Just because a person is roleplaying a guy doesn’t mean you need to jump on his dick. He’s not there for you to flirt with or have sex with. Just because someone is a guy who’s roleplay doesn’t mean he wants you to jump on his dick. He’s just a fucking person who wants to develop a character just like you. Honestly. Control yourselves ladies.

It was the color I dripped, leaving my mark on the pure white snow. It was the color of your cheeks when you met me, bleeding on your doorstep - the color of the fabric you were wrapped in. Not only was it the color you were tangled in - but it was the color of your scent, the aroma you were drenched with, even beneath the rosy perfume. It was the color of panic in your voice as you helped me inside, the color of your skin being stained with my blood; the color of the pool of plasma on the hardwood. The color of your worry, your concern; laced with a strange curiosity about me - the same color I was riddled with. It was the color of what I soon felt for you, the undeniable craving, the intense desire that burned and crackled like a flame; the color of my lust, my want. But not only want - it was the color of my need, my adoration, my love; it was the color of my unwavering loyalty. It was the color of everything good. But, it was the color of something wicked, someone wicked - the color he wore when he came to see you. The color of his voice, laced with a devilish hint of black - an emptiness even I felt uncomfortable around. It was the color of your scream and the color of my rage when I pushed the door open, finding him holding you down, the color of the smirk, wide across his lips. It was the only color I could see, the only color I could hear - it was the only color I could breath; and I took in lungfuls of it. It was the color of my unhinged, unchained rage. It was the color he bled; the color of his beating heart as I ripped it from his chest; and the color of my lips as I ripped him up and spat him out. It was the color of his death.  It was the color in your eyes - not a fear for me, or the beast I’d proven I was; but the color of thankfulness and love - the color you’d teach me so much about. It was the color that started our story, and ended his.

The shimmer of scales beneath the layer of clear water catches your eye - draws you in; sets that curiosity into motion. “What was that?” your voice trembles, riddled with a sense of panic - one you should listen to, but one you’ll ignore. There’s no one around to answer your question, it’s you and the ocean, you and the deep blue. “Hello?” as if you’re expecting someone to reply, as if you know it’s not simply a fish - it’s something beautiful and enchanting, that’s why you can’t look away. “Hello…” your words come out as little more than a pained whimper, fingers gripping at the side of the boat, knuckles turning white. “Seeing things…” try and convince yourself… Go ahead, try.  You’re not ready for it, how could you be - the magnificent form of a woman emerging from the briny depths; the length of blonde hair adorned with kelp, pearls and starfish, her nude, glistening body; you can’t take your eyes off her. There’s that sense of panic again, that voice telling you to run, the one begging you to stop staring into those iridescent eyes. Wordlessly she speaks to you - her mouth doesn’t move but you swear you can hear her melodic voice, calling to you and you alone. Her pale hand raises, brushing down your arm to lace her slender fingers with yours. “Come with me.” her silent song beacons you, and you kneel to her, your sweet siren.  “Come with me.” she repeats, her voice smooth and alluring; drawing you closer without your knowledge. By the time you realize what’s happening it’s too late, you’re wrapped up in her long arms, her lips trailing your cooling flesh, teeth sinking into the tender spot on your neck, ripping flesh from bone. There’s a pang of betrayal, but a sense of relief; knowing that you’re dying for her, knowing that she’s chosen you - that she is your end, and you her willing victim. 

ⅰ. Lie To Me, George Nozuka ⅱ. Take A Bow, Rihanna ⅲ. What Goes Around (Comes Around), Justin Timberlake ⅳ. Cold Shoulder, Adele ⅴ. Back To Black, Amy Winehouse ⅵ. Welcome Home, Coheed and Cambria ⅶ. Ten Cent Pistil, The Black Keys ⅷ. Don’t You Wish You Had Somemore, the pAper chAse ⅸ. Blackbird, Marcy Playground ⅹ. Call It What You Want, Foster the People

This is a story about a conversation Zeek and I had once.

Sometimes it can be hard to write sexual content when you’re playing the opposite gender. This doesn’t cover sex, this doesn’t cover blowjobs, this doesn’t cover anything too graphic. This just… Kind of covers the sensations, the ups and downs (literally?) and the other random facts that might help you… grip your character better? I lied it’s kind of vulgar.

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