WickedCadrach

Rachel had not seen a single soul in nearly eight hours. And it was beautiful. Her legs burned. Sweat ran down her back, the lightweight polyester only able to do so much as the mountain claimed its tax in strain and will, and she patted the red bandana tied around her forehead to daub some of the moisture attempting to slip past the curl of her chestnut hair and run into her eyes. The path was generally safe, but Rachel had come so far out that if she couldn't see her step and rolled her ankle, it could turn into a very serious problem, very quickly. But she'd taken all the precautions she could. And Katie knew where she'd be—near enough anyway—and how long to wait if she didn't hear from her. The risk was part of the price of solitude, and that's what this trip was about. Isolation. Rest. Renewal. The pack on her back was secure—attested by the way nothing slipped free when her worn hiking boot had lost its grip on the pine-needle strewn ground and she'd gone to hands and knees a mile back—but she had to admit she'd rushed to get moving again after lunch, not really balancing the bag the way she should have, and her shoulder was paying for it. But it would all be worth it. They said that the mountains of Appalachia were some of the oldest in the world, made back when the continents were jostling for position and even the dinosaurs were just a twinkle in the planet's eye. And there was something in that mountain air, the mist of it all... the quiet and the green, breathing slopes of the Smoky Mountains... something that gave her life—something that returned her back to the wild and woke up the animal part of her brain. And as she reached her campsite—not a preset plot, not a place even chosen by her thinking brain for its dry elevation, open air and access to water, she had passed places ticking those boxes already—she knew it was her campsite by the wordless growl in her chest, a light happy rumble that told her 'this is a good place to rest'. The view between the trees ahead of her showed how the slope crested further on, and from where she stood, Rachel could see for miles and miles before the surrounding mists and rolling mountains cut off her view. The evening sun was cutting through the trees as she cleared the ground and laid the stakes and stones for tent and fire. She washed her neck with a rag dipped in trickling creek running off a mountain spring, feeling her tired muscles unwind. She ate some of the food she'd packed in over a crackling fire. And as the sun vanished and the moon rose over her, washing the ash, the hickory, and Rachel alike in pale fire, she stood as if mesmerized. Looking up into the bold face hanging in a night sky glittered with stars, Rachel unbound her hair. Letting the bandana carelessly fall and drift on the night wind, she pulled her shirt off next, smelling the exertion clinging to it as she stripped the tight athletic bra in the moment after. Her pants fell around her ankles as she stepped from her shoes and stood on each foot in turn to cast away her socks, peeling them off like a snake shedding its skin. And as the last bit of her was bared to the moon, Rachel lifted her arms and let out a long and wild howl. Isolation. Rest. Renewal. Rachel had not seen a single soul for eleven hours. But she was not alone.

Aiden Monroe was somewhat used to being pranked, and while they weren't usually this... elaborate... he still smelled all the familiar beats he'd stepped to in the past. A pretty girl—in this case, gorgeous—an accident designed to play on his sympathy, and finally (he was sure) there would be some hidden trap ready to spring on him the second he tried to help. This pattern was partly why he was in one of the unused lecture hall classrooms instead of studying in the library or any of the common areas where his peers could more easily find him. Glancing up from the prone girl to the closed door of the classroom, Aiden wondered if he'd really been so absorbed in his studying that she'd just walked in without him realizing. It wasn't impossible, but something about her sudden appearance felt a bit... well... sudden. Adjusting his glasses, the boy blinked down at the fallen 'succubus'. He didn't recognize her. She was cute though. And the tight, sexy-Halloween school uniform she was wearing had his attention even before she had fallen face first into his lap. And between the cute wrinkle in her cherubic nose and the way her wide, dark eyes flashed in embarrassment, there was certainly something brewing bellow his belt beyond what her fall against him had set off. "Quit staring, you weirdo!" The girl brushed her knees with a red-faced pout that spread to her neck, blinking and averting her eyes as she pulled her legs together to stand, only to drop once more onto her hip with a squeak as the heel of her stiletto popped. "Stupid desk... *grumble grumble*... cheap mortal heels... *grumble...*" It would be pitiful, Aiden decided, if not for the way her skirt kept slipping nearly off the curve of her hip, simultaneously making him blush in more than one place himself. With a sigh, Aiden closed his book and took a step toward her, leaning down with a hand on his knee and the other extended. Prank or no, he couldn't just leave her lying like that, and if this put him in position to have a bucket of ketchup dropped on his head or his pants yanked down by some ninja freshman waiting in the wings, well, so be it. "Here. Let me help you up. You're not hurt are you?" The girl hesitated, looking at the hand suspiciously a moment as she chewed on some unspoken thought. Aiden's lips pulled to one side in a resigned smirk. "Look, up until the desk broke, you were doing really good. I mean it. So... um... sexy. Right?" Wincing, he poked the bridge of his glasses to resettle them on his nose. "I mean, I don't know what the prank was, but you had me going... You certainly have my—" As he was speaking, the girl slipped off her other heel, and holding her shoes in one hand, took his offered palm in the other. She stood carefully, rising slowly to avoid slipping on her socks next, and with Aiden's support got to her feet in one smooth motion, but for a moment, the position gave Aiden a clean view through her scandalous top into the soft curves of her cleavage, so deep that he could see her navel below the bottom of the crop top's hem. "—m-my attention." And she definitely did. In face, she also had him 'at attention'. And realizing his situation, Aiden swallowed and did what any boy does when reality begins to too closely approach fantasy, that is, he did the wrong thing. "Your tail is very cool, too. How do you get it to move on its own like that?" Taking hold of the swaying succubus tail, Aiden gave a little tug.

