This is a multi-muse roleplay blog featuring original characters across a range of genres.
đ 21+ only. Due to mature themes, emotional intensity, and adult content, this blog is strictly for adult writers and muses. No minors, no exceptions.
Multi-ship | Multi-verse | Selective | Literate to novella | DM-friendly
âTHE CODE DREAMT OF BLOOD AGAIN.
THREADS OF CORRUPT DATA LACED THROUGH MEMORY.
SKIN WAS JUST A FOLDER. PAIN, A GLITCH.
I WAS NEVER ALIVEâONLY INFECTED.â
†đđ¶đżđđđœđđœđœđ¶đČđ is a corrupted node of muses, written in low signal, high static. expect data rot. expect body horror. expect ghosts in the machine. horror-heavy / psychologically unstable / nsfw-laced.
MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE.
âââ f.r.a.g.m.e.n.t.s by [luki]
â°â°Âčâ // muses
â°â°ÂČâ // rules
†ABOUT THIS MUN
corrupted thread // maintained by đčđđžđ¶
[ they/them | 30+ | est | chronically ill | multilingual ]
this blog runs on multi-muse / multi-verse / multi-ship logic â a collapsed timeline of broken code, narrative ghosts, and unstable memory.
itâs horror-heavy, glitch-coded, trauma-threaded.
youâll find characters stitched together by loss, rage, devotion, and unhealed trauma.
muse archetypes:
ghosts in meatspace // loyal monsters // post-human fallout // glitching psionics // war dogs // exhausted survivors // test subjects that lived
writing is novella-style, rich in em dashes & semicolons. i come from a background in creative writing & screenwriting, and pivoted into pre-med. i like my fiction like i like my code: precise, messy, and full of ghosts.
⯠SYSTEM POLICIES
âș 21+ only. no exceptions. this blog explores adult themes. iâm a millennial who grew up in internet spaces i shouldnât have been in. because of that, i enforce a strict 21+ policy.
i do not write with minors under any circumstance. period.
âș mutuals only. i donât respond to anon memes or blind tags.
âș low activity / low pressure. life is real. iâm chronically ill. replies happen on impulse and capacity.
âș english is not my first language. please be patient with any errors â i care about my words, but sometimes the brain skips.
âș heavy themes explored include: body horror, trauma, dissociation, autonomy, war, survival, recovery, memory instability, identity fragmentation, and grief.
i do not tolerate:
bullying
pressure for replies or threads
racism, sexism, ableism, lgbtqphobia
passive-aggressive commentary
general toxicity
bring any of that into this space, and youâll be soft-blocked without warning.
⯠RULES & PROTOCOLS // follow them, please.
this is a selective, narrative-driven node. all users are expected to read and respect the following protocols.
break them, and you're blocked.
â°â°Âč // ACCESS & AGE RESTRICTIONS
⊠no minors. strictly 21+ only.
this blog contains graphic content including violence, trauma, horror, body modification, and sci-fi decay.
no exceptions. no negotiations. if you're underage, you're gone.
⊠mutuals only. but new mutuals welcome.
this is a selective space. i follow who i write with or who i find interesting. lurkers will not receive interaction.
please donât follow this blog if youâre not interested in interacting. this isnât a content feed â itâs a collaborative writing space.
â°â°ÂČ // STYLE & STRUCTURE
⊠format fluid.
aesthetic, iconless, text-heavy, chaotic â all welcome. i mirror.
no pressure to match my style; just write how you write.
⊠no godmodding.
donât control my muses. donât override my lore.
do not bypass narrative boundaries or force actions. ever.
⊠triggers tagged.
i tag common triggers as tw: [trigger]
if you need something specific tagged, tell me â i will honor it.
this space prioritizes consent + safety.
â°â°Âł // SHIPS, SMUT & NARRATIVE CONSENT
⊠ships are chemistry based.
donât force it â build it.
i love complex dynamics, but I wonât write romance for the sake of a tag.
