I'd like to write some stories including: (a little) hard language, fearplay (oh yeah), g/t (sorry, gt community), vore and all that stuff (prefer soft, safe and willing), so kinks and no sfnw except of I've already told you up there.
But I'm also open to normal stories...If they are tagged, of course.
(I might add sth if it'll appears somewhere)
Tag map:
#D-online - post with my main character
#ask / #opinion - questions
#qaStory - stories based on your ideas
#midnight - simple ideas, more brainrot
#chatterBox - no content, just rumbling
Legend:
#inner analysis - how and why my mind is working, based on reflection
In my free time, I often get lost in my head. I don't need feeds or brainrot – I'm perfectly capable of that myself. Dozens of great content ideas pop into my head, but I have nowhere or no one to show them to...
It would be my pleasure if you read the ramblings of a girl with mental problems. So settle comfortably, we are descending into darkness.
About me:
I really like to tell someone about me, but I shouldn't do it much here. Still I give you some hints:
• *cough cough* WOMAN!!! OH GOD, SHE IS A GIRL! ¡!!! ¡!!
• you can call me D or whatever you want
• I like questions, so anytime
• I have a main character and, since I already use it's unique name somewhere else... Let it be Kishin D (or sona spoilers: Drafnix)
• if you somehow came across my other akks, there's no need to mix them up - other akks for everyone, but this one is for sth special~
• you can give me ideas or tasks to do, so it will be #qaStory
• give me any feedback, so I'll understand where to move and make more stuff
• I don't understand relationships of any kind, so I'll try to avoid such topics (sorry guys, only soft stuff)
Rules:
1. You don't have to read the blog if you don't like the markers and tags. I'm not forcing you, and I'm warning you enough to avoid ruining your day.
2. Any adult content markings are purely formal. I have to consider my content this way. Technically, there's a separate, strict filter for this, and that's what I'll use if I decide to include such content.
3. Don't you dare touch my other accounts on this blog - I strive to separate the diverse content.
4. I am open to suggestions, criticism and corrections. Just give me any feedback.
5. You can ask me both: about me and my opinion. If the question is unacceptable in my opinion, I will not answer.
Welcome and have fun!
Oh! If you think it's necessary, ask me to post here original [RU] versions, 'cause [EN] is my second language.
I remembered one of my ideas about monsters and the apocalypse...
Imagine a world where a virus mercilessly ravages all living things. It's transmitted through blood. Virus particles can get into open wounds and mutate the host.
Those infected become like ghouls or zombies. Some who receive a large dose of the virus can mutate into even more dangerous creatures - monsters.
There are two main characters here.
The first one is an infected guy. The young man found himself in a mess where monsters pumped him full of the virus. He thought this was the end for him, but the second character turned out to be his salvation.
She is a monster and looks like a woman several stories tall. She found herself isolated for a long time and fell asleep. Upon awakening, it was discovered that she had regained her human mental capacity, and the virus within her veins had mutated, opening a new branch of evolution. Her virus was not so terribly infectious, but it could subjugate her to the will of other infected people.
While all these creatures tried to eat up the remains of humanity or infect them, she fed on the old strain of the virus. The infected died without it, completely dissolving in the stomach. But she can't harm humans this way.
She tried to return the boy to normal, but the infection was progressing too quickly. So she replaced the old strain with her own. He's still on the verge of infection, but periodic storing keeps him in check. She keeps him long enough to dilute the virus's concentration and not kill him like the other monsters and zombies.
There were also additional elements to titillate the nerves. For example, by taking a dose of her blood (virus through blood), he could temporarily transform into a monster, gaining additional characteristics and superhuman abilities. However, the longer he remains in this state, the greater the risk of losing himself and transforming completely. Therefore, once his duties are completed, he is immediately sent down the hatch.
There's another side to this story. The giantness goes without sleep for long periods, and every once in a while, sleep finally overtakes her. The thing is, in her dreams, she remains locked in her head until she does something specific. Most often, the dream forces her to find her friend and hide him. However, in reality, her body can wander in her dreams and repeat her actions from the dream. He must either wait for her to end the dream by her own, or connect with her minds and enter her head to help complete the dream.
