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Board's Plot: Blood Rites
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Graphics Claim / Re: Graphics Claims
« Last post by Petrichor on Today at 02:58:40 AM »
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[b]Tessa Thompson;;[/b] Claimed by Petri, March 18, 2018
And Re Upping:

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[b]Dove Cameron;;[/b] Claimed by Petri, March 18, 2018
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[b]Eiza Gonalez;;[/b] Claimed by Petri March 18, 2018
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[b]Naomi Scott ;;[/b] Claimed by Petri, March 18, 2018
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[b]Segovia Amil;;[/b] claimed by Petri, March 18, 2018
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[b]Shay Mitchell;;[/b] Claimed by Petri, March 18, 2018
Dhemlan / Re: Heaven's So Far Away
« Last post by Cassandria Chavez on Today at 01:42:38 AM »
191: Fall, Ximo’s home.
This thread follows shortly after Confluence of Consequence.

Ximo Gutierres had a wicked, humorous grin that tugged an answering smile from Cassandria. The ability to maintain a sense of humor under tense circumstances was a gift, and this Landen had it in spades. He teased her easily, naturally, with a grace that dispelled worries.

Sleep standing up, indeed! A small giggle escaped.

Ximo was delightfully alert, and good cheer radiated from his face and body language. Yet it rang oddly to Cassandria, for there was little more than a hint of his emotions in the air. Without a Psychic Scent emanating from Ximo, it felt almost like conversing with a dream.

A warm chuckle, rather than offense or self-righteous defensiveness greeted her delicate query as to his personal honor. The painful wince thereafter, suggested to Cassandria that he was indeed a man of honor and principle. Honor was like a pin cushion; if it didn’t hurt, it wasn’t doing its job. Thus the only people she had ever met who believed their honor spotless were those who had no true notion what honor truly was.

So his following internal debate was watched with some interest, though no attempt to rush him or interrupt was made. Instead she waited, fork suspended, head titled to the side, as if she’d been turned to stone herself.

When he did speak, her brow wrinkled faintly. On circuit? What did that mean? Then a faint blush tinged her cheeks. Her reaction was complex, nonsensical and utterly .... feminine. She’d been married for centuries; had never strayed from her vows, nor had her husband. Somehow, just for a heartbeat, pretending to be an old lover of Mr. Gutierres ... Ximo ... felt wrong.

It left her speechless as she fought through it all.

The waves of grief.

The rage.

The fear.

A shudder wracked her body. Fear won, easily. Cassandria fought to breathe, and nodded slowly.

Those creatures were not going to find her here.

Cassandria would do whatever it took to make sure that remained true. Another deep breath, to find her footing and translate the situation into her own language.

“ ‘Filomena’ ... often cited as meaning Friend of strength.” or lover. Or even beloved.. Cassandria could bear each of those iterations with pride; but how she could pretend to be from Ximo’s past, and yet know so little about him?

“On the circuit? I have no idea what you are referring to; are you a teacher? Do you give lectures on farming? Or ... on horses? May I ask how you met her ... us ...?” She shook her head, bemused.

Oh what tangled webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive!

His assertion that the choice would allow him to be exceedingly tight lipped about it all won a brief laugh. “I think you underestimate your friends’ desire to protect you. But it will most likely keep your friends from asking me questions I can’t answer. Between us, though ... What sort of trouble would send a Landen lady to the only honorable man she knows, instead of to her family? An arranged marriage grown dangerous? A broken heart? A determination that her daughter will not be pressured as she was? Perhaps a touch of each. My friend Mr. Matas always claims there is never just one reason for a thing.”

He was the only Landen she knew well; he helped at the Museum. He was arguably her best friend, and he’d be distraught over this. Practical, wise and funny his soothing presence often helped her calm after an altercation with one of the guests at the Museum. He, too, often felt surreal; a dream or myth. One of her statues come to life.

She studied Ximo.

Yes, she decided. He’d make a good statue.

Dena Nehele / Re: do you feel the beat in your heart
« Last post by Arkadie Graveworthy on Today at 12:27:59 AM »
Arkadie was very physical, the way her entire family was physical. She showed affection through touch and through gifts and through inviting that closeness that Cid evidently understood without Arkadie articulating it. There was nothing about this that ought to have been erotic, but she found herself shifting forward, closer, as his callused fingers caressed her open palm. She hummed her agreement: obviously there was a reason he had been called to return to their shared homeland, over and over and over. The reason was this, the bond that had been drawn between them by fate or biology or a quirk of pheromones. The reason was the same as her own. This was the place that had birthed them. They were meant to meet here.