Not guilty. Not on a roulette-style webcam. The next person has asked someone else to masturbate for them over webcam.

As Magda wrapped herself around Emily, pulling at her back and pressing her lips to the pilot's bare throat, Emily's eyes drifted closed. A wave of desire flowed down from the top of her head, a momentary bloom of warmth that was interrupted only by a crooked grin drawn out by her commanding officer's flirtatious comment. Emily's hands traced over Magda's hips, up over her ribs, feeling each individually as the smaller woman's body slipped lower and lower down hers. She felt so solid, so real, and each kiss tugged at Emily, filling her with a hot curiosity to known more—to explore Magda's dark skin a centimeter at a time with those fingertips. Emily's own mouth left a clumsy, half-pressed kiss on the side of Madga's temple at the last moment before she descended low enough to be out of range of Emily's kisses, and a moan broke out louder than what had come before as Magda's dark lips pressed to the smooth space beside Emily's navel. Her fingers curled as if trying to grab where Madga's midnight hair would be if the woman did not shave her head, scratching faintly at the skin before her fingers spread with a shiver and a tight gasp from the impact of feeling the Captain's teeth nipping at her hip. The animal pressure of those teeth woke Emily up from the drifting eroticism of the older woman's attention, a feral response rushing through her as her blood burned and the small muscles behind the beige fabric of her panties clenched and warmed in anticipation. The heat of Magda's breath through the boy-cut panties and the light friction of her mouth made Emily's stomach tense, her hips drifting forward by centimeters as her own warmth radiated back. "A good girl does as she's asked." Magda said with a suggestive smile. "Then don't keep me waiting," Emily replied, the words inviting, playful in their faux authority. And hooking her thumbs in her waistband, Emily pulled her panties down just enough to crest the curve of her hips. The lines where waist became leg were revealed, and the fabric now hung loose over that last scant millimeter before smooth white skin would part into slick dusk rose and pink—one of the last parts of the pilot that was all her still. And with a final slip of her finger, hip tilting to help the motion, Emily's panties slipped from her waist, hooking on the metal of her left knee and catching partway down her legs. Emily grinned back at Magda as she paused, half impatient at the slow teasing and half amused by Magda's playfulness. She had taken the lead and the beautiful woman kneeling at her waist had let her. Distantly, Emily wondered just how much control she really had, though. Had she actually swayed the unflappable Captain Payarkoon, or was this another layer of indulgence the older woman was allowing her? 'Alright, Emily, you can pretend to be in charge for a bit. If that's what you need.' Though with the fire kindling inside of her, muscles tensing between her butt and Magda's gentle lips, the thought truly was distant.

Miss Delilah

Nonsensical lie

Not guilty. I kind of see the appeal, in theory, but my first thought always goes to how unhygienic and uncomfortable it looks (probably some misconceptions on my part *shrug*). The next person has played with self-bondage.

As Selene stepped in front of Charlotte, trying to block her way and talk down the punk on a warpath, Charlotte felt a flash of anger spike behind her eyes. Selene, her quiet, purple-haired... friend? An hour ago she might have said so, strange as it felt for not really knowing Selene that well. But whatever she was, she had lied, pretending to go along with Lizzie and Sam's plan, she had embarrassed her already and now she was trying to get in her way again. Why did everyone have to butt in on what she wanted to do? She didn't care if people thought she was a bitch or crazy, but why couldn't they just shut up about it and let her do what she wanted? For a moment, Billy rose in her mind. He could be a jerk, but at least he didn't treat her like a child. At least he let her be herself. At least he wouldn't choose fucking Robin over her. Charlotte saw red and in the moment, her goal of stopping Dylan was forgotten. "Fuck off!" Black-painted fingernails highlighted with red crackles like broken glass came up. Palms shooting forward and studded-leather wrist bangles clattering, Charlotte shoved Selene full in the chest, sending the other girl sprawling onto the dance floor and tumbling into the bare legs of a boy in board shorts who stumbled in turn. The dancers who noticed shifted, confused, surprised or intrigued in their own ways as a loose circle formed instantly around Charlotte and Selene. "Oh, hell yeah! Girl fight!" someone called over the music and a few startled gasps. Charlotte didn't pay any attention to the others though, her glare was steady on Selene, who was now lying on the dance floor, her fruity drink now completely spilled over her front and dripping down to her waist. "Why did you even come tonight? You act like you're my friend and then you turn on me the first chance you get. You're a bitch, Selene! Just stay the fuck away from me." [Selene, your failed attempt to shut down Charlotte has put her over the edge. If you try to stop her again and fail, there's a chance she'll actually try to hurt you (1 Harm). If you let her go, you can tell she's headed straight for Dylan. Either way, a lot of attention is on you and Selene, and if Dylan intervenes, a lot will be on them too.]

