WickedCadrach

Fuck (and invite Lero), because the next important step after apologizing is finding a happy way to reconnect.

Fuck. If someone is fucking you, it's a touch rude not to fuck them back, even a little.

Intrinsic courage

Marry. It would make sharing Thai food and scheming much easier.

Guilty. I have tried to get into knitting a half-dozen times, and for some reason, all of my spacial reasoning goes out the window. It's pure sorcery to me. The next person has made clothing as a gift for another person.

Boundless energy

Kill. It's a blood sacrifice to resurrect the thread.

As Dylan looked at her, voice rough from their recent beating, and whispered, 'you look... hot', Robin felt her neck and face flow through every shade of rose on its way to a full, blushing crimson that made her ears burn and her eyes and lips flutter uncertainly. She was still trying to decide how to respond when Dylan and Selene's words registered. "Wait? Protect me? What do you mean? Protect me from what?" Pressing the soaked cocktail napkins to Dylan's head, hair sticking with the drying blood, Robin was too disoriented to connect what Selene had hinted at earlier or what Dylan implied by 'those three'. Instead, she focused on steadying Dylan and not losing Selene or Velvet as they cut through the room for one of the adjoining halls. Robin glanced up, not realizing at first that Dylan was talking about Derek. But then she saw the glare in his eyes. Robin had worked with Derek all summer. She'd seen his mischievous face, his cocky face, his bored face, and earlier today, she'd seen his flirty face. This was the first time she'd seen that handsome face so focused... so... hateful. There was no misunderstanding or subtlety about it. And Robin felt a cold shudder run through her as her eyes dropped and her shoulders folded forward in a sudden, feral instinct to make herself small. "I don't know..." she said, the words cracking partway through as if she were afraid the football star would hear her across the room, even through the thumping bass. Passing into the hall, Robin looked headed down the carpeted corridor until the music was a little more distant. "Check a few doors. Maybe there's some bandages in a bathroom or something?" --- As Robin (and anyone else who helps) begins to open doors, what rooms do they find? What do they see in these rooms?

Mods can correct me if I'm wrong, but I think it's done this way because there's a difference is in how the files are hosted. If you could just upload stuff, then EcchiDreams has to pay for servers to store all those images, and there might be increased liability if someone were to start uploading illegal stuff. If we use links, then EcchiDreams isn't saving that image in its servers, it's just looking at the link and showing what's there. It's the difference between someone cutting a picture out of a book and handing it to you to hold and someone holding the book for you and just pointing at the picture for you to look at. It's no big deal for a few pictures, but once I cut out a hundred-thousand pictures and hand them to you, you start running out of hands and need to buy a way to store them.

Her captain's touch felt different from what Emily was used to, and it took Emily a moment to figure out what that difference was. Patience. Emily's eyes fluttered, her lips parting as the pressure of Magda's tongue split her, curling up to follow the nuzzling pressure from her nose and to caress Emily's glistening clit in a slow, beckoning pull. The deliberately languorous way that her commanding officer dragged her body across Emily's, pressing the soft fuzz of her shaved head against her as she fell to hands and knees like a needy cat begging for attention, had an almost worshipful quality to it that was so unlike the other encounters Emily had experienced that the pilot felt distantly like there must be some aspect to the moment that she was misunderstanding. This wasn't the hasty fucking of two adrenaline-burnt pilots riding the high of surviving a skirmish. It also wasn't the fumbling, hesitant pawing of stolen moments behind the munitions shed and in a boot camp bunk. No, as Magda kissed and tasted her, responding to the pressure of Emily's fingers wrapping greedily behind her skull while the fire in the younger woman sent small electric twitches through her thighs and forearms, Emily didn't know what this was—only that she craved more of it. Reaching behind her, the lithe curves of Emily's dancer's figure highlighted in the small twist of her hip and the cocking of her knee, the pilot dropped one hand to grab Magda's bound wrists, the other spreading to palm the shorn fuzz of Magda's head and urge her on. Taking Magda's wrists in the tank-top restraint binding them, Emily lifted her captain's hands to the slim arc of her toned ass, untwisting the garment as she did to free the other woman's arms to move independently. Emily's blood burned at the feeling of being in control, of being a goddess to a cult of one, and the thought sharpened her breath. Looking down between her breasts, Emily's eyes flared as she drank in Magda's devoted expression, the other woman bowing and lifting her chin, devouring her pussy in greedy lapping licks and sucking kisses. The sight added to the liquid fire feeling that melted down to coat the little muscles inside her. Her ass tensed as Magda's fingertip grazed the inner curve and volleyed a blissful spike of stimulation through her, feeling as if it arrived just in time to be caught on her captain's tongue and forcing Emily to abruptly lock down the servo of her artificial hip before it's balance gyros overreacted to the sudden urge she had to sink forward and meet that clever, pink organ in the soft, wet sound of its worship. Mistress she'd called her. But what was a mistress or a goddess if they gave no commandments to follow? "Yes," Emily said faintly, licking her lips as she finally responded to Magda's question. And pressing the folded tank top under Magda's chin, she lifted the woman's gaze to meet hers, pausing in that stare for just a moment as she realized how much her breath was already quickening. "I want to feel you inside me. From both sides. I want to feel that beautiful tongue reaching for your finger."