Of course, this is a rough idea and very similar to what I'm already writing rn... There's no plot at all. However, if you still like it, give me a wink; I'm organizing it into a couple of chapters.
Well well well... What do we got here? 3 guys for 7 days and 2 of them asking for SVHB3? Cool, actually... I'll end it up in some days, it'll be pretty fast!
Though nobody can touch me now, but it's still not enough. So I thought really bad at the moment. After hours I realized, that it was practically the same as Ray said in SVHB1: "Why do I cling to life when I seek death?"
And Ray thought "Why was she, a servant of death, helping the living?". It's normal, that characters think as same as author, but is it normal for me to speak like this?
Content Warning: This post touches on heavy themes (bullying, mental health crises, self-harm ideation, hints of harming others and trauma). If that’s not what you’re here for, feel free to skip it. I’m writing this in one raw, unfiltered stream of consciousness - typical 3 AM brain dump.
At night, the hyper-logical part of my brain shuts down, and the mafia empathetic side takes over. Basically, I’m drawn to either writing deeply emotional texts (about myself and my projects - yes, that’s the secret to my character immersion) or diving into self-analysis.
So… I recently realized I’ve loved vore, in one form or another, my entire life. I just never connected the dots. Movies, cartoons, and shows featuring consumption or entrapment always stuck in my head. Think about it: as a kid watching Qumi-Qumi, the only episode I distinctly remember is the one where they wake up a monster and try to escape its stomach… I was so young...
Middle school was pure chaos. I was bullied by my entire class for four years. I felt like my strength and sanity were being tested daily. I told myself: If they’re going to call me a monster, I’ll become one. And I did. You haven’t met my sona yet, but believe me - it were born around this time. A dragon, originally created to shield my soul from betrayal, but over time, that image twisted. I tried to split my personality into pieces. I only partially succeeded, but I learned to bury the old me beneath a hardened shell.
I used to be so open and trusting. I made friends easily and assumed everyone around me was safe. I was wrong. Deadly wrong. I withdrew, pushing people away before they could hurt me. But I found a new kind of strength: I channeled my anger and trauma into something useful. I’d been taught self-defense since kindergarten (this was still the post-Soviet after “wild 90s” era, people tried to reabilitate from it). When words failed me, I knew I could physically brake them. Humans, after all, are surprisingly fragile~
My inner world grew dark, filled with blood and cruelty. I hated people. In my mind, I’d brutally tear them apart and feed them to some monsters (that's still a source of inspiration, but you don't want to ask me about it, spell you). It’s hard to admit, but back then, I was deeply drawn to hard and lethal vore. Yet on the surface, I kept it all locked away. For the record: I never actually fought anyone at school.
Music was my release valve. Even now, when I'm not in the mood, I turn on loud heavy music. Imagine a girl blasting Death Metal or Thrash Metal. I’m obsessed with the DOOM soundtracks or sth like Orbit Culture’s - “Mute the Silent.” Give them a listen - you’ll get exactly what I mean.
Did you think it would last forever? No. One particularly awful day in ninth grade, I decided it was time to get this over with. How do you prove you’re not just all bark and no bite? You piercing your teeth into flesh. I picked up a knife. Out of my mind, I just walked to school. My parents didn’t notice. My siblings were wrapped up in their own lives… Too easy.
I’d lived by a strict moral code since childhood. But it had a loophole: nowhere did it explicitly say I couldn’t harm others… Reality hit me only in the school hallway. Two teachers were on duty by the stairs. My homeroom teacher had always defended me of bulling, and my English teacher was basically my best friend… I snapped out of it. My rational mind fought to take over. Another rule kicked in: I must obey elders. I collapsed in their hands, whispering “Stop me…”
They brushed it off, saying it wasn’t the right time or place, but it was enough. The day passed quietly. Apparently, no one took it seriously. Even didn't tell my parents… Only I knew how close I’d come to crossing a line. I'm powerful enough to it and it still terrifies me. But more importantly, it taught me to cling to the people who actually matter.