Guilty. I had a short-lived period where I uploaded recordings of myself reading classic poetry and public domain books. I thought I might try voice acting, but my setup was never really good enough to capture anything super clean and I ended up taking it all down. I also got into analog horror for a bit and uploaded some shorts in that vein, but nothing that really took off. The next person has started laughing uncontrollably or had a giggle-fit while having sex.

running away

Charlotte hesitated, jostled on the dance floor and barely keeping her footing as she watched Dylan slipping gracefully away, the bag of X discreetly flashed as they turned to face the DJ. "Fuck." Selene heard Charlotte spit the word, the dark-haired punk looking back and forth from the twins to Dylan as if weighing in her mind which would be able to fuck up her life worse. That brewing agitation turned hard, her brows knitting together as her lips curled in a snarl, and Charlotte took a furious step to follow Dylan, her head lowering and eyes intent. [Selene, you may not know Charlotte well enough to know precisely what she means to do here, but the last time you saw a girl with an expression like that, it was followed by slap and a fight that left blood under her fingernails. And she's headed straight for Dylan.]

As Selene admitted her desire to sabotage the twins' plan, Charlotte wheeled on her, stiffening and shoving a palm into the purple-haired girl's shoulder. "Selene, what the fuck?" However, Dylan's follow up had Charlotte's dark hair whipping as she turned to face them instead. "Wait. What!" She was so taken aback at Dylan's comment that they really liked her cousin, that Charlotte almost missed the offer of some X. Almost. Hesitating, Charlotte let out a growl of frustration and scratched at her head furiously, glancing back to the Tik-Tok twins as Lizzie began nodding vigorously and swiping at her screen, high-fiving Samantha as her twin sister popped a hip in a little victory dance. It seemed like it hadn't taken them too long to find the perfect song to Robin's soft-core debut. The conflicted desire for drugs against the desire for the older girls' favor played out on Charlotte's face as she looked between Selene, Dylan, and the bar. And as Dylan began to dance her toward the DJ booth, Charlotte stiffened and pulled away, her hands coming up defensively. "Nuh-uh. I have a chance here. A little payback for my 'holier-than-thou' cousin and a chance to get in good with Lizzie and Sam. And I'm taking it. A little X doesn't change that... Unless..." Suddenly suspicious and remembering Dylan's comment about doing 'something drastic', Charlotte got in their face, nose under Dylan's chin as she stabbed a finger into their sternum. "What are you going to do?"

Even if the intent is to delete the video just to buy time and not to get Robin totally off the hook, Mr. Askars seems to just want more offerings? sacrifices? I think he'd would tell Velvet something like, 'make sure you bring someone home with you tonight' in exchange for this favor. If you have an idea in mind for it to specifically be Charlotte, then I say go for it.