Lizzie and Samantha ignore Selene, lifting their phones over her head and around her hat to catch Robin as she helped Dylan to their feet. With Charlotte gone and the chaos already being forgotten in a fresh round of drinks and the thumping rhythms of a new track hitting the speakers, the twins swept past Selene, whipping her in the face with a toss of their hair and swaying their way to the DJ's table. Though the sound of their voices was drowned in the bass, the pantomime show of shock and indignation was clear to read in their eyes and gaping mouths. With a shrug, the DJ gave a dismissive wave, brushing off Lizzie's offered phone, before turning the gesture into a double-fingered salute as the fashionista threw her drink at him. As quickly as it had started, the fight was over, and as the DJ had proclaimed, the party certainly wasn't. ... Looking anxiously toward the far door where Charlotte had disappeared and back to Dylan's prone body, Robin shook her head. "It's ok. She's ok. I... I'll find her later." Though her younger cousin had been missing for two days, seeing her here, alive and whole, at least alleviated the unspoken concern that Charlotte was dead in a ditch somewhere. It was still something to worry about, but Robin couldn't bring herself to leave her cousin's victim... not him... and to pursue someone who clearly had no interest in speaking with her. Robin was very good at turning the other cheek, but it was another matter to invite the slap. She didn't know what Selene meant by 'a video' or what that had to do with Charlotte attacking Dylan, but with the sounds of the party so close, she could barely hear herself think and it was difficult to extrapolate with the smell of Dylan's blood in her nose. "Let's get somewhere quiet," she said, looking from Selene to Velvet in silent pleas for help. She had no idea how bad Dylan was hurt yet, but blood always made her uneasy and a panicking voice in the back of her mind was already repeating that her crush had a brain bleed or a chipped skull over and over. Pushing the thought away, she fretted with Dylan's hair, combing it with her fingers as she tried to clear space to press the bunch of cocktail napkins to the wound. Robin smelled copper between the syrup and alcohol, and as she looked into Dylan's eyes, she saw they were dilated and drinking in everything with a look that was somehow both extremely focused and only vaguely directed. "Oh-Oh my God, Dylan? Are you ok? How do you feel?" she asked, anxiety making the words fall out quick despite her efforts to over-articulate against the onslaught of music. And pushing back her dark hair, setting the little silver cross earrings dancing, she shifted on her knees to find a better position to support Dylan's back and head. "Come on, let's get you up—" Robin froze, but only for a moment. As she reached around Dylan's shoulders to help him up, her eyes landed on the open front of his robe, the soft swell of cleavage and bare skin she'd never seen before from the baggy outfits Dylan had worn around town. She blinked, surprise and sudden embarrassment causing her to hesitate. Was Dylan a girl this whole time? How hadn't she noticed? What did it mean? First Velvet and now Dylan— I'm a lesbian, Robin thought abruptly, the statement feeling simultaneously ridiculous and logical. Suddenly, Robin felt a little numb, her heart feeling as if it were beating once every ten seconds. The boy she'd been dreaming off for weeks was not a boy. She'd kissed a girl tonight, and now... this. For a moment the music fell away, and Robin felt as if her stomach was in freefall. She was acutely aware of how she was dressed again, how very unlike her all this was. And yet, it was her. All of this was her. And looking down into Dylan's dazed eyes, Robin silently asked herself if this changed anything about how she felt. And the the answer was no. Robin sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she focused on helping the boy—no, the girl—who secretly made her heart race these last weeks back to her feet, leading the way toward the bar just to avoid the churn of the dancers returning to the floor. --- How does Selene feel now that she sees the partying college students ignoring Dylan's injuries and returning to drinking and dancing? What's going through Dylan's mind as they see some of their blood running from the napkins onto Robin's hands? What does Velvet think as she sees Robin drop everything to rush to Dylan's aid? Anyone: What are Derek and his posse doing right now? What changes are you noticing in the party now that the fight is over?

