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  1. Past hour
  2. ((It's alright sweetie and of course I'm still willing to roleplay. I am very patient so take your time.))
  3. Gonna post soon, just been having keyboard problems
  4. Today
  5. It starts in the fingertips… her hand on my chest, motionless, skin to skin, and yet I feel more than contact. I feel entry. Not intrusion, this is not a forceful thing. The old magic was made for two, it knows how to slip between barriers. It tastes of breath and memory, of open doors long closed. I feel her curiosity first, cool and clean, like mountain air. She is tasting me the way I taste her, each of us unraveling threads we were trained to keep wound tight. Her thoughts aren’t clear, not exactly, not words, more like flashes, sensations. The feeling of her father’s gloves when he placed the binding medallion around her neck as a girl. The cold floor of the northern sanctum when she took her vows. The way she used to run alone through corridors of iceglass and not care who was watching, just to feel her blood move. She misses that. Then, sharply, too suddenly, she feels me. I know the moment it happens, because she gasps, quiet, but real. I don’t know what she sees. Maybe the desert winds rising over the firefields. Maybe the moment I was marked at seventeen by the Elders, when they branded the sigil into my chest and told me I’d be bound someday, that my soul would be only half-mine from that point forward. But what surprises me… is how she stays. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t retreat. She wants to know me, and I want to show her. I lower my head a little, our foreheads nearly touching. We haven't embraced. Our bodies barely meet. But inside, gods, we are already tangled. Her emotions brush mine in ways I cannot shield. I feel her longing, her loneliness. It echoes mine with terrifying precision. Neither of us expected that. This was supposed to be sacred, controlled, but the magic, older than kingdoms, older than blood, knows better. It knows craving. It was born of unions that shaped mountains and cracked the stars. It doesn’t care for restraint. I feel her hunger… not for food, not even for touch, but for recognition, for someone who sees her completely and doesn’t step back. I want to be that person, and that’s the most dangerous thought I’ve had in years. The runes on the floor flare again, hotter this time. We are late. The rite demands more. Our bodies must meet, must press, must seal, but we linger, one breath longer… because once we move we cannot go back.
  6. Was something happening? They seemed to be getting a little more excited, but were they going to do it there, or try to sneak away? It made the question of whether or not to undress more all the more difficult. Of course there was nothing wrong with moving around half naked, or completely naked. But carrying her clothes around would be a pain and she could not be certain no one would steal some or all of it, if she just left it there. What to do? What to do? If they moved, Ryoko could only hope they stayed in sight. Being invited to join in would be great sure, but that was likely too much to expect. She could only hope one or both were willing to give her the show she hoped for. Caution was good. But too much was not. Take it a step further, encourage hem to follow the lead, ideally. Off came the top her upper body exposed, beyond what hands occasionally covered. It was daring, but also made it a little more likely she would stay put if they moved. At least if they stayed in sight. She now had to make a choice about dragging clothes around, or getting them back on, if she wanted to move. Hopefully it was a nice view too. Though it seemed unlikely either of them would be looking at her much for a while.
