#i might revisit it later to paint it some more but like last prompt i ran out of time to really polish it

[anastacialyart]

05.02.23 || Have the skaters become more frugal this year?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hot Blood [2]

Warnings: non-consent sex; oral, intercourse

This is dark! (mob) skinny Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Synopsis: Steve Rogers is on the rise in the New York underground as you’re trying to keep your own place there.

Note: Here’s the second half. I’m TRYING to slow down a bit because I’ve become a bit manic and scrambled and all over the place so hope you guys don’t mind maybe revisiting some of my stuff while I try to clear my mind.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

There was a flurry of activity at the tall brick building you pulled up to in Brooklyn. Bucky drove around the back and killed the engine. Steve sent you a look before he climbed out. You grabbed your small bag and got out as Bucky closed the driver’s door. 

Steve led you to the back door of the building as Bucky trailed you and pulled out a cigarette. As you entered, the distant banging of hammers and buzz of voices rose from above. You were surprised by the interior as it did not reflect its facade; the aged brick hid the newly laid layer of decadence.

“Mind the noise,” Steve said as he strode across the lobby. “First two floors are finished but they got a dozen more to do.”

You glanced around at the stone statues and gilted frames. A little Versailles in the heart of New York. No doubt prompted by overcompensation and egoism.

“A borough is an empire on its own, I suppose,” You mused as you neared a bust of a naked woman.

“No, but New York is,” He neared and ran his finger along the curve of the stone woman’s hip. “It will be.”

“Big plans…” You stopped yourself from finishing; for a small man.

“Too many plans,” He drew away and looked at his watch. 

“Buck,” He called to his henchman who flicked off his cigarette. “Would you use the goddamn tray?”

“Sorry,” Bucky snickered. “Habit.”

“Mmm,” Steve grumbled. “Take her up to a room. Lock it, will ya?”

You glared at him and gripped your bag tighter. He glanced at you as he felt your anger radiating towards him.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll have the tailor come by and get you all set.” He smiled. “Considering that hole you were living in, I think you’ll like it here.”

“You can tell your tailor to fuck off.” You snapped.

“Ah,” Steve’s hand flew up and he grabbed your chin. “That’s not very ladylike language.”

“Get off of me,” You smacked his arm but he didn’t flinch. 

“There are gonna be rules, got it? First, you’re gonna start acting like a lady and watch your tongue. Then you’re gonna get rid of these,” He let go and pulled on your lapel, “And mind your place, woman.”

You bit down as you brought your hand up. He reeled at the slap which echoed through the lobby and Bucky’s figure loomed in your peripheral. Steve raised his hand to halt his henchman and touched his cheek. He took a breath.

“That’s the only one you get,” He said slowly. “Understand? Cause I’ve been more than patient with you. You still got your piece.”

“Empty,” You intoned.

“Still,” His eyes flashed. “And your head.” He pointed at you. “And a very clear choice here, doll. This can be easy or difficult. Now it seems you prefer the latter but I don’t think we ‘share that sentiment.”

“No, we don’t,” You said.

“Bucky,” He gestured to his man. “Get her out of my sight.”

Bucky grabbed your arm and drew you away as Steve walked across the marble floor. Your shoes slid over the stone and you were forced up the stairs by the bulky henchman. He dragged you to a pair of double doors and wrenched the right one open. He shoved you inside. 

The door slammed and you heard the lock slide into place. You cursed and kicked it before you spun to look around the room. It was as big as, if not bigger, than your apartment. 

The walls were decorated in a pale blue paper that bore regal curlicues and the polished floor shone even without the light of the glass lamps. The furniture was carefully arranged and no doubt expensive. You dropped your bag on the side table by the door and inched further in. You removed your hat and played with the brim. You needed to learn to shut your mouth.

🌆

It was about an hour before the lock sounded. The door opened inward and you rose from the chair with the French legs. A man with round glasses struggled to drag in a rolling rack of garments. When he was inside at last, the door closed and the lock slid back into place. 

He glanced around as he adjusted his spectacles and seemed taken aback by you. He sniffed as he came closer.

“Oh dear,” He said. “Hmm. Uh, hello, Miss, I was sent for a fitting. I’m Stuart.”

You crossed your arms and scowled. He shook his head and turned back. He grabbed a pale green dress from his collection and faced you again.

“This might fit,” He said. “Miss.”

He nodded to the screen on the other side of the broad bed. You looked between him and the painted divider. You didn’t move.

“Mr. Rogers told me you required a wardrobe,” He said aghast, “And I must agree with him.”

“And if I refuse it?” You challenged.

“You’ll have no protest from me, I have been duly paid to come here and offer my services. However, I know my client well and I am certain you can predict his reaction yourself.” He explained. “Whether or not you go along with this, is not my job.”

You huffed and reached to your belt. The man blanched as you removed your holster, gun still secure, and set it on the side table.

“It’s empty,” You assured him. “If it wasn’t, I’d not be here.”

You took the dress from him and disappeared behind the screen. You swore under your breath as you hooked the hanger over the top of the barrier. You removed your jacket and unclasped your suspenders. You slipped your shoes off and balled your socks inside them. You unbuttoned your shirt and tossed it a top your jacket on the small stool about a foot away. You added your trousers to the pile and stood in your underwear.

You grabbed the dress and pulled it over your head. The a-line skirt fell just to your knee and the delicate embroidery along the panels of the bodice stretched from chest to waist. You hadn’t worn a dress in years and it was just as awkward as you recalled. You stepped out from behind the screen and braced your hips in disapproval.

“Fits quite well,” Stuart mused and neared his rack again. “That means… the red, yes, oh, silver, the lace skirt…” He began to take hangers down and toss each piece on the chaise not far away. “Enough to see you through until I can make adjustments.”

You frowned and shook your head as you watched him. He passed you and you watched him gather up your former clothing. You blocked him before he could return to his rack.

“What are you doing with those?” You asked and reached to your waist instinctively.

“Mr. Rogers bid me take them with me.” He said plainly. “My assistant will be by later with undergarments… I just need your measurements before I go.”

You sneered at him as he dumped your clothing on the side table and stirred around in his pockets.

“I can assure you, miss, given your temperament, this is as unenjoyable for you as me.” He neared with his tape measure and you dropped your arms.

“Doubtful.” You grumbled.

🌆

There was an oval mirror in the corner behind the screen. You spent a while looking at yourself in the ridiculous dress before you distracted yourself with hanging the rest in the long closet. Stuart’s assistant, Olly, was shown in an hour after the tailor had left and gave you a collection of negligee and silk underwear. You hid them in the drawers and tried to forget about them.

Steve, for all your spite, was a man who acted quickly and effectively. And, you guessed, impulsively. You doubted you were the first woman to laugh at him but you didn’t wonder much on his wrath. It was his ilk; yours too. The underworld was run on tempers and wounded pride.

You sat in an armchair as you fiddled with the gun, flipping the chamber in and out, listening to the roll. You heard the door handle and stopped. You spun the gun in your hand and pointed the empty barrel at the man who entered. Steve’s brows drew together as he saw you. His lips twitched and he removed his hat. He left it on the side table beside your bag.

“You waiting on me?” He asked coyly.

“If I had a bullet, perhaps I would be more excited for your arrival,” You set the gun on the small round table beside you.

“Go on,” He stood across from you. “Stand up. Let me get a look.”

You stared at him. You didn’t move. His gaze travelled to your legs and he tapped his toe.

“Hurry up, would ya? We’ve got places to be.” He sneered.

“Places to be? Oh?” You still didn’t rise.

“Look, doll,” He lowered his voice as he stepped a bit closer. “I know you think I’m just a skinny little shit but let me tell you, I’m a whole lot more. You stand up so I can get a peek at you or I’ll get you up myself and do more than look.”

Your nostrils flared and you grabbed the gun. You swung it at him and he dodged it. He caught your hand as you stood and tried again. He twisted your wrist and you gritted your teeth as he forced you to release it. He caught it with his other hand and shoved you back. 

“You just can’t help yourself,” He growled as he tucked your gun into his trousers. “You’re lucky I have more self-control than you.”

You crossed you arm as he looked you up and down.

“Nice get-up but not for tonight,” He went to the closet and slid it open. “Even so, you’ve been busy.”

You were silent as he pulled out a pale blue dress that shimmered in the light.  Thin straps, low cut, skirt flowing to the floor. You cringed as he turned back to you.

“I am not stupid, doll,” He neared and held out the hanger. “You think I’m a joke. You’re one of the most stubborn gals I’ve ever known. I like that.” He waved the dress until you took it. “But I don’t work alone. You wanna step on my toes, I have no issue calling in back-up.”

You glared at him; silent.

“I’ve seen Bucky do terrible things to men; his own size, bigger. I heard of worse from his years in the war. It changed him and when I tell him to do something, he doesn’t think, he does. He doesn’t see a man or woman, trousers or skirt, he sees a job.” Steve warned. “He’s all smiles til I say ‘sic ‘em’.”

“You must watch a lot of pictures, Mr. Cagney,” You sniped.

“Listen, when it comes down to it, you’ll prefer me to him,” He said. “Me to any man in this city. I could let you go,” He pointed at you. “Could, but I’d have to put a price on that pretty little head.”

You frowned and folded the dress over your arm.

“Where are we going?” You asked quietly.

“A party,” He smiled. “To celebrate my recent victory.”

🌆

You hated the gown and the shoes. The way the woman had done your hair. Steve had left you to change and been quickly replaced by an older woman with fake blonde curls. Once a Jean Harlow fan or merely grasping at her fading youth?

She set your hair and grabbed your chin as she powdered your face and lined your eyes. She was pushy and said her name was Muriel. She talked a lot. You could barely keep track of her gossip. She painted your lips a deep shade of red and looked you over. When she finished, she left you as swiftly as she’d come. You ignored the mirror and the stranger in it.

When the door opened once more, you were at the window. You stared down at the sidewalk, pondering the way down. It would be a painful and slow death. So you had to wear heels; was it worth that?

“Doll,” Steve’ voice made you tense and you turned to face him. “You look… wonderful. Like a real woman.” He neared and his eyes lingered on vee of the dress. “Forgive me, you are a real woman.”

You crossed your arms but quickly dropped them as it only served to push your chest higher. Steve held a velvet box. He placed it on the table between the arm chairs and snapped it open. He lifted the silver chain from it and held it up to sparkle. Small diamonds decorated the slender necklace; the centerpiece a large sapphire.

“I’ve never seen a woman look at a jewel with such disdain.” He mused as he neared.

“Only at you, right?” You japed. He almost smiled.

“Sure, doll,” He seemed calmer as he gestured for you to turn.

You let out a breath and did. He carefully looped the necklace around your neck and clasped it. You spun back to him and wobbled in the heels. You kept yourself from tripping and he smiled as he reached to touch the sapphire.

“Gorgeous,” He said. “If not lacking grace.”

You drew away from him and his hand brushed your arm. He grabbed your hand and stopped you. He came up beside you and hooked your arm through his. 

“You behave…” He purred. “And I just might take it easy on you.”

🌆

You recognized many men at the party. It didn’t make it any easier. Once, you had faced them with a gun on your hip. With a sense of dignity. You lowered your head as Steve swept you along and he stopped to push your head up with two fingers.

“Be proud. You’re mine.” He whispered as he turned back to his path. “One day, this whole city will be mine. I might just take you with me.”

You didn’t like that. He spoke of you like a possession. But you shut your mouth and focused on not tripping. As you gained your balance, you struggled to stop as Steve pulled on your arm. The man across from you, Harry Carligne, squinted at you as he greeted your escort. As he tried to take you hand, you just stared.

“I know you,” He pulled back and realisation smoothed the wrinkles in his forehead. “Holy…”

“Where’s Carol?” Steve interjected. 

“She found out about Lucille,” Harry laughed. “Who you will find flitting around somewhere.” He glanced at you again. “My, my, how did you tame this creature, Rogers?”

“He didn’t,” You said tersely. “Keep your paws off me.”

“Oh ho,” Harry grinned. “You’re definitely braver than me, Rogers.”

“I told you, I like a challenge,” Harry’s smile fell as he caught the edge in Steve’s voice. “Plus, I’ve heard that women with sharp tongues are the best fucks.”

Your eyes rounded and you gaped at Steve in disgust. You tried to pull away from him and he snaked his arm around you and pulled you closer.

“Besides, I’m sure the mouth is good for more than just talk.” Steve chuckled. Harry joined in loudly and you snarled at both of them.

“I’m thirsty,” You insisted as you tried to wriggle away.

Steve’s arm stayed firm and he waved with his other hand. A server appeared with a tray and Steve took a champagne glass from the lot. He handed it to you. 

“Drink up, doll,” He said and returned his attention to the other man. “Now, Harry, we got some clean up to do in Queens…”

🌆

The night was long. You didn’t miss the whispers of the men or the women attached to them. It also didn’t escape you that you looked like one of those women now. Some were wives, some were mistresses, and some were paid by the hour. You weren’t quite sure where you fell yet.

And Bucky hovered ever in your peripheral. He was Steve’s watchdog. Those Steve talked to were also aware of the other man. They were nervous. He had a reputation you had yet to see proven. You could live without the evidence.

You were relieved to be away from the party guests but less than to be once more beside Steve in the back of the ivory roadster. He was close, his fingers tapped on his knee as he was quiet. Bucky drove, yawning here and there. You were tired yourself but antsy due to the man next to you.

You flinched as Steve’s hand fluttered over onto your leg. He felt the fabric of your dress and leaned closer.

“A few slips,” He said. “But you did well, doll.”

“I thoroughly despised it,” You grumbled.

“But you looked good,” He cooed. “I like this dress… makes me think about what’s underneath.”

“You’re a dog.” You snapped.

He chuckled and his hand slid further and crawled along the crease where your thighs met. You pressed your legs together but he didn’t push. He merely traced a line around your hip and his fingers danced along your arm. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you to him. He kissed you and you slapped his chest. He winced but didn’t stop.

You shoved him but it only seemed to drive his fervour. He squeezed the back of your neck as he poked his tongue past your lips. The car came to a stop and he finally drew away. He glanced out the window but as he turned back to you, you slapped him.

“Animal.” You hissed.

He touched his cheek and his blue eyes glinted in the dim. He let out a heavy breath and tore his hand away.

“Get her,” He barked at Bucky. “Drag her, if need be.”

Steve got out of the car as the other door opened and you found yourself being ripped out by the henchman. As you found your footing, Steve came to face you. 

“We’re gonna go back to the room, doll,” He said curtly. “And this can stay between the two of us or I can have my man hold you down. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the show.”

You glanced over at Bucky. His expression was dull and his grip firm. He shrugged. He tugged you forward as Steve spun and led the way to the tall building. Inside, it didn’t seem so extravagant anymore and your steps echoed on the stairs. The hand on your arm was like a shackle.

The same door, the same room, you were ushered inside and Bucky let go hesitantly. The two men watched you, waiting. You didn’t move and Steve nodded to his henchman.

