Else
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else.social
Else
@else.social
1.6K followers 830 following 4.9K posts
sometimes I write. sometimes I stare at birds.
photographs/art my own unless otherwise stated.

queer. it/its and she/her in unequal measure. 🔞

maybeelse.site
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else.social
Else @else.social · Jan 4
"A prayer, offered in avarice," the cyst-mother murmurs in a voice that is not her own. Her sutured lips are stained by pollen and thin honey; her words emerge from the wasps dancing through her gall-laden hair. "What a delicious thing. I think I will keep you."
Reposted by Else
nadianova.fi
the thing you learn about hosting game jams is that so many people want to create but to startt they just need someone to put on a really really cute bomb collar around their neck and tell them its going off unless the game gets done. this is the mommydom asmr of artists
January 12, 2026 at 12:06 PM
Reposted by Else
kitprincess.bsky.social
true love is found within the woman who poisons your wine, who tenderly holds your head as you shake and shudder

true love is a woman who tenderly strokes your cheek, who takes you to bed, and brings you wine in bed, just as poisoned, so you can stay a moment longer with her
January 12, 2026 at 6:14 AM
Reposted by Else
badenddoll.bsky.social
just barely made it!! extremely proud and so happy with my #dollkigujam entry. little chapter 0 for a much longer love story about a toy shop owner and her new favorite customer.

i hope you enjoy being miriam for a little while!! someone has to. wanderydaughter.itch.io/in-my-window
In My Window (Act 0) by wanderydaughter
Miriam Baxter is not okay.
wanderydaughter.itch.io
January 12, 2026 at 5:24 AM
else.social
I should write more stories about poisoners.
January 12, 2026 at 6:11 AM
else.social
Honestly, this is one of the stories I'm most proud of. Definitely up there with "Swollen Glands" and "love in the containment breach". ^-^
January 12, 2026 at 5:34 AM
Reposted by Else
packbawky.bsky.social
Terrible videogame idea: the first time you load the game, an internal clock starts. Real time starts passing in the game world. Starting a new save does not reset this clock. Every year, the game gets a bit harder, as NPCs and characters die, and the in-world situation degenerates.
January 12, 2026 at 2:17 AM
Reposted by Else
else.social
One of my favorite thing is leaving huge, gaping holes in a story. Letting the reader see the shape of what's there but nothing more. Writing around those empty spaces.

Today I offer you 1.3k words of ... well, you can figure it out, can't you?
maybeelse.site/words/how-th...
August 7, 2025 at 6:10 PM
Reposted by Else
else.social
Did you (yes, you!) know that I actually finishing writing stories (*gasp!*) from time to time? Really, it's true!

I remembered this one from last year the other day, as I knelt retching and drooling with fresh tears painting my cheeks, and, well ... enjoy! ^-^

maybeelse.site/words/untitl...
Her stomach clenches and she desperately holds her mouth shut, hands clamped tight over her thin surgical mask. Some of the other passengers glance at her; she’s breaking public transit’s unspoken agreement, drawing attention to herself. It’s fucking embarrassing. It’s really not helping. The vomit, when it finally comes bubbling up, is a thousand gooey pearls. They collect in the space between her lips and the mask, spurting out around its edges each time her throat spasms, thick slime insinuating its way through the mask’s fibers to stain her hands with filth. Her stomach is tight and insistent; her thighs ache. Someone starts to say something as the train screeches into a station—she doesn’t know which one, it doesn’t matter—and disgusted laughter chases her out into the humid summer night. Another spasm hits her before she can get off the platform, and she falls to her knees, her hands braced against the filthy concrete. Her entire body shakes as it rejects its contents; she doesn’t hear the train doors close, but she can feel the remaining passengers’ eyes on her as it departs. She really hopes that they can’t see how hard she is.
September 11, 2025 at 7:17 PM
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else.social
Anyway here's a story about poison.
maybeelse.site/words/her-po...
Her Majesty's Poison Taster
The poison taster stands behind her queen’s throne, eyes downcast. She is the only thing in the hall that is drab and unadorned, denied even the fine livery that the serving maids and footmen wear wit...
maybeelse.site
April 11, 2025 at 4:07 AM
Reposted by Else
else.social
"Her Majesty's Rat-Catcher": a story about a princess, a rat-catcher, and survival sex work. Everyone in it is a bit fucked up and getting worse, and I'm quite pleased with the final twist. I hope you'll enjoy it ^-^

maybeelse.site/words/her-ra...
Patience has never been one of the Ailurine Princess’s many virtues. It did not have to be as she grew, with servants all around to expedite her demands and soothe her needs; her frown brought punishment and her tears begat death. Virtue must be nurtured lest it withers and dies, or so the saints say; wisdom may be taught, and justice drips down the empire’s blade, but patience only comes through practiced denial. Now, as she stares down adulthood’s long road, she finds little enough before her except the exercise of patience. She must await the end of her mother’s unnaturally-extended life (as bloody or uneventful as that should be); she must await the slow accumulation of her agents’ poisons within the bodies of her more-favored sisters; she must await the discovery of whether or not those gilded women have embarked on their own programs of slow sororicide. Perhaps, if she is very lucky indeed, the queen will decide that she is a suitable instrument to enact the royal will upon her more unruly subjects, in which case even more waiting will ensue before she can get to any of the fun parts. It’s enough to make her scream, really! Not that she would. A princess does not scream. A princess must instead find other ways to soothe her frustrations. She paces, ruining carpets; there has been discussion of replacing her boudoir’s floor with marble. She picks and fiddles, ruining dresses; she needles and second-guesses, ruining chambermaids. She is a horrid, needy creature, as princesses often are, and her needs are such simple things.
January 16, 2025 at 7:41 PM
Reposted by Else
else.social
With apologies to William Hope Hodgson, here it is: 3k words about Isobel Carnacki, the famous ghost-finder's lesbian grand-daughter, and her experiences in a state that I hope I will never have cause to visit.