Not Guilty. I'm pretty timid with authority, and all my 'run-ins' are pretty boring: being questioned and sent along because I was loitering around at two AM in places I had no business being and stuff like that. I've never had the cops show up when I was actually doing something that would have been a problem. The next person knows at least a little calligraphy.

dicks pistoning

Charlotte blinked, her nose crinkling in confusion and disgust as arousal washed over Dylan's face and their tongue emerged to sensually indulge in the taste of the blood beading up from their cut lip. She hung over Dylan a moment, letting out a shaky breath as the adrenaline of the fight made her lungs stutter, and once it seemed clear her opponent had no interest in continuing the fight, Charlotte dropped one knee to shift back onto her feet. The soft question hit Charlotte like a slap. For a moment, she could only stay where she was, straddling Dylan in the middle of the dance floor while the X in their blood set the Hollow subtly wiggling under her. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to grab Dylan's head and slam it down again, but instead her arms felt numb, and her palm went to her eyes where she felt them stinging and watering. "I have fucking sweat in my eyes now," she murmured, though no one asked. When she spoke again, a huff of anger preceded the words, pushed out as petulant and sudden as the shove she'd delivered to Selene moments before. "You don't know a god-damned thing about me. Don't pretend like you give a fuck, Dylan. I don't need to be your brownie points so you can hook up with my cousin. But fine. Fuck it. You win. You saved the day." Charlotte shoved her wrist across her eyes again, smeared makeup leaving a dark line on the pale skin as she mouthed 'fuck'. Looking up, her already flushing face turned crimson at the sight of the phones still turned on her, and she rushed to her feet, stumbling over Dylan's ribs as she did. Looking around, her gaze landed on Selene and then on Lizzie and Sam as they angled their phones to capture the glitter of the faint tears at the edges of Charlotte's eyes. "Charlotte!" Robin's voice cut over the low rumble of the onlookers, heads turning as she raised a hand and tried to weave her way through the sea of shoulders. But Charlotte was already walking, heading out the opposite side of the room while the wall of gawkers parted for her and disappearing with the gunshot bang of her heel driving open the door into the dim hallway beyond. ... Robin felt a fist around her heart as she watched her cousin, missing for two days, disappearing once more. When she reached the gap in the dance floor, she looked down in surprise, first at seeing Selene outside her usual corndog purchasing hour, and then at the sight of Dylan bleeding on the floor. "Oh my gosh," Robin's breath caught as her eyes went wide, and in a flurry of hurried apologies and nudges, she made for the bar and grabbed a fistful of cocktail napkins, dropping to her knees beside Dylan and pressing them to the cuts on his face. "What happened?" she asked, first turning the question to Dylan, then to Selene and Velvet. However, the first replies were smothered as the DJ called out, "Well, that was fucked up. Hey! Clear the dancefloor! Party's not over, bitches!" and the speakers kicked back on.

Not at all. Go for it!