“Stay close,” Steve said quietly. 

Bucky nodded and showed himself out. Steve faced you and brought his hands up to grasp your arms.

“I don’t wanna call him back,” He said. “Do you?”

You shook your head as a chill crept up your spine. You hadn’t felt this way in a very long time. You were afraid. You told yourself it wasn’t the thin man before you, it was the one outside, but deep down, you knew it was both.

“Alright, take the dress off.” He said. “Just the dress.”

You unhooked the back and slid the straps down your arms. Steve walked circles around you. You looked to him as you braced yourself. He loosened his tie as you let the gown fall to your waist. You shimmied out and exposed the creamy lace-trimmed panties and bra beneath.

“Sit. On the bed.” He ordered.

You stepped out of the dress and slowly crossed to the bed. You turned and sat on the end. He neared as he pulled his tie from around his neck. He put it over your eyes and you grabbed his wrist. He shook you off and secured it around your head so you were blind.

“Don’t even think about taking it off,” He warned. You dropped your hand and he stroked your cheek as he backed away.

You listened and shivered in your scant clothing. The underwear, the garters, the sheer stockings, and the strappy heels. You sensed him before you again. He ran his hands over your shoulders and down your arms. He brushed them back up your sides and groped you through your bra.

“Take this off,” His hand dropped and he pulled at the lacy trim at your hip. “And these.”

You stood in the pitch black of the blindfold and carefully undid your bra. You paused and you felt a tug on the front. You swept it away and hooked your thumbs in the top of the panties. He hummed and you rolled them down until they fell to your ankles. You untangled your feet and felt him step closer.

“Turn around. Get on the bed.” He commanded. “On your knees.”

You turned slowly. You stopped yourself from touching the bed.

“No.” You said. “No.”

“If I have to call him in, I won’t stop him from joining.” He rasped.

You bent and felt around. You managed to find your way up, lifting your knees carefully onto the mattress. He slapped your ass and you flinched.

“Further.” You crawled towards the middle. “Just like that.”

You waited there for a time, still on your knees. You felt the bed shift. His hand was suddenly on yours and he pulled it towards him. He pressed your fingers to hot flesh and wrapped your hand around his cock. You were surprised by his girth and as he slid your hand up than down, his length was no less impressive. He squeezed your hand tight.

“Not laughing now, huh?” He taunted.

You stopped and he nudged your hand. You just sat there with your hand around him, unwilling to move. Unwilling to accept this.

“Fine,” He slapped your hand away. “I’ll just use your mouth.”

He moved quickly and grabbed the back of your head. He yanked you forward and you fell onto your hands. He pushed down until you were on your elbows and the head of his cock prodded your lips. He rubbed it back and forth.

“Doll, I won’t tell you one more time.” He snarled. “Bucky’s right outside that door. I’ve seen him break men’s jaws as if it was nothing. What do you think he’d do if I told him to open your mouth for you?”

You gulped and shuddered. Your parted your lips reluctantly and he pushed inside. He grasped the back of your head and held you there as he hit the back of your throat. He urged himself deeper and you slapped his naked thigh. His fingers tangled in the tails of the tie.

You couldn’t help the noise which slipped from you as he pushed himself deeper. You held back a gag and squeezed his slender leg. You shook as he stilled you a lingered in your throat. He wiggled his hips cloyingly.

“Never would’ve known you had such a nice ass in those suits,” He slid back and slammed back in. You choked on him and he repeated the motion. “But that dress… perfect complement.”

You kicked your feet as he thrust steadily. He didn’t seem to notice the constriction of your throat around him as you struggled to hold back the wave of nausea. Or the way you struggled to breath around him. There was only his airy moans and sickly sound of his cock as it glided in and out of your mouth.

He finally pulled out and you struggled not to keel over. You wiped the spit from your lips and he grabbed your hand. He placed it on the mattress and held it there.

“Don’t move,” He said.

You were awe-struck by his pushiness. By the authority that radiated from him. He climbed off the bed and you reached to the tie as the sweat gathered along its edges. You were surprised by a pinch.

“I said don’t move,” He came around behind you and smacked your ass. “You keep those hands on the bed.”

You slapped your hand back down as he climbed up and his legs pushed between yours. Your stockings rubbed against his skin and he ran his hands up and down your back and around your hips then along your thighs. He tickled you and you felt his cock as it poked at you.

“You think you were funny yesterday?” He kneaded your ass as he leaned against you, his smooth length pressed against your cunt. “You really know how to use that pretty little mouth.”

You were, for once, speechless. It was one thing to deal with a man on his level, but to be bent over before him, was another. 

“Where’s that voice now, doll?” He drew back and dragged his tip along your folds. “I wanna hear you.”

He pushed along your entrance, the head of his cock dipped in just a little before he pulled out. He rubbed himself along your cunt again and repeated the act several times. When he shoved himself further in, you squeaked and clapped your hand over your mouth. Another pinched on the tender flesh of your thigh.

“You moved,” He growled and impaled you entirely. Your walls were snug around him. “I know listening isn’t your strong suit but we’ll work on that.”

He eased out of you and paused. You let out a breath and he slammed back in. You flinched and grunted through your teeth. Your fingers curled in the thick duvet and he did it again. He thrust into you, each crash of his hips jolted you. 

His hands brushed over your back and he grabbed your shoulders so that you arched. He rutted into you without restraint. He panted as you quivered against him. You moaned suddenly and clamped your lips shut. He chuckled and sped up.

“Is that it, doll?” He taunted. “Is that the spot?”

He bent over you and snaked his arm around your front. He pressed his fingers to your clit and dragged his lips along your shoulder. He bit down as he started to draw circles around your bud. You gulped as the ripples spread through you. You whined and finally let loose a sharp cry.

“You’re close, I can’t feel it,” He said and slammed into even harder. “And I know you can feel me.”

You’d lost control. You couldn’t let up and he wouldn’t. You moaned louder and louder, almost snarling for more as your flesh clapped loudly. The bed rocked beneath you and you dropped your head forward as you came. Your walls pulsed around him and you pushed back so you could take him deeper.

His hand never stopped, even as your arms shook and threatened to collapse in your rapture. You were stunned by your second orgasm and the third. Your arms folded and you were on your face as he grasped your hips and guided them firmly against him. 

He sank as far as he could and swore. He pulled out quickly and you felt his harried strokes as he pressed his tip to your ass. His hot cum spilled over you and dripped down your thigh. He slowed and sighed as he grazed your throbbing pussy with his fingers.

He backed up off the bed but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You listened to his soft footsteps and felt leather against your ass. He caressed you with the belt and pulled back.

“You moved again, doll,” He rasped as he brought the belt back down and you exclaimed. “You don’t like the easy way, do you?”

[fandom-necromancer]

Turn a blind eye

This was prompted by an amazing anon! If you are distrubed by the warnings this time, keep in mind it will end on a good note! I hope you enjoy! 

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: description of crime scenes (murder), serial killer, Gavin whump, paranoia, sleep deprivation, panic attack)

‘Put your phone away, Reed!’, Nines ordered, dropping new files on his desk.

Gavin flinched, looking up, then down on the pile. ‘No, not another one.’ ‘Yes, actually. Another one.’ Nines watched him and Gavin sighed, putting the phone away and rubbing his eyes. He opened the folder to another letter. He didn’t even have the energy to feel particularly distressed about it. He opened it with the android looking over his shoulder. You’d better turned a blind eye to my doings, Detectives. I proved before your actions against me have consequences.

Gavin just let the paper fall onto his desk and kneaded his forehead. ‘That’s all?’, Nines asked. ‘Well, we better keep going then. They know we are close.’ Gavin nodded numbly. Of course, they had to keep going. Of course, they had to stop whoever was behind all these murders. But… The threat was hitting home. Gavin couldn’t shake off the pictures of his bike catching fire right as he was about to start it, only Nines’ quick intervention saving him from being severely burned and hurt by the explosion of the tank only seconds later. The android had been able to brush it off and return to work, but Gavin couldn’t. He hadn’t slept properly for weeks and there had been little else but work for him.

It all had begun with a weirdly detailed murder scene. A woman killed by a cut throat in the bedroom covered in blue blood. The corresponding android was later found drenched in her blood in an alley behind a cyberlife workshop, but he hadn’t been killed there, the body was staged. Neither the murder weapon nor any trace of the murderer was found. Both android and human were connected by a growing relationship after the woman had divorced her husband. Jealousy was an easy motive, but the husband was earnestly shocked and said the feeling about the divorce was mutual and they ended everything on good terms. Not really evidence for his innocence, but he had a valid alibi, being on a work-related trip to Baltimore at the time the murder had taken place.

They hadn’t solved the case yet and were still waiting for the forensics’ report as they were called to another crime scene. Again, a human murdered by a cut throat, covered in the thirium of their partner and staged in the bedroom, while the blood-drenched android was found behind a Cyberlife store. The only new clue was that both cases had to be connected. Gavin had guessed the motive to be anti-android related and as the third murder was discovered it was more or less solidified by the message left behind. The wall over the bed was decorated with the internal wiring of the android spelling out Trash. The same word was found at the android, cut into his chest piece where his serial number would be.

This was the work of a serial killer. And the asshole was experimenting. Thankfully that meant he was slipping. The next scene held footprints of evaporated thirium for them. Nines was able to estimate height and weight from the size, the intensity of the thirium coating and the distance between each footprint. The message left behind was painted with their blood, allowing Nines to crop a partial fingerprint from where each letter ended. So, their murderer was a human of just a little below average size and weight. If the estimation was correct. It was little to go with, but what was even more unsettling were the words left behind this time: Gavin Reed over the bed of the human man and RK900 scratched into the chest of the android.

It had thrown them off guard and had caused Fowler to keep them under police protection. Their colleagues took turns guarding Gavin’s apartment complex, while Nines had agreed to stay at the precinct full time. It did little to help Gavin be comfortable with the fact a completely unknown serial killer knew their identities. He laid awake most nights jumping at every noise in the building and thought about how on earth the murderer had found out who was investigating their cases. Did they have connection to the police? Was one of his colleagues corrupt? Was the killer one of them? Had he just watched the crime scenes? Or had some newspaper simply printed their names while telling the story of Detroit’s newest serial killer?

Gavin was constantly on edge never feeling safe enough to sleep more than a few hours. Even at the precinct he started to feel watched. And it didn’t get better when more bodies turned up. Still haven’t found me? I’m right here. You look tired. Something keeping you up at night? Cyberlife’s best, huh? Watch your steps. What a dream team. I should kill you next. That had been when the bike had caught fire the next day. To say that Gavin was panicking was an understatement. Gavin was stressed beyond everything and it was hard to have a single rational thought when the killer somehow managed to send letters to the precinct without being caught.

At least Nines was unphased by all of this. Ever the analytical logical machine, the android worked away, reading reports from forensics and finding clue after clue. It were small hints, but they were making progress. They would get the killer in the long run, but they both knew the shorter that “long run” would be, the less people had to die. Gavin was so thankful for having Nines. The android had saved his life and was the only constant in this mess. At least when he was with the bot, he was safe. Unless he was… Unless he was the killer himself. Gavin frowned. This was his panic speaking. He shouldn’t think about that. But it made sense, didn’t it? He was finding all the little clues; he knew they were investigating the case and- No. No, Nines was safe. He had to be. There was no reason other than his sleep deprivation and stress getting to him.

‘Reed. Get your back into it!’ Gavin flinched at the sudden shout. Or had it been said at normal volume? He looked around and as everyone was quietly working around him, he guessed his senses had betrayed him. ‘W-what?’ ‘You have to pull your weight, too, Reed’, Nines reprimanded him. ‘Or do you want to let the killer murder more people?’ ‘No, of course not.’ ‘Then quit staring ahead and go over the forensics again. I think we might have missed something there.’ ‘Y-yeah.’

Gavin managed to read a few sentences in between as his eyes hurt from staring at the screen for too long and his mind betraying him to get caught up in paranoid thoughts again. ‘Reed, have you found anything yet?’ ‘Are you even reading the report?’ ‘You have to stop getting distracted all the time.’ He couldn’t work like this. He wouldn’t be any help. He wouldn’t stop the killer and they would murder more and more people. There was nothing he could do, nothing, nothing, nothing-

‘Detectives?’ ‘WHAT?!’, Gavin shouted, startling the ST300 from the reception as well as everyone else. ‘Err… You got another package. This time directed towards you, Detective Reed.’ Gavin sighed trying to relax or a least lessen the tension in his body. He took the package from her, noting that it had already been opened and searched. No surprise bombs. He looked inside and took the letter sitting on top of the Styrofoam filling. He absently noted that Nines was walking around the table to look over his shoulder again. Gavin opened the letter and read it.

You have a nice flat, Gavin. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped. A beautiful cat. She’s sweet, really. Though I must say you could have cleaned up before leaving the home. You know, I’m kind of bored. I thought I would meet you here but apparently you are at work. Always at work, huh? Guess I just have to come another day.

‘They are bluffing’, Nines commented, but Gavin had already reached back into the package and retrieved a frame. The picture showed him and Eli side by side on his boat on Lake Michigan during their vacation last summer. Gavin had the only existing copy as he had taken the picture himself. It was standing on his kitchen counter at home. ‘No’, Gavin simply uttered, feeling unbelievably sick. He put the frame down on the table. ‘No, they aren’t.’ Gavin rose up on shaky legs, holding onto the table. He was breathing heavily, bile rising in his throat. ‘I- I need to go. I need a break. A smoke. Phck. I have to-‘ He began stumbling out of his seat, past Nines and was already running to the back exit of the precinct, the go-to smoking spot of most officers. His excuse to Nines wasn’t too solid as he had forgotten his cigarettes in his drawer, but Gavin couldn’t care. Not when he barely made it out to throw up on the pavement. He heaved out what little he had had for breakfast and the smell alone kept him vomiting his guts out until there was nothing left to come. He was so done for.

-

Nines stood next to the detective’s desk, program in disarray. He hadn’t expected Reed’s reaction at all. The man had been slacking ever since the case got bad and now, he suddenly panicked and ran for a break? Just because the murderer was clearly bluffing? Or had he missed something? He revisited his memories of the past weeks and as realisation hit in, the stability of his software was near to non-existent. He had to make sure though. He had to see what Reed was up to and see for himself if he was right. If Gavin was truly that compromised by everything. It was hard to believe with the man always putting on a tough display. But he had made a decision: He would follow the Detective to his smoke break.

As he opened the door to the small outer platform, an awful smell hit his sensors. Then he saw Gavin sitting the farthest away from the puddle of vomit, face white and eyes wide. Immediately his stress levels were popping up to the android and that was the last evidence that tipped the scales to deviancy. Nines’ confines shattered around him, as he understood under how much pressure the man must have stood. The human everyone thought to be able to take on everything wasn’t as invincible as thought and Nines had failed to see the signs. Gavin hadn’t been slacking off, he had tried to conquer his panic by distraction. And he had taken all that away from him. He sighed, regret setting deep into his systems. He should have been there for his partner. He had always said he cared for the man, but how could he tell himself that now that he saw what he had done to Gavin? Well, he was free to do so now that he was deviant. He just hoped it wasn’t too late yet.