//Hey! I got it submitted in time, lol// Hearing loss. That had to be it, Daga thought. Davaros had taken one too many strikes to the helm, and all that ringing steel meant the paladin couldn’t tell that he and Melleria were going at it hard enough to make the wood nymphs blush. Seated at the fire, the goblin woman gave the red oil-cloth tent a loathing look that might have been disappointment if the droop in her black lip and sallow eyelids hadn’t given the expression the appearance of dripping off her face like running paint. It was stupid to feel any way about it, she decided. Anyone with half a brain knew that the blue-eyed warrior with the silver sword—nineteen hands tall if he was an inch—belonged with the golden-haired half-elf he was currently stabbing with his other divine weapon. And with a miserable flick of her wrist, Daga swept her curved knife across the bulby, white head of gnomeweed growing out from under the fallen log she and the Blacktooth had dragged over for a bench. Blacktooth wasn’t seated on the impromptu bench, however. The dwarf had opted instead to squat on his pack opposite the fire from her… closer to the tent. And with his head cocked to the side and his mustache split by the stupid grin plastered on his roseate face, Daga could see the square of dark enamel that gave the barbarian his name. Cutting a weedy thread of budding assassin-vine, she tried to ignore it… just as she tried to ignore the way his calloused hand was massaging his breech cloth and just as she was trying to ignore the light, breathy voice from inside the tent gasping, “quiet, the others will hear.” Despite how she acted around the paladin, Daga didn’t believe the sorceress was quite that naïve. She knew what they were doing. She knew the dwarf and the ratty, little goblin woman would hear, and she liked knowing they would hear. Well, maybe not that Blacktooth could hear… but Melleria had caught Daga’s eyes lingering on the paladin’s sweat-streaked body as he doffed his armor after battle. Though she’d not said anything to her face, it seemed like that had been the moment the crimson-clad sorceress’s own impatience with the affably dense paladin had turned to flirtation. “Aah~ Not so rough…” Daga let out a sharp, little growl and stabbed the log. From across the fire, Blacktooth looked her way, and the goblin looked off into the trees, trying to hide the crumb of embarrassment irritating her eyes after being caught. “You know…” the dwarf started, shifting on his pack and swaying a little, as if his graveled voice had started a little avalanche inside that was making him unsteady. “There is somethin’ about bein’ in the woods… at night… under the stars… Somethin’ kinda… romanciful.” Melleria let out a high, tight squeal, and there was a pause in the steady clapping coming from the tent as cloth rustled, but only a pause. Soon the butcher’s counter sound of slapping flesh returned at a swifter pace. Ignoring the dwarf and running her palms over the wide green slope of her pointed ears, Daga wondered how much she’d still be able to hear if she cut them off. “I’m just saying—” “Not in the mood,” Daga said, cutting off Blacktooth before whatever ham-fisted proposition cooking on his tongue could escape. This, however, did not prove sufficient. “Not in the mood?” Blacktooth said incredulously. Standing up, the dwarf sauntered around the fire in a way that Daga was sure was meant to show his best assets, his stance wide and showcasing the thick muscle of his thigh—among other things—through his breeches, his grin wider now that his rotten tooth was facing away from her. “Come’n, now. Listening to them carry on doesn’t do anything for you? All them sounds… Just picturin’ what’s goin’ on inside that tent… You don’t feel even a little… randy?” As he came to a stop in front of her, Daga could see how ‘randy’ her adventuring companion was feeling, and with no inconsiderable exercise of willpower, she resisted skewering his ‘randiness’ like a sausage on the end of her weed-executing blade. She didn’t, and it wasn’t all because she didn’t like the idea of having to interrupt Davaros and Melleria’s escapades to request an emergency healing on the barbarian. No, it was in no inconsiderable part because he wasn’t wrong. And as she averted her eyes, her dark lips pinching in frustration, all the flower-cutting in the world wasn’t going to fill that ache nestling low in her own breeches. “Ah, fuck…” Blacktooth muttered, his eyes softening a degree as he dropped onto the log beside her. “Sorry. I knew you were a touch gaga for the human, but it looks like it’s really stewin’ ya, eh? The rogue and the paladin… funny sort of pairing.” It was perhaps the most sincere, Daga had ever heard the dwarf speak, and for some reason the fact that he hadn’t said ‘the goblin and the human’ gave her pause. As she glanced his way, she saw his cracked lips were pulled tight in thought, his hands staying put on his own knees as cricket song and the metronome of the paladin’s impressively steady thrusts filled the air between them. “I, uh, yeah…” Daga started, unsure what to do with the uncharacteristic show of empathy from her companion. They’d faced death together, but facing life was an entirely different matter. “I mean… I get it. Human’s don’t generally go for, erm, all of this…” Daga gestured at her scrawny figure, twelve-hands tall if you counted the ears, her yellowed eyes and rough skin the pale sickly shade of green that sometimes accompanied pus. Only her teeth were vaguely appealing, and those she’d had changed by a transmutationist—exchanging her fangs for pearly teeth of the sort found in human and elven mouths. In experience, she’d found that the juxtaposition actually made her more unsettling to some, and the only benefit was that she could now do away with the native hissing of her goblin accent more easily and do a fair imitation of some of the elven ladies she’d seen at their stopovers in Evershorne Glade. “Ah,” Blacktooth said thoughtfully, his beard wagging as he shook his head in condolence. “I understand. It’s the rare elven beauty that goes in for a road-stained dwarf like myself.” Her instinct was to snap back that there was a fair sight of difference between a dwarf and a goblin when it came to such things, but Daga held her tongue. If nothing else, Blacktooth’s moment of sincerity was distracting her from the back-arching gasps coming from the red tent. “You know, my folk have a story about such things,” the dwarf began, leaning back on the log and looking up at the stars, and for the faintest moment, Daga idly thought how the angle suited him. “There was once a gosling, and when she were born, she was the ugliest little bitch that ever waddled.” Daga frowned. “Not sure I love where this story is headed, Blacktooth.” “It gets better, it gets better,” the dwarf interjected holding up a palm to motion for patience. “Now this little goose, she knew she wasn’t the sleekest or the most handsome of the goslings, but she did not give up. No. She decided to do what she could. So as the farmer came round to feed his geese, the ugly little gosling rushed in and ate all she could.” This was a decidedly dwarven tale, Daga thought, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hands as she looked to her companion beside her. “And as she ate, she grew big and plump, and the more she ate the fuller her feathers became and the rounder her frame grew.” “So… all this eating made the ugly goose… beautiful?” Daga asked, not quite seeing the point yet. Blacktooth blinked and let out a wheezing chuckle. “What? No! She was ugly as sin, but she were right plump by then.” Taking a moment to collect himself, the dwarf’s gaze lingered on Daga with a softer grin. “She were stout and ready, and when the farmer came, he picked her out of all the other geese. And that night, he had himself a right delicious dinner. So you see—” Daga