  7. She is smaller than I imagined. They said she would be delicate, a pale flame… winter-born. I expected fragility, a wisp of breath that might vanish beneath my hands. But she does not feel fragile, not here, not now. She walks toward me like she knows exactly how close she’s allowed to come before the ritual truly begins and no closer. Her steps are precise. Her skin glows under the sigil-light. Her white hair is coiled in braids that gleam like silver-threaded snow, and she looks at me with eyes too steady for someone about to let a stranger press against every part of her. But I know the still ones are the ones who feel the most. I wasn’t supposed to care. This was duty. I was raised for this, bred from a line of warriors and spirit-binders whose blood burns with heat and history. My people do not hesitate, they act. We were taught that passion, when focused, channels the old forces more powerfully than any prayer. But they never taught us what to do when that passion turns inward. She’s close now. The space between us thins as the runes on the floor begin to vibrate faintly. My skin tingles and my pulse is too loud in my ears. Her hand lifts tentatively. It touches my chest, just above the heart sigil inked into my skin. She inhales sharply, whether from the warmth or the contact, I don't know… maybe both. That first touch, light, barely pressure, is all the binding needs. It begins. A low sound hums from the tiles, rising through our feet, curling up the spine like smoke through bone. I feel her in me. Not physically, no, but somewhere more vulnerable. I feel her breath hitching behind her ribcage, the flutter of anxiety she never shows on her face, the unspoken question she carries like a blade tucked behind her back: Will you hurt me? And gods help me, I want to answer it with my hands…not to harm, but to hold, to soothe, to claim something I should not want to claim. The magic was never meant to feel this human, this raw. I feel her grief, wrapped tight like frost around memory. I feel her ache, not the ceremonial kind, but the kind that stirs low, deep, hot and half-hidden. I wonder if she can feel mine too. I wonder if she knows how long I’ve wanted to touch her. The runes shift color. The chant begins to rise from the walls in voices not our own, and we are only just beginning.
  8. They say the magic won’t work if the skin doesn’t touch. That’s the first rule of the ritual, that the bodies must touch, must press, must merge in motion and breath, or the old powers won’t come. There can be no silk between them, no armor, not even linen. I was told this at thirteen, when they first told me what I was, that I’d been bred for a purpose. I was unlike anyone else. "You are of the Pale Line," they said, tracing the veins at my wrist like they could see the starlight in me. "When the time comes, your body will be called. You will answer. You will not be alone." I didn't think they meant him. He stands at the far end of the sanctum now, back turned, unfastening the drape of his ceremonial cloak. The obsidian tiles under his feet glow softly with ancestral runes, my ancestors and his, though they never walked side by side. We come from opposite ends of the world, places the other was raised to fear. I am small, slender to the point of vanishing. My skin glows almost silver in the temple light. I was born in the Winter Keep, where the sun touches only briefly and everyone speaks in breath and silence. He is a creature of flame and form, tall, broad-shouldered, skin like carved bronze warmed by desert heat. His arms are thick with ritual markings I cannot read. His gaze, when he gave it to me earlier, was steady… too steady, as if he'd already seen how this would end. I thought I was ready for the touch, the closeness. I trained for it. We both did. I know how to match breath. I know how to receive the chant while pressed skin to skin. I know where my body is supposed to align with his. The arch of my hips. The curve of his hands. It's choreography... sacred, intimate, functional. But they didn’t tell me the old magic sees deeper than that. I can already feel it rising between us, and we haven’t even touched yet. It coils in the air like vapor, warm and humming, brushing over my bare shoulder as if inviting me forward, or daring me. We are supposed to anchor the ley line. That is our duty. We were born to carry it, to bind it between us. But the magic doesn’t just flow through the flesh, it opens everything... thoughts, memories, longings too long buried, desires we were taught to suppress. It wants more than our bodies. …and I can feel him already, his presence inside me like a voice beneath my skin, not speaking, just knowing. He turns toward me. His eyes find mine. He is already bare and I have never felt so exposed.
  9. Not guilty, the Temp staff on rotation are honestly my go to. The next poster Dedicates atleast one day of the week to some Rest and Relaxation therapy.