‘Gavin? Gavin, stand up. You need to get cleaned up and drink something. Come on.’ He took the man by the arm and helped him up. Reed was shivering and not only for the cold. Nines helped him back inside, sat him down on his chair again, putting the letter and the box away before fetching a bottle of water. He handed it wordlessly to the man and watched him drink most of it in one go. ‘I will tell Fowler to assign someone else to the case. It’s too much for only two people and you are in too much danger to continue. You almost died once already. Simple facts.’ He didn’t say what he really felt. He didn’t say he suddenly feared for his safety. What had been the concern of a machine now was true worry. He wouldn’t allow him to go back to this flat of his. A team of officers would get his cat, but Gavin would stay at the precinct. Or at a safehouse. Whatever was necessary. Nines wouldn’t say any of that to Gavin, it would be too much for now. But he would make sure Gavin was safe first. He had only just now realised how much he truly cared for the man. And he would be damned if he couldn’t help him through this.

He would make sure his partner was safe and sound. And then this serial killer would pay.

[demauryss]

Prompt 24 seems interesting

hi. thanks for sending this in :)) here’s my take on an office!au in which eliott is a graphic designer and lucas is assistant managing editor. hope you like this :))

no. 24 from “the way you said i love you” drabble challenge

When Lucas thinks about it, he figures it can be a lot worse than his current situation. He could be stuck in a dream in which he’s in his philosophy lecture from college which has somehow dragged to ten hours, revisiting the torture inflicted on his poor brain once again. He could be stuck third-wheeling Basile and Daphne – or, front-desk Helene and fourth-floor Sharon on their amazing, brilliant, always adventurous and with too much lovey-dovey stuff dates. And, if worst comes to worst, Lucas could be caught up in the Sammy and Tammy Riots – the STARS – that his neighbours are notorious for starting over issues of minute importance.

But it’s just his luck - Lucas would say - that out of all the above and decidedly much, much better ways for the universe to gang up on him for all the wrong he’s done, he’s stuck in a room with flaking brown paint on the walls, a broken fan and hanging bulb from the ceiling – both of which are worthy of being featured in a horror movie - and, admittedly, his worst nightmare – tall, beautiful Eliott Demaury, who’s currently jumping on his foot, holding the other one in his hands over the shoes after hitting the door probably too hard.

“I told you it won’t work,” Lucas sighs, stretching his legs which have now begun to cramp. He’s made a home for himself against a wall, sitting on the floor covered in dirt and a web courtesy of a spider he saw crawling under the bookshelf Eliott’s currently sulking against. He’s given up trying long ago, picking at the wood flakes on one of the cabinets to his right. Might as well make himself comfortable if he’s going to spend all day here.

“Eliott sit down,” Lucas sighs as Eliott picks up pacing in the room wide as his whole leg – probably even wider, Lucas’s just being dramatic, “You’re giving me anxiety.”

Eliott stops pacing, now standing in front of Lucas. His hands are perched on either sides of his waist as he stares down at Lucas’s reclining figure on the floor. His hair - the obnoxious, sex hair which Lucas has imagined many times passing his fingers through (just to see if they’re as silky as they look, no other reason) – a millimeter away from the bulb which is currently swinging, throws a shadow around the room, making the room resemble more and more to the set of a movie bound to give nightmares. Lucas decides, if he ever makes it out, he’ll direct a movie here.

“But Lucas,” Eliott sighs, lines beginning to form on his forehead. That can’t be good. “I need to be in the Conference Room in thirty minutes. I’m gonna fucking miss the presentation!”

Lucas forces the unease bubbling in his stomach down as he raises his arm to hold Eliott’s wrist, giving it a tug; his supervisor would be walking in the Conference Room in thirty minutes, livid, and with a now unemployed Lucas following behind her, if Lucas makes it out of here by then. Eliott stops his rambling about letting his supervisor down and everything to look at Lucas, eyes filled with so much tension Lucas almost throws up. “Calm down, Eliott,” Lucas says, tugging at the sleeve of Eliott’s camel jacket, “It would be all useless if you walk out of here with a ruptured blood vessel in your head or a dead cardiac tissue.”

Eliott lets a frown take over his features, quickly glancing to where Lucas’s hand is wrapped around his arm. Lucas drops his hand awkwardly, flashing Eliott a hopeful smile. Eliott sighs, dropping his shoulders before sitting himself against the wall in front of Lucas, who realizes his miscalculations just when Eliott stretches out his legs which reach Lucas’s knees. Okay, the room is bigger than Assistant Mayor Bellwether’s room from Zootopia.

“How are you so calm?” Eliott narrows his eyes, watching Lucas intently, like he’s gauging his reaction. He voice is higher, breathy. Lucas fears for the state of his skin, probably prepping to be covered in wrinkles in a couple of minutes.

“How can I not be?” Lucas shrugs as if he’s been stuck in a room like this a million times before. “You’re taking all the stress with you.”

Lucas smiles as Eliott giggles, some tension diffusion from his shoulders, “Yeah, I’m stressed out enough for both of us.” Eliott shakes his head, looking down for a bit, playing with the frayed thread of his jeans over his knees. The light over them in the sound-proof, signal-proof room flickers for a bit before turning bright again. Lucas realizes with a heavy heart that his worst fears are going to come true in mere seconds.

“I can’t not worry,” Eliott speaks softly, “My team is presenting the design for the book today. I can’t let them down.” The heaviness inside Lucas’s heart comes up in his throat. Lucas is the assistant of the Managing Editor, Marley, while Eliott leads a whole team of talented graphic artists in the Creatives Deparment. Lucas knows Eliott was supposed to present the design for a book cover. His job is more on line than Lucas’s is.

“Man, I’m never searching for archive files again,” Eliott groans, turning on his phone to see if there’s any network or not. Dejected and with a heavy sigh, he turns it off, looking up at Lucas, “What were you doing here before?”

Lucas shrugs, again, “Same as you, digging up old treasure.” While that’s partly true, Lucas can’t let Eliott know the times he’s spent sat just like this, allegedly on lunch during the break, serving his cold heart with its impulses to look at these fucking old files and memoirs and whatnot, holding worn out pages and pretty handwriting from days computers didn’t exist. There was a reason how the spot he chose to sit on was so clean, Eliott.

Lucas was busy in one of his sessions again when Eliott had walked in, all bright and fresh from the rain outside. Lucas had squeaked out a ‘Hi’ to Eliott’s pleasant ‘Hello’. It was weird to see Eliott this close after months of admiring him from afar. Even though their departments had caused them to interact with one another on many occasions before, but it was never like in this vicinity before, in a storage room as wide as half of Lucas and with no other person around.

Lucas was in a weird state of panic as Eliott told him of the file he was looking for, something from an artist working here before. And then a thunder, pretty powerful wind and a loud bang of door later, Lucas was stuck in the room with his raging crush and the person the crush was on. No amount of forcing the doorknob breathing its last and swearing at the door to open – or resorting to kicking it – had caused it to budge.

The rain has long since stopped, but the humidity prevails. Fucking physics and its useless fucking phenomenon. Lucas sits with trembling hands, legs now perched up, Eliott’s feet touching his own. Apart from the fear of doing something traumatic for both of them in front of Eliott, the light going out is taking away ten years Lucas’s life every time it flickers. Being stuck in a room with Eliott in front of him? Fucking great. Fantastic. Being stuck with Eliott in total dark? Count him the fuck out.

Eliott sighs once again, catching Lucas’s attention, “Why did it need to stick now?” He looks lost like a child, all tensed shoulders and creased forehead. Lucas can guarantee Eliott’s walking out with permanent health issues.

“Humidity,” Lucas answers, keeping his voice soft, probably too low. It’s as if he doesn’t want anyone to hear but Eliott, which is odd since Lucas could yell and the sound wouldn’t make it past a millimeter outside the door. Fucking fantastic sound-observant room, guys. Would definitely recommend having one in your house/office/whatever building, if you’re up for a quickie or two in terrible, unhygienic conditions.

Eliott looks at Lucas with confusion now replacing the worry in his eyes. Deeming it as a distraction, Lucas continues, “The door must have expanded from the humidity left by the rain. And when it banged shut, the added volume must have caused it to stick.”

Eliott narrows his eyes, “So it won’t open unless it de-expands?”

De-expands. Lucas smiles. Stretching his arms over his head he explains, “That’s right. So, we might be here for a while.”

“As if I don’t know,” Eliott scoffs lightly, leaning against the wall with a quite groan, “What time is it, though? My phone’s almost dead, and neither do I have any signal. Who’d have thought I’d be stuck in a ratty old room with you today?”

Eliott laughs as Lucas gulps down something acrid, a bitter feeling clawing up at his throat. It’s moment like this when he’s reminded of just how out of Eliott’s league Lucas really is. The realization that he won’t ever look at Lucas the same way kicks in much faster than he expects it to. But it’s fine. Lucas is all fine.

With a tremor in his arm, he takes out his phone from his pocket, pressing the home button. He clears his throat, “It’s one-fif-“ And then, like a car clash in slow motion, it happens. Something pops up on the screen. A notification. A message. A fucking message from front-desk Helene asking about his whereabouts. Slowly he turns his vision to the left-corner of the screen. Heart thrumming in his throat and tremor in his hands he leaps up to his feet, Eliott following him with his eyes.

“Lucas? Is everything alr-“

Lucas cuts him off, probably looking like a wild animalescaped from the zoo. “ELIOTT, I’VE GOT IT!!” He yells, previous trepidation about anyone but Eliott hearing him out of the fucking window. Eliott stands up, confused, “Got what?”

Lucas thrusts the phone in Eliott’s face. It takes a momentfor realization to kick inside him, but when it does, it’s beautiful. “Oh God, Oh God. Oh God. Lucas!”  He yells,excitedly bouncing up and down on his feet. Thank God. Now Lucas doesn’t have to worry about them running out of oxygen and their corpses decaying with no one knowing where they had went. Thank fucking God.

Lucas peers at the small lines at the corner of his screen which weren’t there minutes ago. Fucking miracles. He wastes no time in dialing Helene’s number, Eliott watching him with a small smile as he stutters out some nonsense involving “the storage room, Helene. Eliott-I’m-we’re stuck. Quick!” It makes no sense to his ears, blood currently filling them, spiked with adrenaline and- and Eliott looking at him like that. As Helene shouts something about being there in seconds, Lucas can’t take his eyes off of the now relaxed and smiling Eliott. His face is soft, soft. Lucas wants to tou-

There’s a bang. Another bang. Lucas jumps ten feet in air, Eliott backing both of them into the cabinet behind them. The door rattles, opening with a loud sound as it smashes just where Lucas was previously standing. He would have been hit in the face if Eliott hadn’t acted wisely. Lucas feels the warmth of Eliott’s hand on his arm too late before he’s being pulled away, Helene jamming into the small space in front of Lucas, several sturdy men behind her. They must have kicked the door open. So Eliott was really up to something, even if it didn’t work then.

“Lucas- oh god, are you okay?” Helene rushes out in a single breath. He chuckles, realizing how hard his hear is actually beating. Well Lucas, time for cover ups, “I’m fine, Lene. Though you should worry about this idiot. Pretty sure his blood pressure has passed the two hundred mark.”

He points to where Eliott stands, still pressed up against the cabinet. Helene shoots him a quick, worry-filled glance before deeming he looks fine. “You two can come with me to the break room. The presentation has been cancelled, that’s what I was going to text you about.”

She pats Lucas’s arm before turning, muttering about stupidrains and humidity. Lucas smiles, beginning to follow her. But he’s stopped in his tracks by a hand wrapping around his wrist. Before he knows he’s being turned around, and enveloped in strong muscular arms, heavenly orange-y sent blurring his senses, and warm face pressed into his neck.

Eliott’s hugging him. Eliott is fucking hugging him. EliottFUCKING Demaury is HUGGING HIM.

Before he could launch Operation PANIC AT THE FUCKING INTIMATE CONTACT WITH HIS CRUSH, Lucas is stopped however by his still sensible brain. Maybe Eliott’s just happy Lucas’s not the last person he’d see before he dies. Yes. That’s plausible. Awkwardly, Lucas wraps his arms around Eliott’s waist, inhaling the scent of oranges currently dominating his brain. Admittedly, Lucas thinks, it feels nice being wrapped up in somebody like this. He’s so much hug-deprived he’ll cry if he thinks about it.

Eliott gives a final squeeze before pulling away, a tentative smile on his face which is too close to Lucas. He can count the freckles. The smile on his face enlarges as Lucas awkwardly steps back. He needs to be professional.

“Thank you,” Eliott says, eyes in pretty crescents. Lucas wants to draw them. “You got me out of this room. I’ll love you forever Lucas, for this.”

Lucas’s heart catches up in his throat again. Eliott winks, before moving around Lucas and walking out of the room. Lucas feels his heartbeat in his ears, head, everywhere. Eliott said ‘I love you’. He probably didn’t mean it. Eliott said “I love you.” He probably didn’t think what he was saying. Eliott said, “I’ll love you forever, Lucas.” Maybe he goes throwing those words around to people helping him. Yes, that’s probably it. It’s not even that deep, Lucas. Eliott didn’t mean it that way. Stop complicating things.

So Lucas takes a deep breath, forces his heart back into his cage, and follows the receding figure of Eliott Deamury into the break-room.

[vegetacide]

Whump prompt #4 - part II

Veg-notables - As I mentioned before I shouldn’t be allowed to look at prompts. This is a continuation of the snippet found HERE. Only proofed by me so any mistakes are purely my own

Likes, shares and comments are my motivational fuel.

Rating:  M for suggestions of torture.  

Characters: Scott, Kayo  and Virgil (he is around ..somewhere)

Prompt snippet -  no title cause I am lazy and haven't thought of one

Enjoy…. 

oOo

Kayo was - to put it lightly - irate in a scary calm, calculating and head for the hills kind of way. Later when all was said and done, she would look back on the numbness that had overtaken her and analyze it.  Letting the doubt and fear along with it finally take root and she would allow herself a private moment, in a locked room to express what was pent up. 

She had various bolt holes on the island that only Virgil was privy to and she would go to one and let the emotions past the deadly stillness she was projecting but for now,  cool and controlled was the name of the game.  

Setting down Shadow on the lea side of the mountain beside the silent, large green craft that so personified its pilot,  she allowed herself a moment to breath. Clenching her fists as she noticed the shake in them that belayed the mask she had cemented into place. Her stress levels must be skyrocketing as the physiological effects of it were being broadcasted in her fine motor skills but the panic that she knew she should feel even behind her plastered on facade was curiously absent.  Her brow cocked up at the odd blankness of other feelings for the only things coming through the still veil  was the raging hellfire that was her anger. 

