so happens that most of it isn't mine.”
She was considered an anomaly to some, a marvel to others, a freak to a few and a Goddess to even less. To say she was imposing was an understatement, to believe her physical stature was completely without chemical assistance was borderline ludicrous. A teenage girl that grew up in some backwater region for the majority of her life, she was found in happenstance during a random bar brawl and convinced with fame and fortune to take advantage of her amazon qualities. Towering over her fellow competitors (and even putting many males to shame) she was placed into underground circuits first before exposed to the limelight, thrust into both UFC and boxing to display a prowess that was borderline unsurpassed. Being a simple country girl has its issues though, whether it means being unable to turn down an adoring fan or saying no to the competition; either way, she intends to stay on top as long as possible.
*Placebo*
“Happiness is our business. For your sake, I certainly hope you're well!”
There was no specific point where society started crumbling, but it was evident after several hundred years that humanity started spiraling out of control. The masses became unhappy, riots becoming more widespread and costs in order to maintain some semblance of order exceeding reasonable thresholds. Conventional methods of increasing satisfaction fell to the wayside, leading to a... questionable program enacted by the government in order to maintain the status quo. Nicknamed 'Operation Placebo', the public was exposed to a combination of tampered water utilities, food with adjusted hormones, daily routines and other assignments done in order to 'increase happiness and satisfaction for overall benefits'. Several of the efforts were considered compromising, leading people into forced senses of jubilation, lead by assigned government individuals called 'Cheerleaders'. In order to ensure happiness maintains expectations, another of the Cheerleaders and her accompanying squad is going through a neighborhood, making sure everyone is abiding by the requested procedures.
*Sellsword*
“They say all Charity is born out of guilt.”
It may be cynical, but the expression holds true; all charity is born out of guilt. Except that their names happen to be Steve and Wendy, divorced and irresponsible patrons of their very own 'mistake'. Whether it was out of irony or the homes that took her in under their equally misguided tutelage, she eventually happened to go under the name of Christian Charity, passing from one market to the next until she found a profession that happened to take into account a hard upbringing and militant households. Normally called hitman, she fit the qualification mostly, preferring the title of mercenary or sellsword, adopting a sniper rifle and selling herself to the highest bidder. Along the way, she found that simply disposing of her targets was neither the most profitable, nor the most pleasurable way to conducting business, finding an amusing, if not lurid way to romanticize war. And with her scope on her next target, who knows what she has in mind...
*Unconditional*
“He walks amongst us.”
Religions are all different. Take a step back and most have overlapping similarities if you take away the nitpicking and specifics. Omnipotence. Omniscience. One of the other paradigms of dogma is that of unconditional love, that regardless of one's actions (and perhaps even if one refuses it), their God or Deity will love and cherish them regardless. More so in the old ages, stories were told of Gods that would shapeshift and wander amongst the mortal realm, both to test the skills of those that worshiped them and to sometimes court humans. A curious God has adopted the semblance of flesh and has found a mortal deemed worthy... but is it of glory? Of love? And does it matter whether such sentiments are returned?
*Wet Nurse*
“Say ahhhh....”
Medical science has taken some unconventional strides in the fields of therapy, surgery and recovery for illnesses, accidents and other maladies for the human body. At Wayward Hearts Hospital, they happen to employ a variety of different procedures and options in order to best service their clients, from the traditional doctors to the more new age aromatherapy and masseurs, even moving into the realm of licensed voodoo and shamans. In one of the medical wings, they recently hired a rather unusual wet nurse that specializes in nutrition, one of the few that helps non-child patients. Coupled with a rigorous physical regiment, she plans on rehabilitating her next patient back to full health in no time.
*Zero Tolerance*
“Whether you hate me or adore me, you'll know me as Mistress.”
It wasn't well advertised. It didn't need to be. The demand was there. She called it a school, but the title was misleading at best, slanderous at worst. Offering to better promote relationships between husband and wife (or a sissy and his top), the curriculum on the surface offers lessons on communication and respect, all the while teaching its pupils how to become better 'wives' for their loves. The headmistress is a particular person of interest, claiming to know the best of both worlds, claiming that it is time for open enrollment and waiting for her new student(s) to attend their first seminar.
“Boys are like records. If you want to turn the volume up, you just have to play them the right way.”
Due to some unforeseen circumstances, a warehouse was converted into one of the cities' most popular clubs, a hotspot notorious for the music that was played and the drinks that were served. Just like its structural makeover, the place is rather legendary for one of the resident DJs, popular for her curvy appearance and supposedly open sexuality. Few know however that the club's most popular 'gal' is actually a femboy and fewer know that he happens to top more than the charts when he's playing tunes night after night. Another weekend is starting with the alcohol running wild, with a person or two on the guest list wandering in either for the atmosphere or to see whether the resident DJ surpasses the rumors.
*Domesticated*
“Collared but not owned; in name, but certainly not in flesh.”