She was a Black Widow in the fullness of her powers. The Hourglass pendant that she hardly ever wore bore all of its granules of black sand in the bottom of its bulbs; she knew well her limits and her desires. The nights she went to bed alone since her Virgin Night could be counted on her two hands. She wasn't given to uncertainty when she believed that a man might be interested in her, if she returned his interest, and yet in this case she found herself hesitant. Only a few minutes ago, she'd been sitting with Cid's fathers here on the couch. In the newness of the Bond, did he imagine a carnal desire for her that he wouldn't feel later? She feared many things, but rejection possessed pride of place. It was worse when she had once been accepted. What if she poisoned this relationship before it had the chance to begin?

He kissed her and Arkadie decided she didn't care. If he was willing to start it, then she was willing to finish it. One thing she wasn't willing to do was leave the lead in his hands; he pressed up to meet her and she gathered his jaw in her hands and kissed him back, kissed him breathless because he was hers and she wanted him. He wanted her, she knew it, he'd kissed her and he'd said that she was plucked from his dreams. For all she thought herself worldly, she loved to be complimented. Loved the kiss and the caress of physical closeness. How right Mother Night had chosen for her when she bound their souls together. How perfect was the scrape of his teeth against her lower lip and the way he yielded as she pressed him down, swung a leg over him so she could straddle his lap.

"Prince Concord," she said, between kisses, breathless and breathy and burning with want for him. "I should tell you that if you continue this," another kiss, a hand cupping the back of his head, "we're going to desecrate your parents' couch," the other pulled at the knot of his tie, loosening it, "as I am no paragon of self-restraint. Tell me to stop and I will."
Little Terreille / Re: ode to the public panic attack
« Last post by Sieran Ranta on Today at 12:16:26 AM »
"Thank you," said Sieran softly, very grateful for the guidance to somewhere to sit. Her head continued to swim, the pressure building behind her eyes. One would have thought her head would have burst with the pain but instead she continued and it simply ached. She was rapidly reaching the point that she was not even sure how she was functioning.

Sitting, her head continued to swim and it took a moment before she was able to actually respond. Sieran was not even thinking about the fact that this man could be dangerous or out to harm her. No, she was grateful that he had helped her to sit and made sure she had not completely collapsed upon the ground. How she hated being one of those damsel in distress like in those terrible books she sometimes read.

"I only arrived today," she breathed out, blue eyes raising to study the man that had helped her. Sieran couldn't properly focus her eyes but he really was quite handsome. "I ... he only had to bring me here, that's all, not stay with me. It would've cost me too much of what I have left to pay for him to be an escort." Those tears were still welled at the corners of her eyes and finally started to fall. She curled her fingers around the elbow she had gripped onto, though it was a gentle hold for all that it was a lifeline for her.

"I'm looking for someone and-" She was not going to hiccup, she was not going to turn into a blubbering mess. "I don't know where to start and I just want to rest now and-" Sieran sucked in a breath and rubbed at her blotchy red cheeks. If only her mother had not died, she would not even be in this situation. She had not even had proper time to process her death and here she was looking for the man that was her father.

"I don't know what to do," she said, voice both pained and lost.
Little Terreille / Re: On the balance, or not
« Last post by Geir Voll on Today at 12:14:35 AM »
This wasn't his domain. Not really, not entirely. His name - rather, the business name his mother had purchased the place with, anyway - may have been on the deed and sale paperwork, but Geir wasn't foolish enough to think it was his in its entirety. Technically it might've been, but the rest of the staff had seniority, they had a well-oiled machine going and he was still the newcomer. The Warlord's pride wasn't at stake here, he didn't mind nor did he feel the need to stomp around with some raging sort of entitlement or possession - he just wanted to help and for everything to work smoothly.

If he had to bite his tongue and take a verbal lashing from the resident Hearth Witch for stepping on her toes and her work? That didn't bother him and he was willing to move past it if she was.