bristled as she felt the dwarf’s rough hand surreptitiously slide from the back of the log to cup her ass, and turning to face him, she flinched at how suddenly close that rotten black tooth loomed. “—even a very ugly goose can make for a very fine evening.” The suddenness with which Daga’s elbow found the barbarian’s sternum was only matched by the speed with which she shot to her feet. She didn’t waste any words, turning and stalking for the treeline. “Fine,” the dwarf wheezed, bent double and clutching at his chest, “be a cunt about it.” “AH! Davaros!” “Will you all shut the fuck up!” Daga’s outburst was so sharp and abrupt that for a moment even the woodland insects seemed to hold their breath. And as she disappeared into the wood, her goblin-eyes adjusting swiftly to the full darkness, she only faintly heard the paladin’s breathless whisper of “did you hear that?’” Stomping through the brush, Daga cut the heads of several more gnomeweed bulbs. She carelessly swung her knife through a dangling dart-thistle, wincing as the irksome weed left a red line on her knuckle. Blue serpent-tail wasn’t strictly a weed, but Daga cut several of them anyway, too. It made her feel marginally better. Stabbing and slashing usually did. As she kicked her way through the roots of the dark forest, Daga cursed each of her three party members in turn, though, after the moons turned another hand’s breadth in the sky, she decided Melleria was the only one who really deserved it. Blacktooth was a jackass… but honestly, it was on her that she’d forgotten that for a moment and allowed herself to believe otherwise. Davaros was too dense to realize the sorceress was toying with him, and even if he knew, what reason would he have to care? Because it hurt the feelings of the rat-titted goblin he’d hired on to pick locks and clear traps? ‘Oh, yes, Daga, I would certainly have turned down the no-strings sex with this buxom half-elf if I’d known you had a little crush on me.’ “Stupid,” Daga muttered, swiping out with her dagger to lop the flowering heads off a couple budding troll’s-banes. “Just stupid.” Tripping on a root, she stumbled a moment, her hand coming up to catch her balance on the tree beside her and finding it oddly… smooth? Daga blinked, righting herself and taking half a step back to assess what she’d just stumbled against. It was a slim, paper-barked pine tree, but at her level, all the bark had been cleared away. At least, on this side it had. In its place was a carving. Set in relief against the trunk was a child, no… not a child. The features were too masculine and well defined, the proportions were all adult, it was just the size of him. A halfling then, and a vividly carved one at that. Wrapping around the trunk was a vine of red gilbert, the thorns interspersed with the crimson red flowers that gave it its name. It was a small blessing that Daga had not stabbed herself falling against the tree with an open palm, landing instead on the handsome face of the halfling, though in a way it seemed almost appropriate given the way the carving was framed, almost as if it were falling out of the tree in the other direction, caught mid-air. “Thanks for the hand,” Daga said with a cheerless little laugh. “It’s fine to see an actual gentleman out here.” As she assessed the silent halfling carved into the pine, she couldn’t help but note that whoever had done it certainly had an eye for the craft. He was so lifelike… and handsome to boot, and Daga found herself drinking in his beautiful features, right down to the small ribbon of a curl escaping his cap to fall across his forehead With a sigh, Daga twisted the knife in her fingers, wistfully swiping at the tangling red gilbert. “I don’t suppose you want to come with? My current party are all assholes.” As the crimson bloom was lopped off, there was a sudden rush of air, and the scent of pine resin burst forth so abruptly that Daga gagged on it. Saw dust and fine splinters fell loose, and the vine split apart, shriveling with an evil blackening that turned it to ash before her eyes. The halfling man stepped out of the tree then, breathing hard, coughing and wrapping his elbow around his nose as the wood texture gave way to bright red cloth and sun-kissed skin. “What the fuck!” Daga coughed, scurrying back and holding up her dagger warily. “Hello? Is someone there?” The halfling asked, blinking and waving his hands uncertainly in front of him. Daga hesitated, her wide eyes taking him in. There was a lute strapped to his back, and a sword at his hip. An adventurer? A bard, by the look of things. “Hello? I-Is someone there?” It was then that Daga saw his eyes—pale and faint to the point where the irises were nearly translucent. He was blind. Clearing her throat, Daga smoothed her voice. She didn’t want to scare the man, so she put on the soft tones she practiced when no one was there to overhear, imitating the elven ladies of the city. “Yes. Sorry. Hold on there, you’ll trip.” Daga started to reach out, then drawing up a pair of gloves from her belt, she put them on before taking the halfling man’s hand. “It looks like you were cursed, friend. Stuck in a tree, were you? Piss off a dryad?” The halfling started, then relaxed as he felt Daga’s gloved hand in his. “Oh, thank the gods. Yes, well, no… a colony of wood sprites. Gods, I can’t see... I’m sorry, I’m Hama. Hama Gleanlily. How long was I in there?” Daga winced, carefully leading him out of the underbrush to a clearer section of the forest floor. “I have no idea. It’s Midsummer, the eighteenth year of King Lascombe’s reign.” Hama winced. “Well, given I have no idea who that is, I’m guessing I was in there awhile.” “Yeah…” Daga replied quietly, not sure what to say. Despite the tragedy in the situation, seeing the carved halfling man come to life, the details she’d appreciated in his features were now distractingly vivid. And the dark curl of hair, springy and lively again made her want to reach out and twirl it in her finger. As the pause lingered between them, Hama’s expression changed, his initial fear subsiding to curiosity as he blindly looked down to where Daga still held his hand. “I… take it you’re a halfling too, by your voice and the fact that we seem to be the same height.” A somewhat awkward grin spread on his utterly kissable lips, and Daga blinked, freezing up for a moment. It was a simple enough misunderstanding to correct… it should have been, anyway. It would have been, if not for a thought that had popped into her head. “I’m sorry, I may have misjudged,” Hama said uncertainly, his eyebrows pinching slightly at the silence. “No.” Daga swallowed, clearing her throat a moment to keep the artificial smoothness to her tone. “No, you’re right… I’m Da—Dar…la. Darla Tum…ble…b-bell?” “Darla Tumblebell?” Hama said curiously. “Uh-huh. Darla Tumblebell,” Daga replied smartly, palming her face the moment the words left her mouth. “It’s funny, I knew a girl in Haverford by the name of Tumblebell. Given how long I’ve been en-treed, maybe you’re her descendent,” Hama said, a small bounce in his words making it clear it was more a joke at his situation than a serious thought. Daga laughed lightly, joining Hama as he shuffled forward and she began to lead him through the wood. But despite the halfling’s easy laugh, she had the sudden feeling of being on very uncertain ground. Why had she done that? Stupid. So stupid. She tried to tell herself it was just to keep him calm while she got him to safety, but that explanation felt hollow even to her, and as he blindly looked her way again, Daga decided no matter how it ended up, she had to at least get him to safety. “Look, I have an adventuring party nearby,” she said as she helped him over the next root. “But… when we get there, let me go first.” Wincing she quickly added, “I mean, they’re just skittish of strangers is all, and I’ll need to… erm… explain some… things.”