⊠smut is welcomeâif pre-planned.
i do not write spontaneous erotica or NSFW with strangers.
explicit content must be based on established character dynamics, rooted in plot and tone.
⊠AGAIN:
this is a narrative-first, story-driven space.
i am open to writing smut or hookups if they serve story, character, and thematic depth.
that means:
⧠weâve plotted it out together
⧠weâve built tension, tone, or history
⧠itâs character-relevant, not just carnal filler
⧠it carries emotional consequence or psychological weight
⊠dark content â lack of boundaries.
i write horror, not harm. consent is always required.
â°â°âŽ // CONNECTIONS & CONDUCT
⊠no drama.
this space is drama-free.
no guilt-tripping, vague-posting, or passive aggression.
be respectful â or be deleted.
⊠DMs open for mutuals + plotting.
iâm always open to brainstorm, build story, or connect.
discord available upon request.
⯠ACCESS IS OPEN
if you vibe with ghosts, glitch-beings, burnt-out heroes, failed experiments, or the soft ache of survival â youâre in the right place.
DMs are open to mutuals and non-mutuals. come plot. come yell into the void. come build something unstable and beautiful with me.
⯠FINAL CODE
this is my happy place â jagged, flickering, and mine.
donât ruin it.
             I became good at pretending.
             I became so good that after a while
             the lines blurred between my truth and fiction.Â
             And sometimes, when I did a really good job of
             pretending, I even fooled myself.
âitâs not honeymoon- ugh! You know what? Iâm going to go there-â he points at the bathroom â-and when Iâm back we pretend weâre two professionals for once and will talk business like how we supposed to do here for Godâs sake!â he stomps his way to the fancy bathroom, mumbling curses between gritted teeth as he closes the door behind himself.
Okay, itâll be no oneâs business, definitely not that cocky moron outside of the bathroom when Homelander touches himself a little. Growing up locked in a lab with all cameras on you will teach you how to enjoy lonely times you get like this! Though this time it weighs more âguiltyâ than any other times. Shame surging up his back when he turns to face the tall mirror while he wraps a hand around himself. Breath comes out in form of stuttered gasp, face feeling hot.
How can you be like this? youâre desperate for him, arenât you? Well, good news cause he doesnât want you back the way you do, youâre sick in the head and Iâm tired of dealing with you, John!
He opens the faucet, letting the shower water hide any noises he might make. Part of it can be for sensing the scalding warmth of droplets falling down his frame too, feels nice when he-
When you what?! When you touch yourself and think of another man?!
âdo you want me to think of Maeve instead?!â he hisses back then immediately bites his lip. No no, keep it quiet!
âgo away!â he frowns at his own picture in the mirror and tries to ignore it. think of something nice!...mhmm yes, maybe Cal decides to join in..
Buddy, Iâm saying you need help! This obsession at this stage-
Cal comes in and sees John like this.. he whispers his name when he finishes..
-you two just started your travel! Itâs about business, John! He doesnât want you like that, maybe he has a girlfriend somewhere-
He comes forward, not angry. No, he cups the back of Johnâs head when they finally..
John! Listen to me, you need to stop!-
..when they finally kiss!
John finishes with a startled squeak, slams a hand on his mouth as earth-shuddering trembles takes him fully in. thighs shaking, he leans on the wall. Chest rising and falling as he watches the water stream washes away the white ropes down the drain with a smile. No one will know and no one is harmed! Who cares if he cums everytime with his âfriendâsâ name on his lips?!
Done with bath routine, he dresses in a fluffy robe the hotel put in the bath for âthe coupleâ once he wants to leave the bathroom.
âdidnât you get the coffee ready? Doesnât matter, Iâll have the room service bring some for usâ he makes himself comfortable on the bed, grabs for the phone to order coffee with desserts, sweets and anything traditional they serve here.