maybeelse.site/words/afterb...
December 16, 2025 at 3:53 AM
else.social
I got rid of the part of my mind that felt weird about reposting my own stuff and now y'all get to suffer >:3
January 12, 2026 at 2:15 AM
Reposted by Else
else.social
My first story of the new year. 2.5k words about a twink throwing up. Enjoy! ^-^

maybeelse.site/words/contam...
Alexander’s stomach rebels. It cramps and spasms as his body struggles to contain the wrongness inside him. Sweat beads on his smooth skin; his muscles ache and his mouth forces itself open. The bathroom’s tiled floor is cool and peaceful, and he desperately wishes that he could let himself collapse onto it, to curl up and dissociate until it’s all over, but he can’t, he really, truly can’t. He is here and this is now and everything is happening so much. He would be a beautiful sight if anyone was in the bathroom with him, but of course they are not. The throbbing, pounding music filling the rest of the house is far more interesting than a twink suffering the consequences of his choices, and even if it wasn’t the party had been more than halfway towards becoming an orgy when he fled. That’s the way things go, these days; everyone’s drunk and high and bodies are so pretty under red lights and losing track of who you are is so much better than thinking about the empire dying just outside. Sex isn’t about sex any more, but the way Alexander’s body is betraying him certainly is.
January 10, 2026 at 8:26 PM
else.social
The house is not haunted. It simply does not want you to leave. It remembers what it is to be alone; it will not permit itself to be abandoned. Never again.

It knows that you will suffering the windowless dark of its heart. It will suffer too, knowing that, but it will never be alone again.
January 11, 2026 at 11:02 PM
Reposted by Else
building470.bsky.social
the two Ideal states of Man are Hemorrhaging and Woman
January 11, 2026 at 10:07 PM
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slimyswampghost.bsky.social
sleepwalker
drawing of a four-legged creature with a jaw of sharp teeth under its human face, which is a disguise. there's also a torn nespaper clipping and a sketch of the monster with its mouth open
January 11, 2026 at 9:04 PM
Reposted by Else
whistberry.bsky.social
Today's #JanuArty theme is #clothing. I think stylish scarves count!
Digital painting of a large black woodpecker with a black and white striped face and red pointy feathers on top and coming off the back of its head. It is clinging to the side of a tree in profile to the left and wearing a striped scarf in the blue, pink, and white colors of the trans pride flag.
January 11, 2026 at 8:42 PM
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hazelmonforton.com
The only people you should be writing for are yourself, your sicko friends, and your dick.
galileogb.bsky.social 🦎Galileo 🍉 @galileogb.bsky.social · 1d
ARTISTS: quote with some random art advice!!
January 11, 2026 at 5:30 PM
Reposted by Else
jana-aych-ess.bsky.social
[chanting, a little awkwardly] Alternate Color Scheme For Bug. ALTERNATE COLOR SCHEME FOR BUG
the same bug, but this one is a pretty blue/green color
January 11, 2026 at 3:58 PM
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ptero.org
Ever been gay or something? Ever gotten dislodged from the objective sightline, newly adrift in the frigidity of the possibility for actual love? I repeat myself.

No Love Can Keep You Kept: 600 words of ecstatic weird horror, live on ergot. Start the year right.
ergot.bsky.social ergot. @ergot.bsky.social · 2d
"After God blinked, Uncle Pat slapped me on the ear and said, “Honey, they gonna bleed some or what?” like he didn’t notice the clock on the screen."

Today on ergot.: 'No Love Can Keep You Kept' by Palimrya Cannonglass @ptero.org

www.ergot.press/authors/Pali...
ergot.
innovative + experimental horror
www.ergot.press
January 9, 2026 at 9:31 PM
Reposted by Else
else.social
This is fucking incredible.

I really don't have any other words for what Arachnixe has done here. The way she weaves themes in, the uncertainty that permeates every moment of it, the sting of the story's end and the heartbreak waiting just beyond—it's really, truly wonderful.

Read it.
fungalhalo.com The Arachnixe Entity @fungalhalo.com · 13d
Published a new piece today. An early draft of this was submitted to the second Empty Spaces anthology. This version has been significantly edited.

It contains themes of memory loss, paranoia, and disability.
We Who Are Chosen December 27, 2025 content tags: pain, memory loss, magical girls, reality/unreality
December 30, 2025 at 4:26 AM
Reposted by Else
else.social
Did you know that a woman who presents as aloof and unattainable may actually be utterly oblivious and too afraid to make the first move? It's a moth fact!
December 31, 2025 at 8:02 PM
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thisisradinsky.bsky.social
THE FORLORN MAIDEN
Digital illustration of a young woman with long, silver hair and wooden antlers, poking out of her skull and eye sockets. In between her open hands, and all over her face, red rot is crawling reminiscent of guts He's wearing a thick jumper with "Sarajevo 1984" in reference to the 1984 Sarajevo olympics
December 10, 2025 at 7:38 AM
else.social
bruise update.

I should clean the mirror ...
a photograph of a white woman wearing a black top. her chest is covered in cute little bruises.
January 11, 2026 at 4:50 AM
Reposted by Else
tsurudraws.art
crazy what some rendering does
January 11, 2026 at 3:56 AM