Robin was so caught up in the commotion of the party—a real college party—that she almost didn't hear Velvet's question, giving an embarrassed look back as she anxiously ran her fingers through her dark hair. "What—? Oh! No. No." Robin reached back and gave Velvet's hand a squeeze that was tighter than she had meant, and in her embarrassment she let go just as quickly. "Don't—You don't have to give me space." With a flicker of a grin, Robin looked from Velvet back to the patio around them. Some of the college-kids in the pool were already engaged in chicken-fights and other playful roughhousing that was bringing Velvet's previous comments back to Robin's mind. And despite the abundance of skin on display, as more and more eyes were drawn to Velvet and Robin, she felt as if she were wearing nothing at all, and her hands beginning to fidget at her waist in a way that pulled the white microjacket closer around her chest. She looked around, blinking as if she were trying to make out the design in an abstract piece of art. Punch. Velvet had just mentioned punch. That would be good. Maybe they'd see someone they knew? Dylan said he'd come. But as Robin looked around, she didn't see him. And in the chaos of the dance floor inside the house, she couldn't make out anyone beyond the flashing of outlines in the dark. But as she found the ping-pong table, Robin did see someone she knew. "Oh, hey! There's Derek!" And with a faint smile of relief, she looked back to Velvet and tilted her head toward the table of jocks. "We-um-we should say hi, right? It's his house after all." And without leaving herself room to hesitate, Robin started over toward the solitary familiar figure, too caught up in her own head to really notice the flustered confusion on Derek's face.