"A... trick...?" he repeated with a slight bit of incredulity, his eyebrows raising slightly and an amused smile upturning the corners of his mouth. "That... might make sense, yeah. Prank the new guy, get someone yellin' at him before he's even been here a full week yet." Shaking his head, Geir laughed briefly and leaned back in the chair he was seated in, nudging away some of the papers on the desk with his elbow.

"Might have to return the favor, hm? Pretty known for a good practical joke in my day..." He was at least entertaining the idea, if nothing else. If that was how people fit in and got along in this place, he could definitely see himself having little trouble.

"D'you want help? With making lunch or anything? I don't wanna put ya out if ya have a set routine goin' on." He would've certainly appreciated her assistance in learning how to do the work, but he'd already clearly infringed upon her system and he wasn't sure he wanted to earn any more of Cora's ire than was necessary.

"Can do whatever ya want. I'm your faithful helper for the rest of the day." Geir pushed himself up out of the chair then and took a step or two closer, ready to follow suit with whichever route the witch ultimately decided she wanted to pursue.
Little Terreille / Re: New Clothes, New Life, New Queen
« Last post by Isbeil Balton on Today at 12:08:02 AM »
It was struggle to steady her breathing when all her body demanded was more air. She wanted to drink him in, to feel him sink past her flesh until they were one person, one mind. The bond tightened around them, binding the together with such constriction that it dizzied her thoughts and set her nerves aflame. Peregrine’s desire matched hers, as did his affection, there was a compulsion to draw closer, to feed the ravenous beast that brought them together. Only fate was never satiated, it just fed, again and again.

A breath caught in her throat, the feminine moans breaking into whimpering shards against his ear. Lips claimed her warm skin, feeding the fire that made the freckles of her chet come alight with color. Drawn back, long locks of crimson hair brushed Perry’s knees. Eager hands squeezing at the firm round of her backside with almost bruising intensity as he willed her to take every inch of him into her body. With a muffled cry his Queen shuddered, arching her back so she bowed like a harp, tensing her stomach so when her she slid down, her body would take every bit of his offering.

Their lips met and this time he would find her wanton, mouth sealed against his own  and returning every kiss with feverish intensity. Breathing became secondary, regulated only to necessity. Fingers tensed in his hair as if for purchase, as she brought her body down against his once more, rolling her hips forward as though bucking. Careful with his wings, she urged him up, as much because she enjoyed the feel of his heart pounding against her chest, but because when he enveloped her, she felt whole.

His groan was music and she capitalized on it, circling her hips so his length felt the constriction of her velvet walls draw around him, eager to milk another sound from his lips. His name barely left her lips, his breath catching when he rose. Isbeil would have been more startled had she not been ready to anchor her arms around his neck, elbows to shoulders.

The long stems of her legs wrapped around his waist, but as he lifted himself to his full height, her body slid further down, against his cock. Isbeil tensed, then sucked in a piercing breath as she found herself pinned to the wall of his bedroom in a few short strides. Auburn hair pooled between her back and the cool, hard surface. Crushing her against it and his chest, Peregrine’s hands clenched in her ass, her thighs parting just a bit so when he thrust they blossomed open more, though her ankles crossed just above his tailbone. Parting from the kiss  she gasped, her eyes opening wide, lips trembling. The first thrust drew deep into her core, her shoulder blades riding the wall as he took her, driving himself slowly but firmly into her tender body. “Ah Ah!”  she gasped, only encouraging her bonded, Her Perry. Where he had once heard her gasps, and soft moans, they carried up, rising in crescendo with every spear. Perfectly pert pink nipples brushed his chest, her fings unfurling to dig into his back, just beneath the wing joints. Isbeil had asked him for more, and he gave it, every inch, every bit of him fighting the constraints of their physical bodies to be closer. Her pussy slickened, hot and encompassing,  she clenched herself around him, holding tight, milking his cock so when he drove himself into her it would be a blissful struggle to push deeper into her folds.