  10. Yesterday
  11. Not guilty. My job is boringly local. The next person has a hairdresser they can't live without.
  12. Weirdly wholesome raceplay/interracial Not every inclusion of race in rp or sex in general has to be "x race getting blacked/bleached" with super rough sex or degradation, sometimes it is just a surprisingly nice feature or preference or just a cool plot point. I would love an idea with of a romeo and Juliette type plot or maybe just very slice of life between two people into raceplay My girlfriend is rich...oh wait she is just the heiress to the mob Sometimes I wanna be the passenger prince, sometimes I want the last slice of pizza, sometimes I wanna be the ordinary overworked guy with a badass mafia/vampire/werewolf/weird-love-novel-trope girlfriend. Pirates A good pirate rp would be lovely, either one piece inspired with powers and odd individuals or something more realistic but just as fun. Imagine building a crew of interesting characters while the first mate and captain are shagging at any given free time or a badass and handsome/gorgeous captain and a new recruit find each other rather tasteful. I'm cool with a darker plot or something more lighthearted, just open your mind to the pleasantly salty possibilities. A system trope but hornier Three ways this one can be played between two people with a system of some kind, you GMing, or me GMing. Raunchy quests in either a regular world or maybe a world used to dungeons though with a lewder take on it all Detroit: become human The sheer amount of deviants in the game who either murder their owner or fall in love with another android but I wonder what happens when a deviant gains love or attraction towards their owner Horror Yes I'm a degenerate but what non overly macho man doesn't shamelessly dream of a sexy monster woman using them as a mate. (I will not accept any praying mantis or other mate killing monsters...I think that includes spiders but I can live with no hot spider woman) Country girl As a country bumpkin born and raised in Oklahoma in the sad USA I can consider myself country enough but man, if a deep southern accent gal with a thicker body and farmer strength told me to bark yall might just see me be a prairie dog. Short version is I wanna do a scenario of any kind involving a country girl with a thick body and accent, I would fold faster than a lawn chair as either the sub or dom. The Angel and their dirty human Who doesn't like a slowly prudish person/being getting turned to the perfect slut (gender neutral), especially a holier than thou angel by a kinky little human breaking in the pure white winged virgin. That is it in all honesty, weird and dumb ideas I'm open to without the special preamble or exposition. I am going to take a nap now because it is hot as Satan with an STI and I sadly ran errands.
  13. Not guilty. First time I used public transportation was when downtown had streetcars installed about 8 years ago now. BF had to show me how to use it, considering he was used to public transit his whole life. The next poster travels at least once a month by airplane, for work or pleasure.
  14. Not guilty. I love the rain - gentle showers, thunder storms anything in between. There is something sensual and soothing about rain on the window or the roof of a cabin or tent... I don't even mind driving in the rain. The next poster uses public transport regularly.
  15. Guilty. I actually did go off and write my books and tried to give it a go, but I needed to pay the bills and eventually splitting the difference just became editing and ghostwriting with no time to work on my own stuff anymore. I'm trying to fix that, and I'm working on something now that I want to push in my own name, but... *sigh* we'll see. The next person also gets sad when it rains.
  16. Despite the size difference, this demon being at least 3 times her height and size, The DOOM Slayer feels no terror or fear in his presence. She figures that any demon that truly wished to harm her, would have already jumped at the chance, considering what she has experienced before. The room's interior is a harsh reminder that crossing her could be very deadly, but luckily they are engaged in actual conversation rather than a fight. She is still able to tell that this demon is cautious, which she aims to at least use to her advantage in this supposed negoation."Your legion? How big a force are talking about here? Besides that....those terms seem reasonable...especially for demons. Well, what do you more intelligent demons desire?", she asks him. AS she stands right before him, even her thick and heavy armour does very little to hide the fact that she is rocking a giga sized pair of fat breasts and with a nice, wide and thick ass to match.
  17. Guilty but it's not rejection - bills terrify me. I have a million things I's rather do and might be able to monetize that aren't my 9-6 grind, but I NEED TO KEEP THE BILLS PAID. People are free to laugh, tell me to fuck off, whatever, but I am a wage slave. Next poster tried to work for themself but wound up working for someone else again.
  18. Oh, very guilty, Multiple ideas. Even two movie scripts mostly written. And a comic book. and more books than I can count. The next person is too scared of rejection to follow a dream.
  19. Even now, when it looks for all the world like I might be here, posting, at this very moment, I am in fact, not posting.
  20. New idea added that I'm really craving right now!
  21. Guilty, I think. I think I'd do okay as a director or something, but as a well known "star: I'd end up making Justin Bieber look like a sane, reasonable individual. NExt poster has a brilliant idea for a script or show but doesn't know how to shop it.
  22. Was really nice but is cruel about you asking one thing more than once to be clear, she had every right to do so tho. I definitely would rp if she offered me.
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