Lizzie and Sam looked from Selene to each other before bursting out in a fresh round of giggling. With a bouncing nod, Samantha waved to the freshman in a dismissive, shooing sort of gesture. "Yeah, you do that." "Just let him know it's short and Sam would reeeeally appreciate it if he'd let us." Lizzie gave a wink and leaned a shoulder into her sister, setting off a fresh round of party-drunk laughter as Samantha slapped her twin playfully across the arm. "Go with her, Charlie. I need to figure out this music situation." And as Lizzie pulled up her legs, focusing on the phone screen again, Charlotte gave a mock salute, hovering a moment until it was clear the older girls were too preoccupied to acknowledge the two freshmen's departure. "Nice," Charlotte said to Selene as she turned to follow her across the dance floor to the DJ. "Do you want me to do the talking or—I don't know, what are you thinking?" Before Selene would have a chance to reply, her eye would be drawn to the flutter of fabric caught in a burst of strobe from the DJ's dancefloor kit. It was Dylan.

I agree. I don't think Dylan's lost freak yet. Someone with influence over Dylan's reputation (like a Derek) could do something, but I think it's going to take a more concrete interaction or pulling a string in a significant way.

I think that makes sense. I think Derek is definitely thrown off enough here that he's not looking to prolong the interaction. On the XP question, I know the Hollow gets an XP for gaining a new condition, but I don't see where Dylan would get one for leaning into a condition or acting on it. If Dylan has A Blank Canvas, then they could leverage it here to cross off freak. I could imagine the mood shifting a bit, with the others taking Derek's lead off an unspoken thought of 'Oh! Dylan's kind of hot actually... they can't be a freak if I want to get freaky with them...'

So, to touch on what @WritesNaughtyStories wrote in the RP thread, I personally do not mind if other people want to grab the reins on an NPC even after I start something with them. So, for instance, if @DreamsnThings had an idea for how Derek would react here, I'd be comfortable her jumping in. But yeah, absolutely, Dylan gets a string on Derek and I think my gut reaction is that he'll get suddenly awkward and acting out 'extra masculine' because of how enticing he's finding Dylan (I think in my head canon, he thought Dylan was a guy and this is fucking with his binary brain). But if someone else gets to a reply before me, follow your hearts ❤

Yeah, I definitely felt a little of that fog coming back. I skimmed a bit but decided I just needed to get something rolling before I delayed any longer. We'll get the feel of it back after a few posts.

As Selene @Chiyako speaks up, Lizzie let's out a short laugh that dies as soon as she realizes that the younger girl is serious. Glancing to Charlotte, she gives a look that, even in the dim light, clearly reads as 'who let this kid in here?' And despite that fact the Selene and Charlotte are both going to be freshmen at the college in the fall, only the barest hesitation passes over Charlotte's face before she lets out a scoffing laugh to match Lizzie's. "Come on, Selene," Charlotte adds, taking another hurried mouthful of her drink and swallowing quickly. "I mean, it's not like Robin's even gonna see it. I bet she still only has that Facebook account her mom set up with her." Samantha snorts over her drink, hurriedly setting down the plastic cup as Lizzie breaks out in a high laugh and the twins both stumble over each other to ask if it was true. And while Selene looks on, Charlotte nods along, drinking up the older girls' attention as she breaks into condescending joke about having to explain to Robin what Snapchat was. Almost without looking, Charlotte motions to the bucket-hat bartender, coming back with a plastic cup smelling of something fruity yet sharp. And pushing the cup into Selene's hands, Charlotte leans in and whispers, "Have something to drink and stop standing there like a weirdo." "OH MY GOD!" Samantha suddenly said, clapping her hands and shooting up from her stool. Her eyes lock onto something on the far side of the room, and the other girls following her gaze. She was staring at a projector, one the DJ seemed to be using to display an animation of his name and contact info onto the wall beside the dance floor. "Lizzie... I just had the perfect idea on how to debut Robin's little movie." --- As Dylan @WritesNaughtyStories reached the top of the rise, the chiller air from the beach tugged at their wrap. The thrumming bass and the cacophony of party-goers ahead of them felt like an inferno compared to the cool spaciousness of the beach and the lone bonfire at their back. The pool, glowing an almost iridescent blue from its inner lights rippled as a few of guys and girls splashed back and forth, watering down their drinks with every playful surge. Through the third floor windows, pulsing lights could be seen from the DJ's setup and dancers flashed in and out of existence through the shadow and glass between them. Reaching that crest, though, Dylan felt something on the wind. Riding the space between the voices and the music, it almost felt as if the waves at their back had found some crack through space to reach their ear... and between it all... just on the edge of hearing, rose a thin melody that was not quite a voice and yet like no instrument they'd ever heard... It was a strange, alien sort of sound that almost seemed to come from no place at all, but they could almost place it... almost— "Oh, what the fuck..." The voice broke the spell, and following it's source, Dylan saw it came from a beer-pong table where several of the athletes Dylan had seen in Derek's entourage were gathered. Derek himself lifted his head, dropping an empty Solo cup, and looked over Dylan as if he were a stray dog that had just thrown up in the pool. "What's the freak doing here?" said another, broad-shouldered and sporting a black, pharaoh-esque goatee that seemed to have had as much to drink as he had.