Hands meeting

Feels like Charlotte would be the target if she's trying to stop the fight. I'm going to wait to see if Velvet wants to do something, because she has that reply from Mr. Ascars still dangling. If not, then Robin will likely follow the crowd, see it's Charlotte (who has been missing for a couple days while she was at Billy's cabin), and rush up to join Selene in trying to stop things.

regal attire

Annabelle was on fire. No, she was fire. As her mentor caressed her hips and over her ribs with those beautiful hands, still slightly tacky from the sugar and dough she'd been working with only moments before, Annabelle felt the echoing rush of the two inexplicably swift orgasms she'd received in less time than it took to roll out a tray of bagels. The sensation of Miss Elizabeth's tongue gliding up between her folds, curling as it pushed hard to seek after her retreating clit, drew a panting shiver from the younger woman, and Annabelle's lips parted in a cracked whimper as her hips squirmed and she tried to keep her trembling knees apart. Miss Elizabeth was not satisfied though, she continued eagerly, hungrily. It was indescribable, unimaginable... it was... it was... No, it was actually unbelievable. Through the haze of pleasure, Annabelle blinked in confusion. She wanted this, and she knew from her own fingers and her blushing, night-time fantasies about the dark-haired baker what her body was like. This was something else. This was— Her pale eyes shot wide, and Annabelle's shoulders pushed to the floor as her back lifted and her legs tensed in a seizing third climax. Her bare, freckled butt slapping the tile floor, she squeezed her eyes closed and swallowed her moaning long enough to whimper, "M-Miss Eliza-Elizabe-th?" Her answer, a hot groan against her pussy, pulled Annabelle's neck forward, her eyes fluttering as she bit her lip to steady herself, clearing her head with a sharp grunt. "I-I think some-something's w-wr... Something's wro—" It was at that moment that Annabelle's eyes landed on the spilled bowl of icing that had splashed on her, the icing Miss Elizabeth had tasted from her fingertip. Beside it, under the counter where Annabelle had been working, was the white bag of powdered sugar she'd used. She could even read the printed lettering, though the top of the bag drooped over it: POWDERED S— One hand tangled in Miss Elizabeth's hair, the other rose tremulously, reaching for the white sack and pushing aside the folded edge of the bag. And Annabelle felt a moment of panicked dismay for one fleeting second before a fourth orgasm sent her hands behind her head, clutching at the tile against the ripples of liquid pleasure rolling up and down through her. The bag's lip pushed back, the text was now clearly legible: POWDERED SEX

The DJ barely registered what was happening as his attention split between the shouting on the dance floor and Dylan's wrapped hand sliding the little baggy of X into his palm. But before they turned away, Dylan was rewarded with a nod and the sight of the DJ's phone rising to join the digital wildfire of recording devices coming out all around Charlotte and Selene. "Whoa!" "Stop!" "Wait, are they fighting?" "Who's fighting?" "I can't see!" The music cut. And the chorus of voices around the trio were swallowed by gasps and approving cries for blood as Dylan shoved Charlotte, the Hollow's challenge cutting through the din as the punk stumbled and regained her feet with a glare. "You're right," Charlotte replied. "You are the fucking problem!" And with a scream, she hurled herself at Dylan. Hands caught wrists, and another cry went up from the filming crowd around them as the pair struggled, nearly stomping on Selene before the other girl got back to her feet, her open robe clinging to her with her spilled drink. Dylan momentarily avoided catching one of Charlotte's black nails in the eye, a thin line of blood rising on their cheek as they twisted and put the smaller girl's back against the DJ's table. A pop on a microphone and the clack of rattling sound equipment preceded the MC's voice over the standing speakers, "Hey, hey! Take it over there." And a sudden shove in the center of Charlotte's back sent her and Dylan tumbling back onto the dance floor. Knees. Nails. Screams and grunts through gritted teeth. The pair rolled over the hardwood as camera phone flashes strobed over them. Charlotte drove a knee into Dylan's liver, and for the Hollow, the room pulsed with a view like being dunked underwater as their hands went weak and dropped off their attacker. It was the chance she needed. Seeing red, Charlotte's fingers tangled in Dylan's beautiful dark hair, pulling their head up off the dance floor before shoving back down with a crack that sent a flash of white through Dylan's vision along with the explosion of pain that followed. The only upside was that the blow stunned the Hollow so thoroughly, they didn't feel it when Charlotte pulled back and slammed down a second time. One of the dancefloor lights swept over and a wet red glimmer flashed on the floor as Dylan's head lolled to the side. The DJ popped one of the pills and put on a faux announcer voice as they called out, "C-c-critical Hit!" and several onlookers let out audible winces. Charlotte was breathing hard, still gripping Dylan's head. Even through the shock and horror, Selene hears Lizzie and Sam over her shoulder, paying no attention to the little witch as they watch the scene through their own cell phones. "What a fucking psycho," Lizzie says in a stage whisper to her sister while Sam hums back a sing-song note of agreement. ... Outside, the abrupt cutting of the music on the dancefloor and the commotion of people moving from the other rooms of the house to investigate the swell of voices sets off a wave like deer scenting a predator. Robin's grin fades, she suddenly stops, halting before she reaches Derek and turns to Velvet. "What's going on?" she asks, her voice low in fearful confusion.