Shaking her head away from the random torrent of her thoughts,  she looked up at the blue expanse of the sky.   The odd juxtaposition it presented considering their circumstanced irked her.  It should be raining down acid not sunny and warm.  

As Thunderbird One came into view over a large outcropping dusted with evergreens,  Kay cracked the seal on Shadows canopy and jumped down.  The dry tufts of grass,  crunching beneath the soles of her boots and sending a small, fluffy tailed critter scurrying into the underbrush.  

Shielding her eyes from the dust kicked up from One, she made her way across the rough, cut clearing and up the incline to where Two rested amongst the remains of an old miners camp.  The rotten and lichen covered outbuildings creating an eerie back drop for the large transport.  

As her eyes scanned over the decaying refuse of the condemned colliery, she absently admired the skill in which Virgil had situated the massive craft.  In the confined space allocated to the abandoned plot of land, he’d set the craft down without disturbing any of the rusted out machinery or structures. He’d even managed to somehow avoid flattening what looked to be a picnic table that had seen better days.  Its brick red paint cracked and flaking, leaving a puzzle like assortment of debris around it in a halo of disuse.  

The man was a truly gifted pilot, there was no doubt about that. No one could maneuver the Herculean flying boat around like he could.  Turning her face up towards the underside of the silent ‘bird, a hint of something flashed across her expression.  The giant seemed lifeless without the skilled operator and it didn’t sit right with her.  Like a soul had been snatched away and a carcass left behind, barren and wasting.

Pulling her mind back from her dark musings,  she redirected herself back to the task at hand.  Her shrewd eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the derelict site. Searching and cataloguing anything and everything that seemed out of place in the otherwise undisturbed landscape.  

Virgil had been called out here to rescue a trapped hiker, a standard run for the well trained troop and nothing outside of their regular wheelhouse.  It wasn’t the first time that they’d had to sweep in to pluck some backwoods walker from some precariousness or another and it surely wouldn’t be the last.  

Virgil had been exceedingly chipper considering the early hour as he left the comms room for his chute that morning. He’d even paused long enough to drop a kiss on her forehead as he passed before disappearing down the long slide to the awaiting craft. It had been a rather quiet week for them,  an oddity given that the world seems unable to resist getting into stupid and avoidable danger, and the dark haired man had been eager for some action.  

Kayo kept replaying the scene over and over in her mind, but no matter how many times she revisited the call and the frightened voice that John had projected across the comms,  she could detect no duplicity. There had been no prickle of caution that would cause her to halt her lover’s plan of action so she’d continued on with sipping at her coffee and tucking her legs up under her,  getting comfortable. 

In hindsight,  she wished she’d paid more attention or perhaps even tagged along for the ride.

At the sound of hurried feet at her six, she held up a hand a non-verbal urging for Scott to cease his approach.  

“Kayo?”  Came his inquiry over the dedicated comms line.  He was some fifty feet away to her left, having landed One down below on what remained of an old loggers road, luckily just wide enough for the lithe craft to make use of.  “Did you find anything?”

Kayo backed out from under Two making sure to retrace her steps and took a circuitous route over to where the anxious commander stood, shoulders so tense for his brother that Kayo could make out the fine tremors racking through them as he tried to keep own distraught anger contained. 

Drawing near she indicated over to the scene behind her, the humid air stirring and playing with the ends of her long ebony hair.  The mugginess that was typical for the Canadian summer causing the ends to curl up and the loose wisps around her face to stick to her tawny skin. “Two’s on emergency lock down just like John said.   I did a preliminary scan on approach to the DZ,  there’s nothing.” Her report was direct and concise.  Her blunt delivery a coping mechanism in itself.  

Scott cursed harshly,  hands clenched into tight fists at his side with frustration. After a moment; his own eyes sweeping over the area,  he took a step towards Two.  “Show me.”  The order in his voice evident and proof that he’d only just managed to rein himself in.  

Kayo took the lead and pointed to a few areas of disturbed ground in various spots up the rise.  “Here and here.. There was a struggle.” Kneeling, she touched the rocky ground and brought her gloved hand up for a closer look.  Her thumb sliding across the pads of her fingers as she inspected something.  Her brows twitched as a brief glimmer of her upset peeking through her control but she quickly stowed it away.  

“Blood. Someone went down hard.”  The who wasn’t necessary, there was only one option. Scott squatted down on his haunches beside her, gravel crunching under his thick soles and reached out his own gloved fingers to inspected the tacky, dark substance. 

“Couple hour tops, with this humidity”  He commented,  taking in the consistency of what was smeared across his fingers. 

Kayo nodded her agreement at his assessment and straightened, eyes once more scanning about. “On foot they couldn’t have gone far, especial with 180lbs of dead weight…”  She considered, glancing off towards the tree line some two hundred feet to the West, “ Must have had transport of some kind..”  

“I’ll have John scan the area again maybe he can pick something up even with the iron deposits here playing havoc with our sensors..worth a shot though.“

"Anything is better than what we have..” Kayo said as she stepped past him.  “I’m going to see if I can find any signs of a transport.  If they had one maybe I can pick up a trail or get an idea of what direction they took.”

The urge to reassure Scott that they would find the missing pilot was an unnecessary platitude and a promise she was scared to admit that she wasn’t able to make. With little to no clues as to how, what or why anyone would have taken Virgil the real fear that they might not find him was a thought that right now she couldn’t bare to  look at too hard.  

The hand that caught her wrist as she slipped by caught her briefly by surprise, the hard blue eyes that was swimming with worry and a glimmer of fear that met her own had her looking away before her own inner doubts could take any further root. 

Pulling free with a gentle tug, she refused to meet his gaze.  There was no way she was going to allow herself to go down that rabbit hole and she shook her head. “It’s getting dark, I’ll contact the GDF to lock the area down while I check the perimeter.”

Scott returning nod was all the acknowledgement she needed.  The worried sound of his voice following her as he reported through to 5 some 22 000 km away.  His form becoming obscured in the waning shadow of Two as the distance between them grew with each step she took towards the treeline.

TBC - HERE

[raendown]

Last entry for @madatobiweek already! For the prompt: something kinky.

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5360 Rated: E Summary: Tobirama takes care of Madara's kinks and Madara indulges Tobirama's. A little give and take is only fair in any relationship.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Reciprocity

Even after several years Tobirama still sometimes found it hard to believe that he associated the words ‘going home’ with the sights and sounds of the Uchiha district. Hearing the old lady that lived next door singing through the open window as she started dinner, seeing children playing in the nearby park, nothing worked better to help put him in a calm mood after long days of signing superfluous forms that were bureaucratically necessary yet practically useless.

The only thing that could possibly put him in a better mood would be times like now when he came home to find Madara’s chakra burning quietly inside like a beacon of welcome. Tobirama’s lips parted in a wide smile after checking to make sure no one around was watching him at the moment. What excellent luck. His husband wasn’t supposed to be due back from his trip to Kirigakure for another week.

Not sure whether he was going to find a happy-to-be-home Madara or an exhausted-and-grumpy-from-his-trip Madara but not particularly caring either way, Tobirama threw open the front door of their home and kicked his shoes off with very little care then set a course straight for the source of that beloved chakra. He found his husband in their bedroom standing in front of a mirror hanging on the back of the closet door. No shirt in sight, towel around his waist but long hair still dry, clearly the first thing he planned to do upon arriving home was bathe. Tobirama very much approved.

And just as clearly this was not a relaxed and happy to be home Madara, currently swearing at his own hair brush as he was. Or perhaps it was the hair he was swearing at.

“Fucking useless rat’s nest! Messy bush! Work with me here!” His brush caught on another tangle and he winced before releasing a fresh wave of curse words that would have made a sailor blush. Tobirama bit his tongue to keep the laughter in and cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out what was off about the picture before him.

It took a minute or so to realize that Madara’s hair, already big at the best of times, was somehow even more voluminous than usual. He made it only one step closer before his lover spotted him in the mirror but by then Tobirama was close enough to see what the problem was: kinks. As though it had been separated in to a million different tiny braids, Madara’s hair was thick with tight little kinks. It looked like he’d gotten a perm while he was away except Tobirama was well aware that there were very few people the man allowed to get near his hair.

“Having difficulties, love?” He’d brought a few papers home with him to work on since he’d expected to spend his evening alone but now he set them aside without another thought, approaching his husband instead and not bothering with a proper greeting.

“Whoever invented humidity can just…just…die!” Clearly greetings were beyond Madara at the moment, annoyed as the man was. He yanked on his brush one more time and then abandoned it to hang where it had gotten stuck.

“I don’t suppose you’d like some help?” Tobirama offered. He laughed at the puppy eyes that watched him sadly in the mirror. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come over here, then.”

Madara docilely allowed himself to be led over to sit on the end of their bed where Tobirama settled behind him and began to slowly work the brush free of the hair tangled around its bristles. It was hardly the first time he’d had to play emergency hairdresser, though he couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen anything quite like this, coarse black locks twisted and crimped almost beyond recognition until Madara’s head was nearly twice the size it should have been. Upon closer inspection he revisited the idea of multiple tiny braids. He couldn’t think of anything else that would cause this, no matter how much his partner grumbled about humidity. Perhaps the poor idiot had thought braids would control the mess when he got in to a humid area and his hair began to expand around him.

Eventually, as he’d known it would, the gentle touch of familiar hands helped Madara relax enough that he began a quiet recounting of his journey, all the useless little details he would never think to add in the official report. He told Tobirama about the family of rabbits he’d seen making their way through the undergrowth and the lake he’d found perfectly surrounded by pine trees.

“It looked just like a painting,” he murmured as Tobirama finally worked the brush free. “Or at least it looked like something that someone might paint. I don’t know. You’ve always had a better eye for that sort of stuff than me.”

“That does sound lovely. If I might interrupt for a moment, however, I have a question.”

“Oh?” Madara peered warily over one shoulder. He was right to be suspicious and he clearly realized this as soon as he spotted the amused twinkle in Tobirama’s eye.

“If you were going to bathe anyway then why were you trying to brush your hair first? Would it not have been easier to do this after? I did buy you that special conditioner for a reason.” As much as he loved his partner, there was nothing more satisfying in the world than watching Madara splutter indignantly because he’d caught the man doing something ridiculous. Even more fun was knowing that Madara had probably realized halfway through that he was making things more difficult for himself but was simply too stubborn to give up on his chosen course of action.

Patting him on the shoulder, Tobirama hummed as though the spluttering had contained some kind of well-phrased opinion. “I see. Well, now that we’ve tried things your way – and now that I’ve saved your hairbrush from certain doom – what about we try things my way? If you ask very nicely I might wash your hair for you.”

Madara froze. Of the few people allowed near his precious locks, Tobirama was the only one who knew how very much he enjoyed having it played with, how he liked to be pampered. His offer made it a battle between how stubborn the man was feeling and how badly he wanted to have Tobirama wash his hair for him. While he waited Tobirama hefted the brush towards their shared dresser and leaned forward to press himself against Madara’s back, hoping to subtly point out a few other benefits of bathing together.

It seemed his husband got the point. His muscles stiffened with surprise before relaxing back in to the hold, though he did make a point of grumbling under his breath just so it wouldn’t look like he was giving in so easily.

Both of them scrambled off the bed and Madara made a show of stomping ahead to their master bathroom. Tobirama didn’t mind so much. Walking behind gave him a chance to admire that massive cloud of hair one more time before it got washed away. Hopefully he would be able to get the story behind that hilarious mess because he was definitely going to be sharing this memory with Izuna later. Falling in love did not mean he had in any way given up the rights to make fun of Madara behind his back.

While his husband headed to the closet to pull out fresh towels Tobirama got the hot water running, letting the bathtub fill up as he got undressed. The nights he spent alone, whether because of missions or some sort of fiasco at the office, Tobirama usually enjoyed traditional bathing habits. Soaking his body twice was a pleasure he hadn’t been able to enjoy when he lived in the same house as his brother unless he wanted to risk having the idiot crawl in to the tub with him. No matter how old he got Hashirama refused to learn boundaries. On the days when Madara was home, however, they usually preferred to bathe together and that meant bending to his partner’s habit of cutting the time spent bathing in half by washing first and soaking once.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t any advantages to Madara’s method. At least this way there was less time to wait before Tobirama was treated to the sight of that gorgeous body covered in suds, hands sliding obscenely over his own skin like one of the private fantasies Tobirama would never dare to voice out loud. Waiting for the tub to fill up so he could place a cover over the water to keep it warm was difficult when he could see the treat waiting for him across the room.

Finally Tobirama was able to stand up and slip across the bathroom floor to fit himself up against Madara’s back, closing his eyes against the spray of water from the showerhead and using his hands to trace the muscles he already knew by heart. Madara paused in his washing routine to lean in to the touches with a low groan.

“You said you’d wash my hair,” he mumbled petulantly.

“And I will. Can you blame me for wanting to greet my husband properly first?” Keeping his eyes closed, he tilted his head to press a line of kisses across one shoulder and brought a hand up to massage the opposite one, drawing out a moan of pleasure.

“God that feels good. Fuck your kisses, where’s the other hand? I’ve been tense for a week.”

Tobirama waffled indecisively for a moment, unsure if he wanted to take offense to that or not. In the end he decided that starting a fight in the shower would deprive him of holding a naked Madara close in the tub and they had already been apart for too long. He could start all the fights he wanted tomorrow. Right now he was more interested in the way Madara physically melted and had to prop himself up against the wall when Tobirama brought his other hand in to play as requested, massaging sore muscles, digging his thumbs in to every knot he could find until his husband was little more than putty in his hands.

When it finally stopped Madara was so relaxed he couldn’t even bring himself to protest. All he could do was stand very still and close his eyes as Tobirama reached for the shampoo bottle, pouring out a small amount in one hand to get his own hair out of the way first. Once that was done he ran a bar of soap around his body once, only giving a proper amount of attention to under his arms and between his legs.

After his own body had been taken care of he was free to reach for the shampoo again and gently shuffle Madara out from underneath the spray. He started at the bottom of that incredible mass of hair, lathering the shampoo in and making sure to work it all the way through before moving slowly upwards until finally he was scraping his nails along Madara’s scalp and smirking at the sounds he was drawing out. The whine when he stopped to reach up for the water almost made him chuckle out loud but he managed to control himself, not wanting to break the moment. He mumbled out a warning before pulling the shower head down and using his other hand to help rinse the suds away.

Then it was time for the conditioner. Very expensive and delicately scented, Tobirama came across it in Uzushio where it was considered traditional to cut one’s hair only after being defeated in battle. Considering their renowned sealing skills, it was unsurprising that most people there sported very long hair, nor that they were careful to maintain it. Although it cost a great deal of money to have so much conditioner imported from so far away it was definitely worth it. Tobirama could already feel the difference by the time he had worked it through half of Madara’s incorrigible mane.