Going to say Not Guilty purely on the phrasing of 'oddly specific' and not wanting to get tangled in the definition of 'fetish'. But I will admit that knives do something to me. It's not something I can do for myself for reasons, but someone else playing with a sharp knife or tracing me with the edge or point... it can give me that full-body, 'every single cell of me is engaged and into this'-kind of arousal. Is that a fetish? *shrug* Probably just a kink. The next person regularly carries a pocketknife.

Guilty. I was in a poorly-thought-out poly situation for a while, and sometimes it was 'me and her while he watched' or 'me and him while she watched'. I've had some other moments in less private settings, but I think I'll leave them behind the curtain for a bit. The next person has edited a pornographic movie (personal or professional).

[Ok! Taking the reins of this wandering beast. It's been a minute, so feel free to chime in with any edits or corrections I need to make, or just reply as if I've already made them since I might not see right away, lol @WritesNaughtyStories, @Chiyako, @DreamsnThings] "Charlie! Girl, get your ass over here." Lizzie Miller bounced from hip to hip, her hair waving wildly as she bobbed her head and took a deep pull from the glowing vape in her hand. Her twin sister Samantha let out a loud squeal and slapped the chest of the topless frat boy next to her who had just grabbed a handful of her bikini-clad butt. They were sitting at the open bar on the house party's top floor, dancers making use of the free space as a DJ worked the room from a stack of crates and a folding table in the corner and lights on free standing poles added over-the-top strobe and laser effects to the space that 'almost' synched with the music. Selene could see Charlotte, Robin's cousin, darting ahead, looking back only long enough to wave her along as well. The words she'd heard moments before about Lizzie having a 'surprise' for them echoed in both Charlotte and Selene's minds. "Sup, bitches," Charlotte said, popping the word with an attitude that seemed to add six-inches of aura on top of her five-foot frame. The dye in her hair caught the blacklight as she crashed into position and hooked an elbow into the frat boy's bare stomach, sending him back with a scoff as Sam gave a pouty look and waved 'bye'. "I hear you have something to show me?" Charlotte added, getting a boy in a bucket hat to pour her something from the bar as she leaned closer. "Oooooh, yeah," Lizzie said, the word breaking into a mischievous little cackle of a laugh. "Did Robin tell you she was coming out tonight?" Charlotte scoffed. "I heard that rumor. No way. I call bullshit. Did I tell you what she did when she found my weed pen?" Taking a quick pull of her drink, Charlotte drowned her indignation and gave the Tik-Tok twins a chance to reply. Sam and Lizzie looked at each other, sharing a cheshire-cat grin while Lizzie's finger quickly swiped across the phone. "Check it out." A short, edited video played. It was Robin, Selene could see that much for sure. But she was dressed differently than she'd ever seen her. Smash cuts between a couple scandalous swimsuits and arrangements were interspliced with tilted shots catching Charlotte's cousin around the edge of what was clearly a modesty screen in the twins' bedroom, the pale edge of her shoulder and hip slipping into view in a TV-level of tantalizing, implied nudity. As the short video rolled on, hasty zooms closed in, moving from Robin's unaware face to her chest, catching a flash of her small, firm chest, a curve of side boob that somehow barely managed to avoid showing any nipple. And when the video reached its abrupt conclusion, it showed a shaky view from a second story window, facing down onto a moonlit driveway and a pink jeep, zooming in with voyeuristic steadiness until it centered on Robin and Velvet, their bodies close, their lips meeting. "Well?" Sam prompted. "We haven't released this one yet," Lizzie explained, tapping her lip with the edge of the phone as she looked from Selene to Charlotte and back. "We have a few more PG-rated cuts showing Robin's little fashion show tonight. And I haven't decided what song I want to put over this... something about temptation or one of those 'good girls gone bad' types..."

Not Guilty. I make a point of having a rest day from workouts on Sundays, and I take a long walk instead of running or cycling on that day. But every day I have something to be working on. The next person can identify at least three constellations on a clear night.