Surrendering, she kissed him, allowing herself to enjoy something which was wholly and completely hers. Perry would belong to her for all her days, and she to him. Accepting filled her with a sense of freedom. Muffled cries escaped the seal of their lips as she trembled,  clawing at him as he fucked her, claiming her in every way that mattered as much as she did him.  Raising a knee just against his ribs, she used the wall for purchase to, lift her hips and tuck her tailbone in changing the angle for a moment and opening herself to him. The feel of his dragging out of her was nearly as torturous as the pleasure and shock of him sinking back into her narrow walls. Blinking, she remembered to breath, though they were ragged and deep. Perry thrilled her, he challenged her and made her feel alive. When her eyes opened, he would see the need but more than that, a challenge to claim her. Isbeil had asked him for more, and she feared he would always be willing to give it to her, because he proved he would do anything for her. All she had to do was ask, and maybe not even that. Tightening her legs around him she rolled down until she could feel him fill her entirely, the swollen tip of his cock pressing into her center, her cry stifled only when her lips met his, a hand sinking into his hair to pull his head back in a less than gentle manner. Hers. He would feel her teeth brush, then sink lightly against the crook of his neck.
Little Terreille / Re: Sell me all of your laughter
« Last post by Lionel Kelly on Mar 17, 18, 11:56:31 PM »
Lionel should have been focused on the woman before him, the one waking the bar, but she was containing his attention well. His fingers were curled around the bottle, tightening as she said it was alright. There was no show of embarrassment or any other emotion; no, she had simply caught it. This was something he was good at, exceptional really. Markus had always said so, Markus had delighted in-

"No one ever pays attention when they should," murmured Lionel, voice pitched just for her. The wink went by without it stirring any sort of reaction from him. Not even the use of Leo though he at least recognized it as her referring to him. If he was meant to be put-off by the casual use of his name, it did not show. Dead things did not care what they were called.

He blinked as she as she gestured to another table, a pair seated next to one another instead of across. They were studied, though it was not obviously so. Something had shifted, nervousness and anxiety pushed under by the stress of what had been delivered. This was not Leo Eldridge but it was not Lionel Kelly either. Not the one that was Aleksy's. This one ... This one was a different beast entirely.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

"Well, whatever you think is interesting about them, of course. You're quite astute and I wonder if your conclusions are the same as mine," she answered.

Lionel took a drink, watching from the corner of his eye the pair nestled closely together. "They're trying too hard to look like they're enamoured with one another," said Lionel quietly as he set the bottle down. One had a hand on the other's thigh but it was clenched too tight. Not anger, no, but ... something.

This time there was no hesitation as he called upon his Purple Dusk. Though it had been a time, in this mindset there was no worries. Instead Lionel's touch with his Craft was soft, delicately weaving around the male who's hand was curled against the other's knee. Lionel felt the flow of emotion, breathed deep at the old sensation, and smiled. It would be so easy to just push, a little, and release. The male, another Warlord, was not even aware. Little nudges were for the best; make them think it was their own idea-

Lionel let go, breathing out. "Waiting to be caught, to be seen by someone else. It's all a show, none of that is real." It could have been, he could have made it so with just the lightest of touches but-

He shook his head and rubbed a hand across his forehead.
Little Terreille / Re: Sell me all of your laughter
« Last post by Kaatje Lainen on Mar 17, 18, 11:22:28 PM »
Oh. That was interesting. That flash of something dark and violent in his flat-boring eyes... Kaatje leaned a little closer in, fingers uncurling. Perhaps her lover would want to have fun with this boy, too, really give him something to think about on the long trip back with Halldora. It'd be a privilege. Certainly more than this man got from the broken Tiger Eye Black Widow Healer. Maybe someone would be interested in taking control of that little delight, too. She could send them back together... Maybe Prince Niskala would enjoy picking them apart. Lord Kelly--Lord Eldridge, he said, but she wasn't sure--could tear the girl to pieces.

Maybe Kaatje could have him do that before she sent him onward. A fitting punishment for attempting to defy the Mother's laws for the Light-Jeweled. These attempts to flee from their purpose had to be stopped, and if it took a little torture to do so, that was as may be. Pinpricks of heat warmed along her cheekbones, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. He'd beg her for mercy. She wouldn't have any to offer. A Priestess's place was to judge, to offer a chance for atonement. One such as Aleksy Grey, even if she were a dual-casted woman, would be a reasonable sacrifice to ensure the compliance of a much Darker male.

"It's alright," she said. The way he'd pulled out that fact. She'd felt his Craft reaching, testing. "This is fine; no one else is paying attention to me, anyway." She winked, cheerful, and laced her fingers together. "What else can you tell me, Leo?" She didn't ask permission to use his familiar name. He was beneath her, even when she pretended to be a Purple Dusk Descent rather than a Purple Dusk Birthright. If she wanted to call him dog she could--though it would rather shatter her facade--and no one could say anything about it. "What about... them?"