He could also feel interest stirring in his lower region no matter how hard he tried to tell himself just to wait a little longer. Nothing was going to happen while his fingers were busy detangling the mess in front of him. Still, his body wasn’t interested in excuses. By the time he was once again dragging his fingernails along Madara’s scalp he was hard as a rock from standing so close and yet so far from all that wet naked skin and listening to the soft shameless moans as Madara enjoyed his turn being pampered.

Tobirama held back while he rinsed all the conditioner out but controlling himself was a lot more difficult when Madara finally turned around to face him, his eyes drooping and glassy, reaching up to pull him in for a kiss. Their bodies pressed together and Tobirama twitched, muffling the noise that tried to slip out at the unintentional friction. Whether it was his reaction or the fact that something hard was poking him in the belly Madara finally seemed to clue in that the mood in the room had shifted. The lazy pleasure in his expression stayed but the fog cleared from his eyes as he slowly tilted his head down to glance between them.

“I assume that’s for me,” he said. Tobirama paused.

“Well it certainly isn’t for anyone else.”

“That sounded really stupid, didn’t it?” Madara asked. Instead of agreeing Tobirama pulled him in for another kiss, drawing it out until they were both reluctant to part.

After clearing his throat roughly he managed to say, “I can ignore it if you’re tired from your trip.”

Madara snorted as if the very suggestion that he was too tired for sex was an insult. With his eyes still locked on the prize standing at attention between them he brought his hands up to trace the shapes of Tobirama’s biceps, shuffling the both of them backwards until his back was up against the wall and Tobirama stood directly underneath the spray of water.

“Have I ever left you wanting?” If he wasn’t already hard the confidence in his partner’s tone would have had Tobirama rising at lightning speed.

“Not yet,” he agreed. “Does this mean…”

“That I’m finally giving in? Yes.”

“Have I told you yet today that I love you? Because I do.”

Blinding reaching out for the soap, Madara rolled his eyes. “No, you love that I keeping indulging you in all your weird little fantasies. I just don’t get what the draw is for shower sex.”

Tobirama paused, stepped back, and deliberately ran his gaze up the length of Madara’s naked body. When he reach the man’s eyes again he smirked at the blush his attentions had earned him. It was always nice to be able to make his point without even having to say a word.

Not wanting to stay separated for long in case Madara changed his mind, he was quick to close the distance between them again. The two of them had been together for enough years that he knew exactly what to do to get his partner in to the mood as well. All it took was a suggestive smile and both hands tracing down the man’s sides to then slip around and take a firm grip on that magnificent ass. Nothing got Madara in the mood faster than having his ass grabbed; the man called him kinky but Tobirama wasn’t the one who got hard in the office after one pat to the bottom.

It did work to his advantage right now though so he refrained from any teasing as Madara pulled him down for a slow kiss. Yearning for a little friction to take the edge off, Tobirama rotated his hips in lazy circles to grind himself up against the other man’s belly. Under the sweet torture of wandering hands groping a muscle here or pinching a nipple there Madara was quick to harden as well and Tobirama was quicker to grin with satisfaction.

Gathering the strength to stop was hard but eventually he managed, slipping the bar of soap out from Madara’s now lax grip and slowly lowering himself to his knees at the same time. His tongue tasted nothing but clean skin and water when he leaned in to encourage his partner’s legs apart with kisses and gentle nips. Thick fingers braced themselves with a tight grip on his hair but Tobirama ignored them, rolling the bar of soap back and forth until he had a palm full of suds then reaching up to trace the seam of Madara’s ass. Now probably wasn’t the time to mention it but later he was definitely going to smugly ask how his partner had known that their soap was safe for such activities when he was usually such a stickler for using proper lubrication.

The first finger slid in easily, drawing out a soft noise. When their position made it difficult for Tobirama to push in as deeply as he should have been able to Madara lifted one leg to drape over his shoulder without being asked. The new stance left him much more open and his soft noises became open groans of appreciation when Tobirama added a second finger and curled them both in search of Madara’s prostate.

Watching one of the strongest men in several generations grind down in to the pleasure he was giving never failed to make Tobirama feel powerful, like he could bring the world itself down to its knees with just a few careful touches. Perhaps it was lucky for the rest of the world that he was only interested in ducking his head to lap at the hard length bobbing in time with the rocking of Madara’s hips. Salt teased his tongue as he drew the head in to his mouth, pre-come already gathering, a welcome little treat as he began to slide forward and back in time with the fingers sliding in and out of Madara’s entrance.  It only seemed polite for him to reward Madara for finally indulging him in a fantasy he’d been rejecting for so long.

After another couple minutes of teasing Tobirama reached down with his free hand to lather the soap again, removing his other hand to transfer it over and then slowly entering Madara’s hole with three fingers this time. He waited for the shudder that indicated his partner was feeling the stretch to open his jaw a little wider and take as much cock in to his mouth as he could. If he could have smirked around all that hard flesh he would have when Madara’s knee nearly buckled under the dual stimulation.

“Damn it,” he cursed. “Fu- aaahh fuck! Hurry up! You always – nngg! – take so much time with this!” With his head thrown back Madara’s words almost seemed to be addressed to the ceiling. It would hardly be the first time he yelled aimlessly at the gods.

Tobirama hallowed his cheeks with suction as he slowly pulled away, letting the cock fall from his lips and watching as it bobbed back up at full attention.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” he purred.

“You won’t! Just – guhn. Get up here and get in me.” Madara’s hand clenched in his hair and Tobirama bit his lip.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He slid the twitching leg off his shoulder and stood up with the soap in one hand, the other held under the shower spray to gather a bit of water so he could work up a lather one more time. Once he had enough bubbles on his hand he set the soap aside and reached down between his own legs to coat his neglected erection with lather.

Once again moving without being asked to, Madara turned to face the wall as soon as he had both legs underneath himself, bracing against the tile with both hands and letting his head hang down.  Tobirama stepped up close behind him and dropped his forehead against the back of his partner’s head, breathing in the comforting smell of his freshly cleaned hair. Then he lined himself up and pressed teasingly against the eager entrance waiting for him but not slipping inside just yet. Madara snarled and bucked, trying without words to get him to hurry up.  

“Patience, love,” he said quietly.

Shifting his weight a little, he pressed forward again with gentle rolls of his hips until finally the head slipped in and both of them sighed with a gentle sort of relief, happy to be together like this again after so long apart. For a few seconds Tobirama kept still just to enjoy the feeling of being inside his husband but it didn’t last long. Soon he was pulling out and tilting his head back to feel the shower water on his face as he pushed forward to fill Madara once again.

Though he hadn’t exactly had a multitude of partners before they got together, Tobirama could say with confidence that there was no other feeling he had ever experienced quite like being buried deep within the man he held in his arms at that moment, bare skin pressed flush together while he worked himself in and out of that tight passage gripped him like a vice. Maybe it was the fact that there would always be genuine emotions between the two of them even when they acted little better than animals rutting together in heat. Or maybe Madara was just the best fuck he’d ever had. Whichever one it was, Tobirama was hardly surprised to find himself drunk on the feeling after less than a minute, bending his neck to catch an unsuspecting ear between his teeth.

Feeling the spray cascading over his skin in waves as he rocked back and forth only added to the incredible sensations blotting out the rest of the world. Shower sex was every bit as amazing as he’d always thought it would be, even if he did have to reach over and grab the soap again a couple of minutes later when he realized he was running out of suds to act as lubrication. Really they shouldn’t be using soap, he should have been smart enough to grab the actual lube just to be safe, but Madara had yet to complain of any unwanted drag and there was no way he was stopping now.

Promising himself that he would never be so irresponsible again, knowing that he probably would anyway, Tobirama nibbled his way down an arched neck and latched on the top of Madara’s shoulder to suck a light hickey on to pale skin.

“God, fuck, I need–” Madara whined low in his throat and then finally choked out, “Deeper?”

“Can you spread your legs for me a little more? Like that, yeah.” Tobirama’s eyes rolled back in his head as he slid just that one half inch deeper and felt Madara contract around him.

“Ah! Yes! Ri-right there!” More helpless pleas tried to slip out but Madara bit his lip, muffling them until the syllables built up behind his teeth and spilled out as helpless moans each time the new angle allowed Tobirama to impact his prostate dead on.

Damp skin making lewd noises with every meeting of their hips, water spraying out in all directions with his erratic movements, Tobirama distantly thought that it was ironic they should have their messiest sex here in the bathroom where they were meant to be cleaning themselves. His rhythm sped up just slightly when he felt that telltale gathering of tension and realized he was fast approaching orgasm. And if he was close then Madara definitely had to be after being the only one to benefit from a little foreplay.

Unclenching his fingers from the hips in his grasp was difficult. Tobirama had always been a fan of Madara’s hips and it was one of his favorite simple pleasures to hold them between his hands to guide his own thrusts. He managed only because he loved his partner and he knew just how much of a kink Madara had for being fucked through his orgasm. The heavy shudder he got for his troubles when he reached down in front of the other man to take Madara’s cock in hand was reward enough on its own for sacrificing his own small desires.

Both of them gasped in time with the fist stroking gently along Madara’s length, a perfect counterpoint to the way his hips couldn’t seem to remember their rhythm anymore. Tobirama pressed himself closer to the body in front of him until they were both pushing in to the wall, barely enough space left for his hand to desperately chase the end he could already feel coming.

Madara felt over the edge first, crying out once and writhing under the body pining him to the shower wall. His muscles clenched and his jaw fell open once again to let slip a litany of curse words liberally sprinkled with mewls and whines, softly begging Tobirama not to stop yet.

He got his wish for maybe a dozen more thrusts until Tobirama’s own pleasure crested and he went still with one final snap of his hips, burying himself as deep as he could to ride out the wave. It wasn’t until his eyes fluttered open after several minutes that he realized his limbs were all trembling as though he’d been training for the whole day without rest. Tobirama smiled tiredly to himself; it had been a long time since he’d worked himself up to such an intense orgasm. From the way Madara lay all but melted against the wall in front of himself it seemed that he was in much the same state.

Pulling away earned him a weak growl that would have made him laugh if he still had the energy. Unfortunately all his energy went in to fetching a washcloth so he could help Madara clean himself again before encouraging both of them towards the much needed hot water awaiting them.

Slipping in to the steaming bathtub and laying back with Madara’s weight settling on top of him was nothing short of heavenly. Tobirama groaned and rested his head against the lip of the tub, arms circling his husband’s waist to pull him in tight and keep them close. His eyes fell closed to take a deep breath. The entire room was filled with an interesting mix of sex and soap, not a combination he expected to work so well together but definitely enough to have him contemplating another round right here in the bathtub. He decided against it only because the very thought of moving right then had every muscle in his body screaming out in protest.

A low groan from somewhere around his chest made him look down and he smiled to see that Madara’s eyes were closed, his face lax, and without Tobirama’s arms holding him up he likely would have slid right under the steaming water.

“We’re both going to be nothing but giant prunes by the time we get out,” his husband grumbled. Tobirama pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Don’t worry. I think you’ll make a very sexy prune.”

“Never ever say that again.”

“Why ever not?” Tobirama asked, smirking at the way Madara’s nose scrunched up with distaste.

He was only mildly surprised to get no answer. Clearly Madara was more tired than he’d known if the man didn’t even have the energy to argue. Such a thing had only occurred a mere handful of times since they first moved in together and each time he found himself more amused than worried. Madara was a grown man, he knew his limits and pride be damned he knew when he had crossed the point of needing to ask for help. A little exhaustion hadn’t killed either of them yet.

Unfortunately Tobirama couldn’t afford to let his own body give out just yet. He did allow himself a proper soak before moving because there was no way he would deny himself such a treat but he used that time to gather energy enough to wrestle Madara in to sitting up. Only when he was sure his legs wouldn’t fold underneath him did he feel around with his toes and pull out the plug.

Emptying the tub was really the only way he would convince Madara to get out; fighting about it before hand would be wasted effort.

Ignoring the grumbles that he honestly sort of agreed with, Tobirama made them both stand up and watched with a smile as Madara tottered across the room to where he’d left the towels somewhere out of the splash zone. He accepted one for himself and gave his own body a cursory pat down before helping to squeeze out as much moisture as possible from Madara’s long hair. On a day when they were both awake and energized this task was usually more akin to wrestling a particularly squirmy child since Madara was always caught halfway between the soothing calm of having fingers in his hair and the frenetic energy of arousal from the same thing.

Right now all he did was sit still as Tobirama popped out to fetch the brush he had rescued earlier and set about the task that had led to all of their activities that night: brushing Madara’s hair. With the conditioner smoothing the way it wasn’t nearly as terrible a task as it had been when the locks were dry and bushy. Despite that it still took the better part of twenty minutes just for Tobirama to work out the worst knots and separate it all in to three mostly smooth sections.

“Are you braiding it?” Madara asked in a sleepy voice, all but nodding off on his stool.

“Of course I am. Going to bed with wet hair? You’ll soak the whole bed. At least this way you’re only going to soak your own side so I don’t have to sleep in wet blankets.” Tobirama snorted at his partner’s gentle huff.

“Fucking braids,” was all he managed to say but Tobirama was intrigued. Tomorrow he would definitely work on getting the full story of what exactly happened to the man’s hair.

Stepping back to admire his work, he announced, “All done. Bed time.”

“Finally,” Madara breathed.

Despite his exclamation of relief he didn’t seem capable of getting up on his own just then. Tobirama had to help him off the stool and the two of them propped themselves up against each other’s shoulders as they wandered out in to the next room and crashed down on the bed, wriggling their legs until one of them caught the blanket and kicked it upwards.

Madara snuffled adorably as he shoved and pushed until Tobirama rolled over so he could curl himself in behind the younger man, his rightful place in bed as he called it, always the big spoon no matter that he would never be the taller man. Since it saved him the trouble of sleeping with mouthfuls of hair Tobirama had never bothered to complain. He was doubly grateful tonight not to sleep with his face pressed against that still damp braid, his own short hair already mostly dry.

Silence settled over them like an extra blanket and Tobirama was halfway to some much needed sleep when a quiet voice murmured against the base of his neck.

“Missed you,” he heard Madara admit quietly. He lips stretched in a gentle smile and he squeezed the hand wrapped around to grope loosely at his chest.

“And I you. Now sleep; it seems as though you’ve earned it.”

No response came but the even breathing against his skin that told him Madara had probably fallen asleep before he was even done talking. And that was fine, really. Tobirama closed his eyes again and shuffled back a little closer to the man behind him, holding on tightly to the hand in his grasp as he reached for dreams of his own.

“Welcome home.”