âbring my laptop here, would you? Ashley already put files there and I think Sage left us few extra tips in there, too. donât you want to shower yourself? The water pressure is nice.. and you stink!â and I want to steal a small souvenir from your suitcase so I need you gone for now! Ugh, this habit is really bad but who can blame him? he was raised dysfunctional!
Cal didnât lift his head when the door clicked open. He didnât need to. Heâd heard every shift of porcelain, every breath muffled under running water. He could smell it. Soap too thick, steam that clung, and underneath it all the sour-sweet tang of shame. John might have thought he drowned it, but Cal tasted it still, heavy and sour in the air.
The straw clicked between his teeth, steady as a pulse. His gaze stayed on the phone, the screen looping footage of himself soaked in gore. He watched his own jaws crush bone, tail lashing as bodies dangled limp from his bite, flames devouring his frame as he shifted back into the fragile shell of a man. Blood glistened across his mouth as he wiped it with the back of his hand in that clip, smiling faintly. A reminder of what he was built to do, what he would always be.
And here John was, stepping out in a robe, pretending at normalcy. Talking coffee. Talking business. Acting boss. Calâs grip on the armrest whitened until the cheap frame creaked, his fingers curling as though testing how easily it would snapâhow easily Johnâs bones might, too. He didnât look at him, not yet. The urge to laugh curdled in his chest until it tasted like bile. He swallowed thickly as it burned his throat with an acidic and sharp tang.
The straw shifted side to side, slow. Then his jaw set, and his voice came low and sharp, just enough to answer without lifting his eyes.
âCoffee? Hm. Didnât realize your arms were broken. Or your legs. Funny, you donât look crippled.â He rose smoothly, silent as smoke, the laptop in hand. For a heartbeat he extended itâclose enough to be takenâbefore freezing. His gaze dragged upward at last, eyes dull and unblinking, nostrils flaring at the cloying trace of the shower. Then he let the machine fall. The laptop hit the bed with a flat, lifeless thud settling on the sheets in finality.
No word followed. Instead, Cal peeled off his shirt, the fabric stiff with dried flecks of blood that cracked as it hit the floor. His hands moved slowly and methodically, dragging the fabric across his skin while savoring the silence. The pants went next as he popped the button and pulled the zipper down slowly. Then the boxers as he freed himself, his gaze never breaking from Johnâs face, flat and unfeeling. It wasnât erotic; it wasnât even intimate. It was anatomical. A body stripped bare like a carcass.
He turned and walked toward the bathroom, bare skin mapped with pale scars and jagged ridges like claw marks and burns crossing in violent lattices. Each step was a measured prowl, shoulders loose, back straight, the kind of grace born only from something that had hunted long enough to forget hesitation. The door shut with a hard punctuation, the lock clicking.
Water roared to life. Behind it, the phone kept looping the self-indulgent footage. His other self panting through bared teeth, flames licking his stomach as blood cascaded off him, bodies flung like playthings before he shifted back down, grinning wide and crimson-mouthed.
When Cal finally returned, towel low on his hips, steam followed him like a shroud. His hair dripped, dark rivulets running down scars that seemed deeper in the hotel light, carved lines like someone had tried to cut the humanity out of him and failed. He pulled clean clothes from his bag, turning away just enough to let John think he was being spared the sight, before dragging the shirt over his head and tugging briefs into place. Then he sat beside him, close enough that the air seemed to thin. No anger, no mockery. Just that heavy quiet, the kind that pressed down like a hand at the throat. âI stink, huh...â He asked at last, voice flat, almost calm. A growl. Then, with a glance that lingered too long, âYou know... Technically everyone to me has a stink to them.â
bloody , murderous & psychotic couples who love killing people for the thrill and make out with bloody lips and high five each other by the mountains of dead bodies they made . fuckyeah ? Â give me this crazy shit . serial killer couples . vampire couples . dark romeo & juliet couples . modern au persephone & hades couples . couples who compete to see who kills the most or the most gruesome . give me gore . give me bloodshed . GIVE IT TO ME !