Things getting heated on the dance floor! Just to clarify: @WritesNaughtyStories, I want to make sure I respond right, so was your roll to Shut Down Charlotte? or is this a Lash Out to get a fight going and maybe actually hurt her?

My incense burner and the daily puzzle on chess com (solved it )

correct usage

Yes! Please do. If you drop something in Our Stories, I will read it

Annabelle blinked to refocus, turning her palm down and rubbing her eye with the back of her wrist. The sun had gone down hours ago, but the fair would come the next day whether she was ready or not. Looking up from the floured counter, the apprentice baker gazed across the prep area to where Miss Elizabeth was turning out smart little pastries in the shape of flowers. The older woman's graceful hands, moving swift as swallows, pinched the dough and laid it out in rows as neat as tiny soldiers standing in file. And by the smell of it, she'd already moved a platoon-full to the oven. She was truly a marvel to behold, and as Annabelle watched in amazement, she couldn't help but notice the way her dark-haired master-baker didn't seem the least bit tired despite the hour. No, in fact, she could see the edge of her black apron swaying just a little as Miss Elizabeth hummed quietly to herself. Annabelle had never known anyone like her. Elegant and beautiful and yet so warm. Biting her lip, the apprentice found her stare lingering on her teacher once again. Last week, Annabelle had felt her ears burning as Miss Elizabeth leaned over her shoulder, her palm pressing the back of her hand as she wove her fingers through Annabelle's and showed her how to better work the fragile filo pastry. She had such lovely hands... A few days before that, she had to bite her tongue to keep from squeaking as the older woman took her hips to shift her a moment, moving her with a gentle nudge to reach the storage where Annabelle had been standing. She did this often, little touches and guiding pulls as she passed in the close-quarters of the small bakery. And each time she did, it seemed to stop time and pull all of Annabelle's mind to where she'd been touched, the echo of it lingering in her skin. But none of these fleeting memories compared to the time she'd been rolling out the dough and Miss Elizabeth had stepped behind her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and taking her hands in hers to move the rolling pin for her, teaching her by touch, her chin over Annabelle's shoulder as she gave her instructions in that sweet voice right beside her ear. Suddenly a cloud of flour shot up as Annabelle's grip slipped. With a shocked squeal, her elbow collided with the icing bowl she'd set aside to firm, sending a spray of white over her apron, her chin and across her nose. And as the metal bowl rolled off and clattered to the floor, Annabelle froze. Her cheeks flushed, and a glimmer of tears formed in the corner of her eyes as embarrassment and fatigue rushed together into her face. "Annabelle? Are you all right?" Her teacher set down the little tart she'd been folding and crossed the room. But before Annabelle could think of a reply, Miss Elizabeth's look took in the situation and with a light, nearly silent laugh, she reached up and took a fingertip of icing from the tip of Annabelle's nose, inspecting it in gentle amusement.