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 2. )

The boisterous city surrounded them, nearly drowning them in constant festive cheer but only silence accompanied Bonnie and her mysterious escort. Only their steps on the pavement signaled their temporary alliance despite its rocky, unorthodox start. But was there anything orthodox about Bonnie Bennett? The earlier mention of Damon brought chaos into her heart. In return, like a vicious slap, her mind forced her to revisit an ancient, long buried memory. In the thick of the forest surrounding Mystic Falls, there was a small, magical place. Forsaken by all. Except them. Together, they named it their meadow. Their secret, hiding place. A place to escape the madness that danced in their world, even for just a little while. The memory on itself was not a particularly pleasant one yet she still found herself to be quite fond of it. She called it their perfect, final farewell. In desperate need for some peace and quiet, a moment in time to let her thoughts wander and, quite frankly, torment her, she had practically raced toward their spot. Drops of sweat formed a line along her hairline, her breath labored from the exertion. Quickly making a mental note to work out more often, her legs gave out beneath her weight. The bruises on her knees were superficial compared to the ones found on her heart. Brutal silence greeted her and she welcomed it for a change. Lying on her side, her fingers played with stems of grass, and her thoughts ran wild. In the midst of her reverie, she failed to notice his arrival. “What are you doing here?” Her tone gentle, charged with emotional turmoil. He said nothing. Instead, he took a seat beside her and stared at her like he had done a million times before. She brought herself into a sitting position, and her head tilted. The strange light she found in his gaze rose the hairs of her arms in alarm. She grew uncomfortable as the silence stretched. And she hated the sensation. With him, silence had always been peaceful, warm. But everything had changed. His fingers twitched as if he was at war with himself. The struggle in him unleashed chaos in her soul, and her heart's wounds reopened. Stitches weakened under the strain of her love. She bled in silence but dared to do what he did not. Trembling fingers reached for his cheek but a moment of hesitation stilled her fingers. He took her by surprise when his own gripped hers in soothing tenderness and brought them to the side of his face. If she lived a thousand lifetimes, she would never forget the longing wreaking havoc across his chiseled features. The memory imprinted itself on her soul with no expiration date. Then, he let her go. His fingers dropped hers, the emptiness left slapping her. Hard. He rose to his height again, ready to bolt. She wasted not a single breath to follow after him. “Damon! Wait.” She pleaded. “What do you want from me, Bon?” His voice thick with emotion. “I— I. . . Forget it.” She shook her head and turned his back to him, ready to leave. Pieces of her heart tumbled to the ground on her departure. Suddenly, a pair of arms caught her. Halting her rushed exit and opening the gates to humiliation. “Bonnie Bennett, you do not walk away like this. You're the brave one between you and I.” His forehead touched hers intimately. And again, she shook her head. “We can't do this, Damon.” “I know. I... I just needed to see you today.” Her breath fondled his lips as hers parted and her head nodded in understanding. “You. . . be happy. Okay?” The sincerity in her broken voice nearly brought him to his knees. “And, I know one of these days, you won't remember me anymore but I always will. I'll carry you in my heart with nothing but tenderness and respect.” He started to contradict her with a shake of his head. “Your stubbornness still drives me mad, woman. I could never forget you, Bonnie Bennett. You're an amazing person, wonderful friend and one hell of a woman.” Her fingers caressed his cheek. “Thank you. For lying to me in merciful fashion.” “I'm not.” “Then I guess this is just another thing we add to the pile of things we could never agree on.” One of his infamous smirks took over his lips for brief heartbeats until the expression grew serious once more. Then, he unknowingly glued some lost pieces of her back to their original place when he dipped her head and brought his lips to her forehead for an innocent kiss of goodbye. He was gone before she had time to reopen her eyes. “Bonnie? Bonnie? You still with me?” The foreign accent in Kyrian's voice catapulted her back to reality, far far away from the fields of memories. For an entire heartbeat, her feet refused to advance as she centered herself, holding onto any and everything she could that belonged to the present. The past was a mere passage, the place we used to be before experience and wisdom. And her journey had never been an easy one yet on the way, she did find moments of blissful peace. The recollection of those dreamy-like memories strengthened her heart, rebuilt her defenses and offered her renewed purpose. She never faltered in her path. Ink dark hair bounced bewitchingly as she shook her head, gathering her thoughts and words. “I'm sorry. I got caught up in a moment back there. Something about this city...” With an odd light to those fathomless midnight eyes, his gaze penetrating, a myriad of emotions danced across his features before he too shook his head as if he had just walked through a similar hell. The echoes of grief remained etched to his face. “Your love is admirable, Bonnie.” Stupid bewilderment stole the light in her features, darkening her expression. How did he. . . “Excuse me?” He never replied. Pressing his hand to the lower of her back, he prompted her forward before whispering, “We're here.” More disturbed than ever, Bonnie glanced between the stranger who called himself Kyrian (no last name) and the dully-lit entrance of a bar/restaurant with a sign that read ' Sanctuary ' and a moonlit hill and a motorcycle in the background. In smaller letters, she read ' Home of the Howlers '. Curious to learn more about this place as her senses reeled with the suffocating presence of different species of preternatural creatures, Bonnie followed Kyrian's lead as he greeted the man standing guard at the main entrance. The blonde, exceptionally gorgeous man dazzled her with a crooked smile she was sure had charmed many women's panties to the floor. “Evenin', Dark Hunter. Acheron's already inside waiting. He asked me to ask you to meet him in the soundproof room.” Then his gaze landed on Bonnie. “And who might you be, beautiful? A goddess from a foreign pantheon stranded in New Orleans?” At first, Bonnie's innocence had her believe it was just an elaborate mean to flirt with her but then, one quick glance into the bar later, reality kicked into gear. His question hadn't been a metaphor. Kyrian, in all his 6'5 glory of absolute strength and charisma, proceeded with the introductions. “Dev, this is Bonnie Bennett. And she's a child of Hecate, a witch. And a powerful one at that. You best remember that.” Then, he turned to Bonnie with a killer grin. “Bonnie, this huge mountain of a bear,” he paused to chuckle at something she couldn't comprehend as she remained in the dark in all things of this side of the supernatural world, “is Dev Peltier. The Peltiers own this place.” The confusion painted on Bonnie's face gave motive to the two males to burst out laughing at her expense. Big mistake. Bonnie Bennett was an easy witch to anger. Soon enough, they were both frantically slapping themselves to extinguish the flames that rose from thin air on their clothes. “I like her already. She's going to fit in just perfectly in our crazy, demented family.” Dev lifted her hand to his lips to offer her a chivalrous kiss to her fingers. “It's a pleasure, ma chère.” “I'm still deciding but I'll get back to you.” The tiniest grin playing at the edges of her lips betrayed the coldness in her words. One step into the bar had Bonnie hesitating for a second. For some ungodly reason, she could not shake the feeling that the next steps would belong to the beginning of a new chapter of her life. Ever fearless in nature, determination painted itself on her face like war paint before following after Kyrian to the upper floor where they were supposed to meet with this feared, highly respected leader. Once at the top of the stairs, Kyrian paused to admire Bonnie walk through the crowd. No. Not walk, he quickly decided. Glide. She glided with unparalleled grace that even the goddesses lacked. And for a single fraction of time, his missing soul screamed out in agony as it remained tucked away in the hands of the goddess who owned him. Two thousand years of blind solitude were taking its toll on him, his mind, his heart. And the soul that no longer inhabited his body. She commanded attention from every patron, even those who refused to be noticed themselves. A whisperer of souls, she bewitched them all. The tragedy of it all translated in her naïveté; she couldn't even imagine the effect of her own presence. There was peaceful hope radiating off of her that just mesmerized those brave enough to come near her. She was sunlight, exotic beauty and warmth. Fierce loyalty, and raw kindness bled from her. In all his years of existence, he swore he had never come across a woman like her. She stood in a category reserved solely for her. Only a few could ever dream of reaching it. He nearly fell on his knees as a supplicant to a goddess, praying for absolution, when she finally approached him with disarming smile on her Cupid bow shaped lips. The flames of Tartarus chanted his name as he lost the inner battle of wills and his fingers reached for hers. The deep longing to feel the softness of her skin against his slayed his proud stubbornness. Gently drawing her into the quiet, more reclusive corner of the Sanctuary, he ventured into a hallway and opened a door on their right before robbing her of breath as those midnight skies bore into her. Her throat parched, she found it impossible to deliver any words. Her treacherous mind wasn't operating properly anyway, she would only embarrass herself when she stumbled in her words. At last, dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't sure what to expect on the other side of the door until Kyrian pushed it open to reveal. . . A horde of incredibly handsome men, all dressed in black and sporting a 'don't fuck with me' attitude. What in the Hades? Bonnie looked over her shoulder to see Kyrian there, a smirk dancing at the edges of his lips. He was enjoying this. The bastard! They all grew quiet as she entered the room. Bonnie never felt so out of her element until this moment. Dumbfounded, her eyes glanced between every individual, expecting to wake up at any moment now. When a minute stretched into a few, she decided this was probably real. Kyrian prompted her forward. Her heart raced, uncertain of how to tread in these unknown waters as every pair of eyes studied her as if expecting her to hold the knowledge of some mystery they needed solved. One of them stepped forward with something akin to controlled fury bleeding from him. The opaque sunglasses kept his gaze hidden from her. Waves of shock shook her all the way to her foundation as she took notice of his young age. He couldn't be older than twenty. The poster child for the Goth movement, the man exuded sensuality from every pore, he commanded respect and dared anyone to cross him with the promise of eternal torment. Abnormally tall, with dark purple hair semi-tamed in a ponytail, he had the gait of skilled predator, ready to pounce if necessary. This was one scary creature.

“Bonnie, welcome to New Orleans. Acheron Parthenopaeus.” She nearly gasped when the thunderous voice of his, thick with an ancient accent, slapped her. “That's Talon of the Morrigantes, Julian of Macedonia and Wulf Trygvassen.” The three men inclined their collective heads at her in formal greeting. She fumbled with her rings, suspicious of her role in this meeting. Why would any of them need a female in the midst of an impenetrable wall of testosterone? An angry growl rumbled, unexpectedly. Followed by a curse so foul, she cringed. This time, a gasp escaped her, and her feet brought her a few steps backwards. A firm but impressively gentle grip forced her to a stop and the green of her eyes collided with her own reflection upon the surface of those damned sunglasses. Lifting her wrists, badly bruised from her earlier attempt to escape her temporary imprisonment, Acheron pointed at them as if offended. “I thought I had told you she was to be brought here on her own terms, Commander.” In return, Kyrian brought his arms upwards in initial surrender until his temper flared and scorched all common sense. “Come on, Ash! You knew better than that. All it took me was two seconds in her mind to know she would never come here willingly. That's why you sent me, damn you! Don't think I don't regret doing... that. Stupid mistake, I fucking know it. You don't have to slap my ass, boss.” With that angry tirade, he vacated the room with furious steps. She almost followed him. “He's right, you know? I'm the first to admit his methods were a bit archaic but I wouldn't have come otherwise. This...” Her gaze fell on the bruises left by the merciless bite of shackles. “This is my fault. I don't do well in cages. And something tells me you understand that better than you let on.” A contrite expression fell on Acheron's features. What happened to this man? She couldn't put her finger on it but something about him pulled the strings of her heart in sympathy for his pain and everything he hid from the world behind those dark sunglasses. A familiar warmth spread from her wrists to her arms and rest of the body while his thumbs rubbed the marred flesh. It didn't take him more than two seconds, this walking enigma of a creature unleashed a mere sliver of raw power to return her skin back to its original shade, healing it completely. Unsure of what it meant, Bonnie decided to pull the plug to this ongoing mysterious meeting. She wanted answers and she was going to get them no matter what. If there was one thing she hated more than lies, it was being thrown into a situation she had no knowledge about. And she absolutely despised feeling so lost and disoriented. “Alright. Time's up. Who are you? And why was I brought here? You have one minute before I leave. I suggest you use your time well.”

[ciathyzareposts]

Missed Classic: The Institute – WON! and Final Rating

by Will Moczarski

Last time I explored the first of four dreams that make up the bulk of The Institute. I presented it as a streamlined narrative for your convenience, rather than describe all of my errancies. On my first run, for example, I examined the bronze statue from the inside as well. The bronze key let me unlock its door, and I was able to enter. I found myself in an empty chamber but looking up revealed a rope I could climb. At the top of the statue, there was a platform but the air was unreasonably thin. I suffocated and found myself back in the closet.

This is one of the core mechanics of The Institute. You need to die in every dream in order to wake up. Later ports redeemed this by enabling you to simply type “wake up” but in the original version, if you were stuck, you had to find a way to die. There are only a couple of dead ends I know of, and my first playthrough prompted me to plunge right into one of them. By not picking up the umbrella but rather suffocating inside the bronze statue with my father’s face (don’t you just love those sentences that only make a certain amount of sense in the context of game descriptions?), I didn’t have a key item for the second dream. Now you don’t get to choose: If you eat the powder for the first time, you’ll enter the first dream, and then you always enter them in the same order which means that you need to hold on to some key items like the red bottle with the powder, the cup of water to wash it down and – the umbrella. If you enter the second dream without the umbrella you can neither escape nor die but remain floating and eventually have to restart the game. Also, if you leave the red bottle or the cup of water anywhere outside the institute proper, you can’t enter another dream. I withheld all of this from you in order to provide a more readable account of my playthrough. It is in the same spirit that I will not relate all of my frantic dream-hopping in the second part but rather smooth it all over in order to provide some orientation. Second Dream: My Heart Will Go On

After eating the powder for the second time, I arrive in a strange and opaque place. I am in the dark, and hot air and smoke are rising up from beneath me. Having tried out all of my items to get out of this conundrum on the first try (including eating more powder which does not work inside a dream), I quickly figured out that I needed the umbrella (as described above). This time, I’ve got it, and opening it triggers one of the characteristic scripted sequences courtesy of Jyym Pearson. I am floating upward for a few turns until I can make out where I am: above an ocean liner on a moonlit night. Apparently, my dream started with me being stuck inside a smokestack. After floating down, I gently land on the deck of this “huge ship”. I find a life preserver with the name of the ship written on it: I am aboard the “S.S. Titanic”.

There are only two other rooms here: Firstly, I can open a door to enter a luxury suite with plush furnishings. Old paintings line the walls, and after going through my usual routine, I attempt to move them. I am told that one of the paintings is attached with screws, so I will probably need some tools to get it off. Just to make sure, I type “unfasten screws” (an old Vietnam war trauma) but, predictably, it doesn’t work. The second “room” is the stern of the ship where I discover that some huge icebergs are already dangerously close. After two moves, I can hear a horrid noise: an iceberg struck and the ship is sinking. I try to “jump ship” and it works: I find myself in the cold water of the Atlantic.

It’s a rather hopeless situation. If I look, I see nothing special. If I try to swim, I am told that it’s no use. How motivating! As it’s not my first Pearson game I know it may be possible to dive, so I give it a try. It works, and I find an iron bar which is somehow…floating here? Or did I dive all the way to the bottom of the freezing Atlantic? Dream logic is similar to moon logic, it seems. I still need to get out of here, though, and diving again does the trick. A shark attacks me, and I awaken. The other possibility is to wait out the crash and sink with the ship – it also makes you wake up but you don’t get the opportunity to find the iron bar.