Four years have passed. “friendship” feels like an empty word to me now. I let people in easily and let them go just as fast. I don’t get attached and I never give a chance to hit me. Never let my regards down... The only people I trust completely are my family. I finally accepted that they’ve always been on my side.
Inside, things shifted. The inner fire dimmed, and the dragon, with no battles left to fight, finally fell asleep. That doesn’t mean I lost my strength - quite the opposite. I learned how to wield it. I’m ready to stand up for my people and tear apart anyone who threatens them. I’ve also learned to read people: their appearence, their voice, body language. It keeps me far away from toxic individuals.
I started volunteering. Every Saturday, I run workshops for kids at the local library. Sometimes, kids shout after me on the street. They know me as “Drakosha - D(name)”. You might not understand, but “Drakosha” is a soft, affectionate Russian diminutive for “dragon.” I have three younger siblings, and somewhere along the way, I developed “big sister syndrome.” I’m constantly trying to guide, protect, and teach those younger than me. I’m even considering a second degree in education. Sixteen years of being the oldest definitely did this to me…
I’ve come to deeply value soft vore now. Comfort. Care. Protection. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Even my sona reads as a deeply caring guardian. I know my past left scars, so I try to keep my fangs and claws sheathed, hoping people won’t fear me. I used to growl and bare my teeth just to prove I was dangerous. That mindset also led me to a trope I love (and plan to explore in SVHB part?): when prey sees a gentle predator suddenly turn feral - not out of hunger, but to protect someone they care about. Look at my blog tags again: g/t vore, caretaking, willing, fearplay. It all clicks now, in hindsight…
I’ll leave you with two takeaways:
1. Even the calmest lake can unleash a tidal wave if you stir it deep enough.
2. Self-reflection can happen through the weirdest places - even through niche hobbies and fictional tastes.
That’s all for today. Thank you for reading this far. If you want to share your thoughts, go on. Promise, I won’t bite now. 💜
There is no need to criticize me - this day is important in the history of almost the entire world.
I remember stories about this war from childhood. A few years ago, my great-grandfather, who fought in the war, died. And my great-grandmother celebrated her 97th birthday. She was 13 when the war began. They told me a lot about it. Even as a little girl, not understanding half the words, I saw the same thing in their eyes: fear. I don't wish this horror on anyone.
I'm afraid I've overstepped the mark on this platform, but I won't apologize either. Our history is a part of me too. The Russian spirit is essentially simple: we double the good and return the evil tenfold. Neither I nor many of us want wars. While the memory is fresh, there should be no talk of anything else.
Соотечественники. Я действительно остро ощущаю этот день. Нет слов, чтоб описать ужас современного дня. Переписывать историю, сносить памятники... Всё это жуткая низость. Пусть ненавистники говорят все, что у них на уме, но живая память связывает и их, и нас. Помните, что это затронуло абсолютно весь мир. Нам не дано понять этот страх, боль наших предков. Это то, что делает нас по-настоящему едиными. Мне, как старшей сестре и взрослому человеку, хотелось бы научить весь мир простой истине: Русские удваивает добро и возвращают зло в десятикратном размере. Мы не желаем войны, но ответим со всей силой. Сила - то, что нужно применять с умом, а не для угнетения.
У меня не хватит слов объяснить, что этот день значит для меня, но я надеюсь, что вы чувствуете то же самое.
I'm afraid most people on this international stage will never understand my pain, but I'll complain...
Translation in the end.
Read CW if you know RU, pls
*INHALE*
Боже, ребята, это трындец просто. Как можно так внебоеб*ически вкусно писать на русском и так жестко про*бываться при переводе? Почему нельзя сохранить И сюжет И все гребаные литературные приемы??? Я хочу писать так, чтоб слюнки текли, когда описываю рецепт салата и волосы вставали дыбом на лиминальных пространствах. Так ли сложно сделать хоррор??... Вот написала я anxious. Черт, ну у меня же вышло! Это получилось просто шедеврально! Я сама покрылась гусиной кожей при вычитке. А при переводе что? Я за*балась думать над тем, как перенести п*зда*бическую структуру трёхэтажных предложений с Русского на Английский!