She pointed across the room, the gesture a delicate wave of her hand. It was subtle enough that her targets wouldn't notice, but more than direct enough to be clear to Lionel who, exactly, she meant.

How to get a sample of his blood? She could be sure if she got that into hand.
Little Terreille / Re: ode to the public panic attack
« Last post by Schulyer Shepard on Mar 17, 18, 11:02:53 PM »
"You're not fine," said Schulyer disapprovingly, catching her. He wasn't particularly strong, but she was so small that she weighed hardly anything and he could support her fairly easily. The girl, Sieran, was pale and he could see the sweat forming on her forehead. Where was her escort? A girl so young shouldn't be on her own, not even in this relatively nice part of town. He looked over his shoulder at the men and women passing by. It didn't surprise him that few others had stopped. "Here, sit down."

He carefully settled the pair of them on the edge of the sidewalk. If he'd thought about it, he would've asked his escort for the canteen he insisted on carrying around on the days Schulyer decided to walk somewhere. Water always helped when someone was suffering what looked to be a pretty painful migraine. As a personal project of Lady Gold, he'd grown up alongside the Blood, though not properly one of them. He knew what the duty of a male in this situation was, and it was to sit with the Lady and see that help was found. He'd done the latter. The former was still in progress. "Then I shan't leave you. Once my friend gets back, we'll find somewhere for you to rest. Are you alone here in the city?"

That wording wasn't the best. He didn't mean her any harm, but there were plenty of people who might. It wasn't so long ago that the Hell Lords had preyed upon women traveling around the city, putting them into those colorfully-curtained-and-coded brothels. "Because if you've somewhere to go, I'd like to help you get there," he said, hoping the clarification would help her relax rather than frightening her further. "My Queen wouldn't like it very much if a young woman was harmed when I could have helped her."
Pruul / Re: That time-honored tradition of learning as you go
« Last post by Adavera al-Jinan on Mar 17, 18, 10:22:38 PM »
Oh sweet merciful night... Torin was changing his pace.  He wasn't just changing his pace.. he was exploring her.  She should have expected it.  Torin was.. thorough, in everything he did.  He would miss nothing, not in war or battle - and certainly not in this.

Most definitely not in this.

He explored a multitude of touches, of speeds and angles.. and dhten he found one that had her arching and letting out a gasp before she could stop herself.  Her hips lifted, a flush crossing her cheeks as her head angled back to rest against hte couch, her body confused as to whether to tip her breasts better into his grasp or angle her hips harder against that wonderful hand.

He began moving further down her body, and it had her muscles clenching in need and desire.  It had her fingers digging into the couch, head tilting to watch him move with wide eyes.  She knew WHAT he was doing.. but she found herself almost breathless waiting for him.  She had never experienced such a thing, though she had certainly performed such an act.

Well, of course, there was Judiah.  But htat had been...

Her thoughts, heated and chaotic as they were, halted when his tongue took the place of his fingers.  She heard a strange sound, unaware that it had been her own throat to make such a noise as her nails dug into the couch.  It was not Pain that had her vibrating beneath Torin's mouth.

No, it was certainly not pain.  He groaned, the echo of his voice sending a shiver of appreciation through her as his tongue made its tormenting explorations of her.  She trembled, teetering ont he edge of a precipice that she knew she would never wish to come back from - and then she fell into it as his fingers dipped into her body. 

A rush of warmth and liquid grace spilled through her, a long and tortured sigh leaving her lips as her hands came up to tangle in his hair, holding him in place as she shuddered beneath him.

But he did not stop.  His mouth, his fingers.. they continued their plundering tastes, and she found herself whimpering as that tension began to coil again in her thighs and belly.  Feeling emboldened, she let her left hand drop to his wrist, tugging until he pulled his fingers free.  Her eyes rested on his face, golden and glowing, as she brought those wet digits to her own lips.

Her tongue swept out, coiling around his index finger to taste herself as she watched him, gently nibbling on his flesh to ensure she didn't miss a drop.  It was only fair, after all.. she couldn't exactly reach any other piece of him with her mouth in this position.
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