Man's best friend. Animals started primarily as a form of sustenance, moving up the ladder to beasts of burden. As technology replaced the need for biological industry, creatures were regulated to companionship and everyday socializing. Soon enough however, whether it was due to curiosity or even further refinement, science started producing behind closed doors hybrids of humans and the common house pet, looking much like a person with a few anthro features. Advertised in high price markets as highly intelligent (but second class) people, the first batch ran into problems, often associating more with their bestial instincts. Whether through an auction or sheer luck (since several were abandoned projects) a lucky person happens to get one of the first waves of these creatures. But are they more than they anticipated?
*Hush*
“Shhhh....”
St. Mary's University was a campus founded on ideals of knowledge, purity, charity and community. Lo and behold, generations later and for the most part, the place has devolved into little more than a party school. 'For the most part' because while the campus is overall more known for debauchery than high marks, the library tucked away on the third floor is still somehow a civilized realm. Kept sane by its sole warden, few students bother brushing up on their studies... until rumors start popping up about her extra equipment and draconian policies. Whether on a drunken dare or pure curiosity, ducking out of a party, one of the students walks in to see if it's all talk and why the place is so quiet.
*Juiced*
“I like to show some skin in the ring, just so happens that most of it isn't mine.”
She was considered an anomaly to some, a marvel to others, a freak to a few and a Goddess to even less. To say she was imposing was an understatement, to believe her physical stature was completely without chemical assistance was borderline ludicrous. A teenage girl that grew up in some backwater region for the majority of her life, she was found in happenstance during a random bar brawl and convinced with fame and fortune to take advantage of her amazon qualities. Towering over her fellow competitors (and even putting many males to shame) she was placed into underground circuits first before exposed to the limelight, thrust into both UFC and boxing to display a prowess that was borderline unsurpassed. Being a simple country girl has its issues though, whether it means being unable to turn down an adoring fan or saying no to the competition; either way, she intends to stay on top as long as possible.
*Placebo*
“Happiness is our business. For your sake, I certainly hope you're well!”
There was no specific point where society started crumbling, but it was evident after several hundred years that humanity started spiraling out of control. The masses became unhappy, riots becoming more widespread and costs in order to maintain some semblance of order exceeding reasonable thresholds. Conventional methods of increasing satisfaction fell to the wayside, leading to a... questionable program enacted by the government in order to maintain the status quo. Nicknamed 'Operation Placebo', the public was exposed to a combination of tampered water utilities, food with adjusted hormones, daily routines and other assignments done in order to 'increase happiness and satisfaction for overall benefits'. Several of the efforts were considered compromising, leading people into forced senses of jubilation, lead by assigned government individuals called 'Cheerleaders'. In order to ensure happiness maintains expectations, another of the Cheerleaders and her accompanying squad is going through a neighborhood, making sure everyone is abiding by the requested procedures.
*Sellsword*
“They say all Charity is born out of guilt.”
It may be cynical, but the expression holds true; all charity is born out of guilt. Except that their names happen to be Steve and Wendy, divorced and irresponsible patrons of their very own 'mistake'. Whether it was out of irony or the homes that took her in under their equally misguided tutelage, she eventually happened to go under the name of Christian Charity, passing from one market to the next until she found a profession that happened to take into account a hard upbringing and militant households. Normally called hitman, she fit the qualification mostly, preferring the title of mercenary or sellsword, adopting a sniper rifle and selling herself to the highest bidder. Along the way, she found that simply disposing of her targets was neither the most profitable, nor the most pleasurable way to conducting business, finding an amusing, if not lurid way to romanticize war. And with her scope on her next target, who knows what she has in mind...
*Unconditional*
“He walks amongst us.”
Religions are all different. Take a step back and most have overlapping similarities if you take away the nitpicking and specifics. Omnipotence. Omniscience. One of the other paradigms of dogma is that of unconditional love, that regardless of one's actions (and perhaps even if one refuses it), their God or Deity will love and cherish them regardless. More so in the old ages, stories were told of Gods that would shapeshift and wander amongst the mortal realm, both to test the skills of those that worshiped them and to sometimes court humans. A curious God has adopted the semblance of flesh and has found a mortal deemed worthy... but is it of glory? Of love? And does it matter whether such sentiments are returned?
*Wet Nurse*
“Say ahhhh....”
Medical science has taken some unconventional strides in the fields of therapy, surgery and recovery for illnesses, accidents and other maladies for the human body. At Wayward Hearts Hospital, they happen to employ a variety of different procedures and options in order to best service their clients, from the traditional doctors to the more new age aromatherapy and masseurs, even moving into the realm of licensed voodoo and shamans. In one of the medical wings, they recently hired a rather unusual wet nurse that specializes in nutrition, one of the few that helps non-child patients. Coupled with a rigorous physical regiment, she plans on rehabilitating her next patient back to full health in no time.
*Zero Tolerance*
“Whether you hate me or adore me, you'll know me as Mistress.”
It wasn't well advertised. It didn't need to be. The demand was there. She called it a school, but the title was misleading at best, slanderous at worst. Offering to better promote relationships between husband and wife (or a sissy and his top), the curriculum on the surface offers lessons on communication and respect, all the while teaching its pupils how to become better 'wives' for their loves. The headmistress is a particular person of interest, claiming to know the best of both worlds, claiming that it is time for open enrollment and waiting for her new student(s) to attend their first seminar.
[†]Writing Samples[†]
Under construction.
Can provide older material if interested.
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