А что до второго тренировочного текста? Да я умудрилась в дипресуху с нотками религии скатиться! За ПЯТЬ обзацев. ЗА ПЯТЬ! Умом долбануться же. 6 лет назад на фикбуке мне такое и не снилось. Скил то попер там, где я его не ждала!
Да, сложный язык отпугивает детей (в теории) и делает тексты глубже. Но и я не пошлости пишу, чтоб было глубоко... Кхм. Ещё и не могу понять как это смотрится со стороны. Мои друзья могут оценить только оригинальную, русскую версию и сказать что я больная, психованная, но пишу так, что к*нчить можно... А перевести, с*ка не могу 💢...
Полегчало, кажись... Теперь краткий перевод для тех, кто не врубился.
ahem ahem. Translation:
So, I spent the last three paragraphs complaining about language barriers. You see, even my friends say the texts are awesome in Russian. It's just that either the plot or the structure (or rhythm) gets lost in translation.
It annoys me that I can't translate it as deliciously as it was originally. At the same time, I don't want to lower the language bar, as that (in theory) scares children and makes the texts more interesting.
The weather was perfect today. The traces of the last rain had finally evaporated from the foliage. Nature seized the moment, drinking in the sunbeams. Every leaf and blade of grass unfurled its palms, greeting the star. You stepped out to bask in the May warmth.
The path called and beckoned. Where to go today? Flowers timidly bloomed in the meadow. Beetles bustled, shaking off their slumber. The first tremulous flutterings of butterflies spread through the clearing. By the river, a crowd of sunbeams had gathered. They leaped briskly into the water and bounced back onto the bank. Some fish decided to interrupt their play, but the waves only amused the little rascals.
But all of it was nothing compared to the coniferous forest at the mountain’s foot. What could be more beautiful than towering pines? The air was thick with the scent of resin and a light chill. Moss on the large stones still held beads of water. Droplets shimmered like mountain crystal, as if Winter had forgotten to collect its ice shards. Doubt aside, today’s choice was the forest.
From the very first step, the forest edge turned into a theater curtain. A new world opened before you. A light breeze in the treetops playfully sprinkled old needles over you. They fell quietly by your feet: *tap-tap-tap*. Between the trunks, a shadow slipped.
A few more minutes, and the curtain drew shut. The path was no longer visible, only a vague direction. You breathed in the air, unusually light in such places. A quiet crack and tap made you turn. A fluffy bundle twitched in response. A russet tail barely had time to flash at the base of a mighty pine before vanishing. You caught only a faint, clicking sound. The rodent had already leaped several branches high above.
Higher up the slopes, you couldn't trust the stones. You scrambled over uneven surfaces. A swarm of goosebumps rose. A small glade gifted another handful of warmth. The trill of a small bird caught your scattered attention. The little one looked around and hopped along branches on the trunk. Its figure moved nervously, staying within your sight. It suddenly darted away and fled.
Now silence caught up with you again. The forest fell quiet, giving you the floor. The wind dropped soundlessly and barely brushed your skin. This time of year is usually warm enough, but today the prankster was especially cold. Should’ve brought a warm sweater.
Endless columns of trees stretched in every direction. Left, right, ahead, and above. Hair stood on end. You continued on, obeying your thoughts. Light appeared and hid, calling you to keep going.
A berry patch. There would be plenty of wild strawberries by year’s end, but for now, the place was scattered with white flowers. Delicate, tiny petals hid and pretended to be beach pebbles. They gave themselves away too obviously against the green leaves. To the right, a loud crack sounded.
And again, silence. A large branch lay on the ground, split in two. You rose from the earth and patted your pocket. Passing a broken tree stump, you left a biscuit, forgotten since the last visitors.