Third Dream: Funny little men searching for their mummies

After eating some more of the good stuff, I am at the entrance to an ancient, pagan temple. There is a huge stone door to the east, and there’s a plant growing through a crack in the door. Now this is a classic adventure game puzzle: feed or water the plant to climb it (Adventure, Maniac Mansion). It works here, too, albeit in a slightly different way: the plant grows rapidly but you don’t need to climb it (for now), as it widens the crack and lets you enter the temple. Inside, there’s an altar and I pray that I don’t need to dig for an imaginary helmet. The altar is bloodstained, so it may be used for sacrifices. There is also a huge steel door to the north with the figure of a lizard on it. With nothing more to do, it takes me quite a while to die here but eventually I find out that you can climb the temple from the outside and fall to your death. Time to see what the fourth dream is all about.

Fourth Dream: Alive when they start to eat you

I find myself “in a prehistoric rain forest far, far back in time.” To the east, there is a large saber-toothed tiger guarding a chest. I can go there but if I try to do anything, it devours me and I wake up. I soon find out that this dream is particularly small, even smaller than the second one. There is only one other “room” to the south where I find a shallow stream and a large rock. Moving the rock reveals a lizard which I can pick up. Hmm, where did I see this before? Exploration is hindered because I get killed by the tiger a lot and there’s no save feature. After a few attempts I am pretty sure that the fourth dream only consists of three rooms.

Revisiting the Dreams and Endgame

At least I’ve got some leads to work on but I still don’t know what to do with the bronze statue if there’s anything to do there at all. It’s only when I look at each screen again that I find something has changed in the first dream: a large plant has grown beside the tiny stream. After recovering my shovel from some other dream, I try to dig, and the game asks me “dig what?” “Dig plant” lets me pick up the “weird plant” which is still pulsating in my hand. Eww. I don’t know what to do with this but maybe something will come up later. Also, I try to open the Acme tool box with the iron bar but that doesn’t work as I seem to need a key.

There are no noticable changes in the second dream but I’ve got an idea for the third one – you probably guessed it, too? The inventory limit becomes quite the issue, however. I have to cycle through the four dreams a lot of times to get it right as three spots are always reserved for the red bottle, the cup of water and the umbrella. Back in the pagan temple, I can’t kill the lizard as I thought might be correct. Counting on the Pearsons’ faible for unusual verbs, I try out the most straightforward solution next: “sacrifice lizard.” There is a huge bang and the steel door is history. I can now climb upwards to a stone anteroom with horrid paintings on the walls: men with reptilian heads! Another ancient stairway leads me further up but this one is trapped: a gas vapor on the stairs burns my lungs out and I awaken in a sweat. Now I have to say that having to cycle through all of the dreams to get back to the puzzle I am currently trying to solve is truly becoming a nuisance, especially because the ‘floating’ part in the second dream takes up a lot of time. I really have to make it count this time, or I’ll be back to the beginning without having achieved anything. Now what could I possibly do about gas? In Escape from Traam I had to find a helmet beneath an altar that would protect me from it. Could this be the solution again? I try to examine everything even more thoroughly but don’t discover anything new. Maybe I can just…wing it? In Escape from Traam, when I was really frustrated after a while, I tried to hold my breath to no avail. I try it here and it works! The trapped stairway leads me to a religous (sic!) chamber with statues of hideous ancient gods. There is nothing I can do here but to the west there is another room, a high ceilinged throne chamber. A huge stone sphere with a hole inside appears to be missing some crucial part. I try to insert anything that sort of makes sense, and the mirror does the trick. The light reflects into the hole and a rumbling sound builds. After two more turns the sphere breaks open revealing a chunk of raw meat and a Captain Spud comic book. I’m no expert when it comes to comics but this is probably the metaphorical garnish for the meat, right? Unfortunately, I can’t read the comic book as the words are too big. This is kind of realistic – for a dream – isn’t it? Can you ever read inside a dream?

I examine the room some more and find out that the throne has a handle. When I pull it, it turns out to be a toilet. No further questions, Your Honour. I climb back into the gas in order to die, as I’ve got an idea where the raw meat may be useful. Exactly, the prehistoric rain forest! I can throw it to the tiger which makes him leave straight away. I half-expect the chest to be locked but there are no more obstacles now and I can easily obtain the screwdriver. Hmm, screwdriver. Sounds familiar. Yes, back to the Titanic! Somewhere back I have triggered a chain of events and now I can play it out puzzle after puzzle. However, there’s a problem: How do I manage to die now that the tiger’s gone? Even if the rain forest only has three rooms I get stuck here for a couple of minutes – until I notice the stream, that is. Its water is apparently poisonous, and I awaken in a sweat.

Back on the Titanic, I try the slightly inelegant “unscrew screws” to presumably pick up the painting. However, it’s not the painting I’m after: Behind it there’s a small key! Even better, as I already know what I may need it for. After drowning, suffocating and poisoning myself once more, I am back inside my first dream. And what do you expect to be inside the Acme tool box after all this wackiness? That’s right, a wrench. What the hell do I need that for?

I walk around all four dreams for quite a while. And once more I’m really lucky. After a while I decide to climb to the platform inside the bronze statue again – where I previously suffocated after a couple of turns. This time I coincidentally have the weird plant in my inventory (I’ve been shuffling things around quite a bit) and what do you know? “The plant fills the room with oxygen.” That probably means something! I have enough time to discover a steel door now. Its lock is covered with numbered buttons and at first I’m stumped by this. Numbers? I look at my notes and…of course, the billboard at the beginning of the game! I enter “56621” and proceed into a small octagonal room. On the floor there’s a steel cover which I easily remove with my Earthquake – San Francisco 1906 skills (“lift cover”). Underneath I find a large steel bolt. This must be what the wrench is for! I turn the bolt and the entire statue collapses. Wow, some dream! At least I am thrown clear and land on top of a key. Must be some powder, too! Without anything left to do, I wander around for a bit until I get the idea that this might be the key I have been looking for all this time. “The key to your insanity is your father” is what the counselor said – now that I’ve blown up his statue I hold the key to my sanity in turn, I suppose? It took me much longer to figure this out than I’d like to admit but there is absolutely no indication that I’ve all but solved the game at this point – no victory message, no hint, no nothing.

I carefully drop the red bottle and return to the counselor’s office. Finally, I unlock and open the door there, and that’s it! I’m free!

Ports Comparison

As I remember the ending to be a bit different, I am looking forward to revisiting the ports of the game. The Institute was ported to the Apple ][, Atari 8-bit machines and the Commodore 64 in 1983, and the ports all use the same graphics by Rick Incrocci. Norman Sailer was once again responsible for the programming involved and interestingly, the ports are attributed to Jyym and Robyn Pearson. These ports also have the distinction of being two ‘firsts’ in our marathon: they are the first games published by Med Systems’ successor Screenplay (they renamed their company in 1983) as well as the first ones to feature music.

The Apple ][ version begins with a short fugato in a pseudo-baroque style, possibly likening the game to the gothic horror atmosphere of Curse of Crowley Manor. Even the title screen hints at a haunted house game rather than a surrealistic ‘escape the sanitarium’ adventure. There is no music in the game itself, however, it appears to be reserved for the title screen. As the Apple ][ features the worst graphics of the three ports resolution-wise and the illustrations by Rick Incrocci are the same for all three games, I will play through the Commodore 64 version only. However, here are the opening screenshots from the other two ports for comparison:

The Atari version features very different music which is more simple, less melodic and much more in keeping with what you usually hear in psychological drama films from the 1960s. Still, it’s definitely less elaborate. Also, the parser screen looks different. While the Apple ][ version employs that machine’s standard font (and look), the Atari version uses its own, meaning that parser screen looks like the ones in all of the text adventures we’ve previously played on that system.

The Commodore 64 version is the one I remember from way back when. As this platform is the most advanced of the three, it doesn’t come as a surprise that this one looks best. Or does it? I am surprised that this version has no music and doesn’t look as good as I remembered at all. Still, I want to play it, if only for nostalgic reasons.

  The first change is that the “disfigured dwarf” now tells me that I’m here for “political reasons”, whatever that is supposed to mean. I wonder whether they’ ll pick up on this somewhere in this port (spoiler: they won’t). The coffee cup is now an old mug but it’s still old and dirty. Strangely, there’s a closed door in my room but I can’t open it in any of the ports. I wonder what went wrong there, the view from the hall makes more sense spatially. The denomination of the mirror is also simplified: I can pick up a mirror instead of a jagged mirror now. Also, there’s a cute little sound effect when I break the mirror but I still wonder why they didn’t use the famous SID chip more! The red bottle is now a “funny bottle” but the description is the same. There’s another confusing door in the dispensary, as if the illustrator had entirely different maps to work with. When I look at the ward room, the plaque that says “peace=death” is shown in a close-up which helpfully emphasizes its significance for a later puzzle. I accidentally find out that I can talk to the patients: an old man talks of the gods of Babel, a woman just stares at me and cries, then everyone starts howling in unison. As I’m sure that I tried this in the TRS-80 version, I take a quick look at the source code and verify that it was possible in the original. I must have overlooked that option!

The counselor is a stereotypical psychoanalyst: glasses, full beard, half bald, looks a lot like Billy Crystal. The door to his office is now a “private door”. His utter evilness is further emphasized when looking at him reveals that he is drooling at the mouth – must be a bad man, indeed! When I’m locked up, the denomination of the rope is, again, simplified: it’s just a rope now, not a long rope. They saved some adjectives in the remakes. When I cut the padding, the image changes. Also, when I drop the mug, it’s right there on the ground. I am pleasantly surprised that I can visibly interact with the gameworld. The description of the “cup of water” is once again simplified: I am carrying only “water” now.

The images of the first dream are really beautiful, I like them a lot. When I climb the cliff, I see a dark figure seemingly hiding in the bushes and remember that when I last played this, I tried to interact with it for a long time. Now I know that it’s supposed to represent the statue seen from a distance but images apparently can and will be misleading sometimes. When I look through the telescope, not every step is illustrated – only the billboard gets its own picture, once again emphasizing the importance of the numbers for a later puzzle. I could have sworn that I remembered the view of the planet, then the continents and so on but it must have been all in my head.

The major advantage of the pictures shows when the corpse turns up – all of the changes are now visible and I don’t have to type “look” again to see whether something might be different. Next to the bubbling stream, there is now a small blue owl who warns me that “whoooosoever passes here..must have read the plaque.” This probably refers to the “peace=death” sign in the ward room but it’s not really helpful at this point, so I wonder why they put it in. I think that a hint for the ‘glow’ puzzle might have been in order but this seems slightly useless. There is one small change with it, too, however: I drink from the stream until I am glowing but this time I am glowing green which makes more sense as I still can pass the green man when I’m glowing (nondescriptly) in the original. The midget now indeed looks a bit like Harry Truman in a diving suit. I still kick the former president (sorry) and there’s a very nice first person perspective shot of him attacking me.

The hole in the log is now a “large hole” but it’s still not my favourite puzzle. Moving on, the huge green man now looks distinctly “oriental”, wearing a turban. The other natives look like caricatures of stereotypical “natives”, however, and I must say that these two pictures are not Incrocci’s best efforts in a couple of ways. When I’m waking up from the first dream there’s a rather random picture of fireworks. Also, this formerly only non-violent way to die now makes me slip and fall to my death. Aboard the Titanic I now have to look at the deck to discover the life preserver; apart from that, nothing has changed. The iron bar is now a crowbar, everything else is largely the same. A shark now “had me for lunch”, marking another small change in the text. And the pictures are still very nice here.

Watering the plant in front of the pagan temple makes the whole image break apart. I remember that I assumed this to be a bug way back when but now I’m not so sure – it may be an odd stylistic choice. The picture of a lizard on the steel door is now clearly visible, making the altar puzzle a bit easier. In the prehistoric forest, the tiger is visible from the first screen which is in keeping with the description. There is a pteranodon in the sky above the poisonous stream. When I drink from the stream, I now awaken “with the cramps”.

I should consider myself lucky that the lizard didn’t put up a fight or I may have lost!

The “weird plant” puzzle is now a tiny bit easier because I can see it grow next to the stream. It still seems like a stretch that it keeps me from suffocating. I understand the connection, surely, but it still feels unusual to me. When I return to the temple, the image has almost melted – it must be a bug after all. The lizard turns out to be a giant creature when I sacrifice it. I wonder how I managed to carry this beast around with me! The “raw meat” is now a steak and the illustrations of the temple are also quite nice. It’s only now that I notice that it would be possible to use the closet as a stash house without the risk of losing anything inside a dream. How stupid of me to ignore this possibility completely! Also I notice that last time I have neglected to simply look at the gold key to find out that it has “The Institute” written on it. That would have saved me some time in the end game.

Speaking of which: When I now return to the counselor’s room, he’s gone. Is it because I shot him in my dream? Outside the institute, there is a new epilogue, and this is the one I remember: two “alien life forms” in the shapes of Jyym Pearson and Norm Sailer await me, and I can talk to them. Two programmers who stylise themselves as aliens? This was still years before the first Space Quest came out, mind you! They have a short congratulatory message complete with some advertising for me: “Congratulations..you’ve conquered ‘The Institute’ But just wait till ‘Lucifer’s Realm’!” Indeed, I will play that, too, and soon. “Lucifer’s Realm” is up in 1982, and it has a reputation of being notoriously hard. Will I solve that one without hints, too? It’s unlikely but stay tuned, maybe my past experiences with the Pearsons’ games will help me once again.

  Summary: The 1981 Adventures by Jyym & Robyn Pearson

Speaking of which: I’d like to take another short detour before the PISSED rating to evaluate the five Jyym and Robyn Pearson adventures I have played through so far. They were all written in 1980 and 1981 according to their copyright stamps, although I’m not sure whether Saigon: The Final Days was maybe only released in 1983. Apart from some trademark moves (verbs they seem to have liked, recurring situations), they were all very innovative – even the stinker that was Escape from Traam. I’d like to point out some of these innovations and ask myself what Jyym and Robyn Pearson attempted to do differently with the still very new adventure game genre around 1981.

1. Scripted Sequences

Now this one is pretty obvious, and I just kept pointing them out whenever they occurred. There are long passages in which the control over the parser is taken away from the player to insert an interlude or a textual cutscene of sorts. This is not completely unheard of in other games but in 1981 it would have been novel. Also, I can’t think of many writers of traditional text adventures who used this feature so excessively.

2. Innovative Settings

This is no D&D territory. While Adventure and Zork were firmly rooted in fantasy settings, Scott Adams already tried to move away from them with Pirate Adventure and The Count in the late 1970s. Lance Micklus wrote his Dog Star Adventure in 1979 and science-fiction even turned up in Peter Langston’s early Wander games dating back as far as 1974. Hence, Curse of Crowley Manor and Escape from Traam are not as innovative. However, Earthquake – San Francisco 1906 and Saigon: The Final Days boast historical settings that were even marketed as well-researched and realistic backdrops to the games. While one can argue about that, both games are still very unusual in this regard. The Institute even tries to be sort of avantgarde by presenting its story in a highly surrealistic fashion, splitting the gameworld into one reality and four different dreams. Also, in the first five games, they have managed not to repeat themselves which is highly commendable.