Your eyes led you to a small hill of stones. Tracks on the forest floor told of recent visitors. Something small and agile had been here. A hare, perhaps. Further on, a track larger than your foot. Stripes pointed to large claws, and the rarity of the prints spoke of the creature’s size. It most resembled a bear’s gait. Behind a large boulder, another set of paws lurked. They fanned into two large thumbs and a two of barely visible small dots at the heel’s base. They walked straight ahead, becoming clear handprints.
You walked higher. The wind nervously tugged at your clothes. Movement flashed to the left. Petals fluttered into the sky, knocking against the roof of the crowns. The pines refused to release them into the wild. In the middle of a white whirlwind stood a stump. Rotten, nearly crumbling at a touch. Behind the fold of splintered fibers lay a half-eaten biscuit.
The light stopped laughing behind the branches. The air grew orphaned of warmth. Cold bit clearly into your bones. The forest trail led you along winding paths ever deeper. The journey was interrupted again by a distant call. Someone whispered right at your ear. Beckoned you forward, sought signs in your heart. Quietly followed on your heels, leaving fanciful tracks.
*No one is behind you...*
You wandered through the thicket, seeing no path. The bird hopped on branches again. It chirped desperately and rustled its wings. You followed it, reaching for its voice. Moss underfoot yielded slightly. You stopped to catch your breath; the little one was too fast. Someone was watching you.
An owl settled on a large white stone. It lazily opened its eyes and slowly turned its head. Large eyes caught the movement and relentlessly drilled into your clothes. You stayed silent; now it was her turn to tell the forest’s tales. She hooted and spread her massive wings. Her shadow swept across the ground and struck yours. Behind the trees, a crunch sounded.
The forest sang its song. You listened to the chords. Wind filled the space from the ground to the visible fragments of sky. A branch snapped and fell not far from you. You hesitantly followed the call, rounded a couple of fallen trees. Through the bushes, something landed on your shoulder. Then poked your hand. And finally, your face, as you looked up.
The forest ended. You returned just in time. A new downpour was starting. It was already bothering those who hadn’t found shelter. Wind drove the clouds. Cold air hurried you to run away. And the cry of a small bird pulled you from oblivion.
A good traveler knows when to turn back.
*Biscuit on the stump. In Russian folklore, it is believed that the Leshy, a forest spirit, can confuse paths and lead travelers in circles. He frightens people and plays tricks when in a bad mood. Therefore, people leave treats like biscuits, gingerbread, or candy on stumps to appease the spirit.
You know what? I'm open to write some stories as a training or on purpose...
You can ask me whatever you want to (maybe, just MAYBE I'm up to sth NSFW... but who I'm laying to? I couldn't). Give me your idea, tags. So I'll try my best.
just remember: I'm not that powerfull. let it be not more than 5 chaps and you'll have to describe me world I'm about to write.
Why do so many people forget about games with rope?
It's a great trope, in my opinion. Every time curiosity gets the better of you, you need to tie the tiny up before lowering them into a dangerous place. That way, you have control and the confidence to spit them out. On the other hand, it's still fearplay, and I appreciate it.
Task: Write a short story from an omniscient narrator's perspective using three random words: Animal - Newt; Adjective - Velvet; Terrain - Crater.
Lands of death. Flame of despair and ashes of hope. That is how one could describe this place. For centuries, the Sun had not been seen here. Stones heated to a white glow. Water was but a dream to travelers who bypassed the cursed lands from tens of kilometers away. Animals burned alive if they strayed too close to the center. But right in the very core of hell lay a tiny bundle of life.
He had walked here for days. Death followed close at his heels. There was literally not a single reason to be here. Yet, the crater of the great volcano bubbled greedily. It welcomed its guest with roars and the bubbling of lava. It waited for him, greeting every step.
Small paws stopped on a ledge. A tail dragged along the hot cliffs. The ridge along his spine shimmered with a full palette of warm colors. In large eyes, a gleam of anticipation was visible. Or was it merely the reflection of the flames?
The little newt gazed fearlessly into the yawning maw of the crater. He was not afraid of the rumbling, nor did the heat scare him. The toothed rocks seemed more like a place for rest than a threat. Ash gradually covered his skin, forming a thin crust over his body.
The little one sprawled out; the heat coaxed him to nap after his long journey. The volcano waited meekly. Smoke wrapped around the brave soul in a quiet stream, like a python coiling around a rabbit. The dead lands hungered to take one more life and devour it without a trace. Yet, the newt lay motionless.
The amphibian feared not these threats. He curled into a ball on the jagged rocks and closed his eyes. As if there were no place on earth quieter or safer than this. He baffled nature itself. Had instincts failed him? Or did the smoke and flames not cause alarm? Was the roar not like a hungry beast?
Yes and no. In a harsh world, the little one sought a friend, not peace. He had walked for days uncounted. He had wandered the world as long as he could. And he waited for a meeting with the one whom tricky fate had destined for him. During this time, there was neither bird nor beast that showed itself on the path. No one saw this inconspicuous brave soul.
After so many days, exhausted and desperate, he ended up here. For the first time in his life, someone was glad to see him, welcomed him, and waited for him. For the first time, someone called to him, even if they hungered to eat him. That noise and clamor seemed like sweet purring. Boiling lava felt like a warm embrace. The scorching stones, like velvet fur, glistened under his paws.
And so, the massive, hungry monster turned into a whimpering stray dog. The little one could not leave him alone. Nor could he pet or comfort him. All he could do was fall asleep next to his new friend, under the protection of his claws and fangs. No one would touch the newt without permission. No one would drag him away in his sleep or tear him with claws, as long as he was seen, as long as he was under watch.
The volcano was stunned by such audacity. In hundreds of years of existence, not a single living being had dared approach the crater. Some desperate brave soul had dared to enter the realm of Morpheus right in front of him. He was annoyed, but at the same time charmed by the sleepiness. He stopped humming, but bubbled quietly. The flames could not touch the guest, but the heat rushed forward, longing to brush against life.
He craved, but for something entirely different now. He wanted something forbidden. Something he had never had. He quieted down. Quiet enough to hear the heartbeat of a living being. The flames began to fade. Wrath gave way to mercy, and hunger to tenderness.
Soon, the great volcano fell asleep too. He only sighed occasionally and watched over his friend to keep him warm. Perhaps, behind every terrible and fearsome monster, stands a little newt.
Задача: написать короткий рассказ от лица всеведущего читателя по трём случайным словам: Животное - Тритон (Newt); Прилагательное - Бархатный (Velvet); Местность - Кратер (Crater)
Земли смерти. Пламя отчаяния и пепел надежд. Именно так можно было описать это место. Здесь веками не видно Солнца. Камни раскаляются до бела. Вода лишь снится путникам, обходящими проклятое место за много много десятков километров. Животные сгорают заживо, оказываясь слишком близко к центру. Но прямо в ядре ада оказался маленький комочек жизни.
Он шёл сюда несколько дней. За ним по пятам шла смерть. Не было буквально ни единой причины находиться тут. Тем не менее, кратер великого вулкана жадно бурлил. Он приветствовал своего гостя грохотами и бульканьем лавы. Он ждал его, приветствовал каждый шаг.
Маленькие лапки остановились на выступе. Хвост волочился по горячим уступам. Гребешок через весь позвоночник переливался всей палитрой тёплых красок. В больших глазках виднелся блеск предвкушения. Или же отблеск пламени?
Маленький тритон без страха глядел на разяванную пасть кратера. Его не страшил рокот, не пугала жара. Зубастые скалы больше подходили ему для отдыха. Пепел постепенно покрывал кожу, образуя тонкую корку на теле.
Малыш распластался, тепло уговаривало его вздремнуть с дороги. Вулкан смиренно ждал. Дым тихой струйкой окутал храбреца, как питон въëт кольца вокруг кролика. Мертвые земли желали забрать ещё одну жизнь и поглотить её без остатка. Однако тритон лежал без движения.
Земноводное не боялось этих угроз. Свернулось калачиком на зубчатых скалах и закрыло глаза. Словно не было места тише и безопаснее на земле. Он вводил саму природу в недоумение. Неужели инстинкты подвели? Или же дым и пламя не вызывали тревоги? Разве рокот не был похож на голодного зверя?
И да, и нет. В суровом мире малыш искал друга, а не покой. Он шёл ни день, ни пять. Бродил по свету сколько мог. И ждал встречи с тем, кого хитрая судьба ей наметила. За это время не было ни птицы, ни зверя, что показался бы на пути. Никто не видел невзрачного храбреца.
После стольких дней, уставший и отчаявшийся, он оказался здесь. Впервые в жизни кто-то рад, приветствовал и ждал его. Впервые кто-то звал его к себе, пускай и жаждал съесть. Тот шум и гомон казался милым мурлыканьем. Кипящая лава - словно теплые объятия. Раскаленные камни, будто бархатистая шерсть, лоснились под лапками.
И вот уже громадное голодное чудовище превратилось в скулящего бездомного пса. Малыш не мог бросить его одного. Равно как и не мог его погладить и утешить. Ему оставалось лишь уснуть рядом с новым другом, под защитой его когтей и клыков. Никто не тронет тритона без разрешения. Никто не утащит его во сне и не раздерëт когтями, пока его видят, пока он под надзором.
Вулкан опешил от такой наглости. За сотни лет существования ни одно живое существо не осмелюсь приблизиться к кратеру. Какой то отчаянный храбрец посмел отправиться в царство Морфея прямо перед ним. Его возмущала, но одновременно умиляла его сонливость. Он перестал гудеть, но тихо хлюпал. Пламя не могло коснутся гостя, но жар рвался, желая прикоснуться к жизни.
Он жаждал, но теперь совершенно другого. Хотел чего-то запретного. Того, чего у него никогда не было. Он затих. Ровно настолько, чтоб слышать стук сердца живого существа. Пламя начало гаснуть. Гнев сменился милостью, а голод нежностью.
Вскоре и сам великий вулкан уснул. Он лишь изредко вздыхал и следил за тем, чтоб другу было тепло. Возможно, за каждым страшным и ужысным монстром стоит маленький тритон.
Welcome to the master. Here you can find links on each part of my projects, I've posted. Carefully read CW and rules in "heading and warning" post (link up here ↑).
Yeah, I copy here whatever I have (no matter is it done yet). So you can see my plans and kick my lazy ass to end 'em faster.
Please enjoy :>
Projects:
SVHB (Ray and Ryan)
Summary:
A cozy story about the healing and finding of lost peace of mind of a borrewer, Ray, with the support of a man, Ryan.
Tags (more each part):
Main: soft vore safe vore g/t vore borrower depression size difference mentions of death nsx vore
Add: slightly willing mentions of vore
Parts:
1) The clearing night sky [RU] [EN]
2) Doubts [RU] [EN]
ASDVMH (Alter story)
Comming soon
DSRVMDS (?sona world?)
Comming soon
Short tellings
Summary:
Experimental or training scribbles by the author. They are not intended to be continued and may contain random, rather serious, tags. Be sure to check out CW!
Tales:
D&D party
anxious [RU] [EN]
Therapy
Training 1 [RU] [EN]
Training 2
About encoding
You may have noticed a strange story coding system. If you wanted to know how it's deciphered and why I do it this way, you've come to the right place.
For writing stories, I use the app "Pure Writer" (haha, ironic). It has a system for storing drafts: book - folder - chapter. To avoid getting confused in my own file system, I write a short code for each folder (and chapter, respectively). And you can also refer to a specific chapter of the code for your convenience.
As for the encoding translation, three main points are embedded in them: my avatar's participation; the type or nature of the story; and the type of the main pred and prey.
Well, for example, there's DSRVMDS. In the master file from my file system, the decryption looks like this: DStoryRequiredVoreMonsterDSurvivals.
Basically, no further translation is needed. The story features my character, involves vore for survival, the main predator is my character in a monstrous form, and the victims are survivors of the apocalypse.
(Huge spoiler for now, huh?)
If you really want, I can add transcripts for the other works as well. (I don't want to add them myself yet; I only keep them in the chapter master.)