3. No Treasure Hunts

The most famous adventure games of the early 1980s were treasure hunts: almost all of Scott Adams’s adventures, Roberta Williams’s Mystery House, Zork (minus the endgame of Zork III and the mainframe Zork) – you name it. Curse of Crowley Manor deviates from this norm a lot. The other three games we’ve seen also avoid treasure hunts but they’re essentially escape plots which is the other conventional if rarer plot structure around that time.

4. Experiments With Death

Another issue is death. While most adventure games dealt with it as a means of punishing the player for a misstep or elongating their playtime, the Pearsons’ games feature a very lenient approach to restarts. If you happen to die in one of the early games (which still happens frequently, mind you), you can restart from the beginning with your inventory intact. Sometimes this leads to otherwise avoided dead ends but in general it’s a very player-friendly alternative. The innovation doesn’t stop there, though. Death increasingly becomes important for the storyworlds of their games. In Saigon: The Final Days it becomes a distinct device responsible for most of the atmosphere: you will die very, very frequently and quite plausibly, thus it never feels like punishment but rather adds to the superb atmosphere of the game. The Institute makes you die over and over again. There is but one way (I discovered) to die inside the institute but in order to wake up from a dream you actively need to find ways to die there. In other words: to jump from mini-adventure to mini-adventure, you need to reset the situation. In a way, this is an elaborate variation of the ‘start again with your inventory intact’ mechanics of Jyym Pearson’s first three games.

All things considered, it was a great experience to explore these gifted authors’ games back to back because their personal style was clearly palpable. The Institute may well be the most impressive of the bunch, but will it also turn out to be the best according to our trusted PISSED rating?

PISSED Rating

Puzzles & Solvability: The puzzles were great! There was a lot of variation because the game had these discreet dreamworlds and the inventory limit made me think twice about everything I tried. Most things were pretty logical, too, if the player took heed and examined everything as thoroughly as possible (like I did). I stumbled onto two solutions by accident, and these two particular puzzles might otherwise have spoiled the game for me: there is no indication about the plant keeping you safe in the oxygen-free zone atop the statue, and no-one in their right mind would think that they had to drink from a stream around ten times to start glowing and then use yourself (!) as a light source in a dark hut. The latter one, especially, was really absurd, and there were no hints at all to help me with it. I just lucked out. As all of the other puzzles were really nice and balanced and we’re still in 1981 here, I’ll be a bit lenient and say 6.

Interface & Inventory: Just as good (and bad) as in the other games. No guess-the-verb games (“focus telescope” is a possible case but even that wasn’t too bad) and the inventory limit is put to good use for once – as what can truly be described as a meta-puzzle. They’ve learned from their mistakes, so 4 it is.

Story & Setting: Innovative and ambitious. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense and isn’t utterly complicated as a whole (escape from the Institute, John! You’re not insane!) but it makes good use of its different settings. The dreams felt a bit unbalanced as two of them had only three or four rooms while the others were substantially bigger. I’ll say 3.

Sound & Graphics: The same as always but I like these decorative pictures: 1 point, as usual. The 1983 ports have (for the most part, I have to criticise the stereotypically “ethnic” natives) really beautiful pictures this time – for a 1983 game, I’ll give them 5 points.

Environment & Atmosphere: The whole game has that certain Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland flair with a dark twist. Many of the suggestions and allusions are never explicitly followed up on but this fragmentary feeling is suitable for the game’s overall composition. Compared to Saigon, it’s a bit less involving which may be because of its artificiality. It’s still pretty strong in this regard: 5.

Dialogue & Acting: More NPCs who have something to say but it’s in the nature of the game that most of it is nonsensical. It continues the trend of Saigon but adds an Orwellian perversion to the nature of language in general (a bit like 1980’s The Prisoner in that regard). For a 1981 text adventure, that’s still commendable, so I’ll give it a lenient 2.

That makes 35 points for The Institute which marks the pinnacle of the Med Systems marathon so far. And it seems entirely reasonable. I may have enjoyed Saigon a bit more but The Institute is really an impressive game, all things considered. Zork I has the same score, and Zork I may have fewer flaws but the comparison doesn’t seem completely off. If we were to judge those games on their historical merits, there would be no competition between them at all but if I compare them both based on my own experience, a tie seems quite alright. The version with graphics would be rated even higher and receive a (hypothetical) 42 points – I say hypothetical, though, because the graphics may alter some other categories as well and I can’t really judge it after having just beaten the text-only version.

Next up we’ll have a recap of the games we skipped in 1981 as well as what little can be found out about the history of Med Systems Software during that year. After that, we’ll have the sequel to Asylum already, and I’m really looking forward to that one as I have very fond memories of it – it’s the game that sparked the whole marathon for me, after all. Stay tuned!

Session time: 3.5 hrs Total time: 5 hrs

Med Systems Marathon Overview:

(a) 1980 Summary (b) Reality Ends (1980) (c) Rat’s Revenge / Deathmaze 5000 (1980) (d) Labyrinth (1980) (e) Asylum (1981) (f) Microworld (1981)

Jyym & Robyn Pearson Mini-Marathon Overview: (a) Curse of Crowley Manor (1981) (b) Escape from Traam (1981) (c) Earthquake – San Francisco (1981) (d) Saigon: The Final Days (1981)

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/missed-classic-the-institute-won-and-final-rating/

[wordweasel]

October Spoop Fest #1

This month I’m trying to write one short horror story each day. I don’t really have a word limit so it can be anywhere from short fiction to (heaven forbid) a 30-pager. I’ll mark each post with the date and the prompt I used. For time, these are all first draft stories. I might revisit and edit them once October is over. Who knows! 

October 1st: Nostalgia The plastic wheels slide easily over Eve’s thumb. She wonders, briefly, if it would be worth anything on ebay--there’s no scratches and the paint still shines. But she flips the train around to examine its smiling face, and there’s an irony there she didn’t recognize when she was younger, which tarnishes the whole enterprise.

She drops the train back in the box marked “Eve’s things: toys” and moves to the window. The work makes her hot, and to keep it propped open she’s shoved another box (“Taxes: 1985-1992”) into the gap. Outside, the night beyond the window is unreachable, a black distance that stretches on and on, until it hits the lit upstairs window of the house at the far end of the street. A matchbox worth of light strikes her with a hiss.

When Eve was eleven, her mother took that job down at the gas station, working nights out on the freeway. There’d been a phone number scotch-taped to the kitchen wall, for emergencies, but the summer heat quickly curled the edges so it could only be read with fingers splayed to hold it flat. Eve never called it but she often imagined the situation that would precede such a thing--played at the horror of it, imagined some terrible fate that might befall her, and pictured her mother’s reaction when she came home, too late. But that was only an early evening game, and the nights were long despite the season. 

Eve rescued cardboard before it could go limp and gouged out train tracks using a closed pair of scissors until they were deep enough to catch the wheels. She built tunnels and covered bridges out of empty toilet paper rolls and cereal boxes. Slowly her entire bedroom turned into a kind of town, not like one she’d ever seen in real life but a kind of cookie tin town, with little streets lined with foil windows, and popsicle stick people leading busy lives. The train wound all the way around the town, with two switches that only took it to a second, larger loop that ran around the first. Concentric circles.

The train had two stops: Central Station, and the Mountains, so all the little popsicle stick people ever had to worry about was picnics. Sometimes bad things would happen but only a little--just enough to keep them on their toes.

Eve would stay up late, past her ten o’clock curfew, past midnight, until her eyes were blister-dry and it hurt to yawn, sometimes even until her mother’s car crackled over the gravel drive at five in the morning. The two of them would sleep until the afternoon and eat cereal at two, eggs at five, and bologna sandwiches right before her mother left for work again. Their tired faces were matching, their cutlery wasn’t.

One night Eve was lying on the floor next to her little town, her face pressed into the rough carpet, when she heard a sound. A glance at the clock told her it was only three and, besides, wasn’t the sound something different than her mother’s car? Yes, didn’t it sound like a song? 

The novelty was enough to pique her interest, even through the glaze of her insomnia, and she bit her lip and sat very still. Before long the sound came again: a mournful note, like an owl, coming through her bedroom window. The window was open but the curtains were pulled tight, so she crawled over to her nightstand to switch off the lamp, dousing the room in darkness. She fumbled her way to the window and drew back the curtains, just a little.

Outside the moon was yellow like a peach slice, and it dimly lit the edges of her yard, all the way to the bent oak tree with its broken swing. Beyond that the countryside was vague and shadowy, made up of ideas more than actuals. She listened again for the noise, and far away, in the house at the end of the street, a light in the upstairs window turned on. 

After she finishes sorting through the last of her mother’s paperwork, she piles the box on top of the others in the corner of her room. She likes grouping things like that, in little piles, where she can eyeball the entire domain of her accomplishment. There’s a final stack waiting in her mother’s closet, and the shed is sure to be another headache--but little by little, she finds herself making progress.

Eve’s mother could only take a few things with her to the residence, and since she wasn’t a sentimental person it was easy enough to pack. Eve thinks dryly that she never expected her mother to get out of this house before she did, but here we are, and anyway, she wouldn’t be far behind. 

She flicks off the old lamp on her nightstand and crawls into the twin-size bed. The mattress creaks under her weight. Maybe she’ll get a new one. She’s had a place picked out in town for a while now, with yellow-white cupboards just like the ones she has now, and a window that looks out onto an oak tree. Money is tight, but she has that job at the gas station, and she’s been working enough overtime to give her a little bit to spend on decor. Or maybe she’ll keep saving and even take a vacation. 

Lying down, a bubble of gas pops up her esophagus, bringing a bit of bile with it. She swallows it down and considers getting up to brush her teeth again--but she doesn’t struggle with sleep like she used to, and even as she’s thinking it, she’s already half asleep under the covers.

She wakes up what feels like moments later to a bright light shining through her bedroom window, and her heart pounding in her chest. Without moving her head she peeks, through her lashes, to the window at the foot of her bed, and that pinpoint of light widens into a funnel. It’s a burglar, she thinks, or a murderer. Someone checking to see if you’re awake. If you don’t move, if you stay still--But that’s silly, she thinks. I’m in my own house. 

With a dream-like confidence she slowly reaches beneath her bed for the baseball bat and, dragging it lightly across the carpet, she steps towards the window to look outside. It takes her a moment to realize that patch of bright light is the window in the house at the end of the street. Its glare is almost blinding, and she can feel the heat of it as if it were a spotlight. 

Annoyed, now, she pulls the curtains tight--but the light shines through, bright enough to light up her whole room, hot enough to bake her in it, too. A glance at the clock tells her it’s four, but she remembers that bout of insomnia that plagued her when she was young, and with a flash of anger she wonders if that distant window might have been to blame, then. 

She opens her window, as if to lean out and shout the light down--but when she does, all she hears is a low, mournful whistle.

The night is cool but not too cold, so she only slips on a cardigan and her loafers as she heads out the door. At the end of her gravel drive she could turn left to head to the road, which eventually would lead her to another road, and then that road into town--or she could turn right, towards the end of the street. She turns right. 

Even the crickets are asleep, so she walks up the lonely gravel with only the sounds of her own footsteps for company. Come to think of it, she’s never met the people in the house at the end of the street. Never seen them, except maybe--surely--as they drove by on their way to town. Eventually she gets to their house and sees a brown pick-up truck in the drive and, yes, that does look familiar. Yes, she must’ve seen them before. But neither Eve nor her mother were very good neighbors.This thought makes her climb the front steps with shaken confidence. Because it’s easy to be inconsiderate to neighbors you don’t know, and now that she’s on their porch it feels like they might know each other, after all, if only through distant lit windows.

The door cracks open before her. Her feet step off the shaggy welcome mat, and into the front dark hall. A stairwell immediately ahead of her is crowned at the top with a veil of light, so it seems that’s the obvious place to go. Besides, the whistling is coming from upstairs, as well--only now it’s loud, and instead of mournful it’s forceful. She has to hurry towards it or she’ll surely miss what she came for. She leaves the door open behind her because it will take care of itself, and sure enough, with a pneumatic hiss, it closes shut as she steps further inside. 

She feels the house begin to grind under her feet, and movement tugs her forward, up the stairs, curling around the banister until she reaches the top landing and there, before her, is that brightly lit room. The one that kept her up at night, the one that made her lose sleep, lose daylight, lose more than one summer, more than one year. She steps inside this room. There are four benches, each facing towards the door--it, too, swings shut behind her. The benches are wooden with ornate metal frames, painted red. The light is everywhere, but has no source. 

Outside, the house moves. Its wheels turn, slowly at first, with a little bit of a lurch at the end of each rotation. Eve realizes, too late, that in coming here she’s allowed herself to be taken away.But that door was shut behind her. It’s sealed with mechanical certainty--no latch or lever or handle can make it give way. Around her, the house issues a sharp, shrill whistle. It cuts through her head and cuts through the darkness of the countryside. 

She pries open the window, even with the heat of the light searing her back, and leans out--the landscape around her is contorted by the house’s speed, but that’s not what makes it unfamiliar. Finally she recoils from the window, the heat of the light is too much, and she stumbles back against the far corner of the room. 

She knows that most trains don’t only travel in a loop. She knows that most trains have a destination that’s different from its departure. She crouches in the corner, her eyes wide, as the engine churns beneath her. 

[misssophiachase]

not sure if you are taking prompts, but if you are...klaus doesn't back down from a challenge. it was how caroline ended up lying naked on the kitchen table, not able to do anything about the bowl of her homemade caramel that he's just dumped all over her naked body. if you're not taking prompts or this isn't one you want to do, that's totally fine.

Thanks nonnie, sorry for the delay in writing this. Hope you like my take, it’s set in the post TVD finale world where I am happily living since our endgame. Also I’m tagging you Angie luv @thetourguidebarbie, my smut enabler! NSFW.

Pour Some Sugar on Me

New Orleans - 33 months post TVD finale…

According to the Original siblings, Klaus and Caroline were insufferable nymphomaniacs. Given their sensitive hearing and those thin walls, according to Elijah, they’d left the compound for the weekend to escape the ‘noise pollution’ as Rebekah put it. Kol had tersely told them not to enjoy themselves as they left bags in hand, Klaus had retorted that he was just jealous. The resounding groan he heard from all his siblings only proving his point.

“I can’t believe it actually worked,” Caroline grinned triumphantly, looping her arms around his neck and playing with a stray curl at the nape. “We have the compound to ourselves for forty-eight whole hours.”

“What worked?”

“Oh come on you don’t think I was extra vocal by accident, do you?”

“I just assumed you were enjoying yourself, love,” Klaus replied, his slightly hurt expression not lost on Caroline. “You better not have been faking those orgasms given all the effort I put into pleasuring you.”

“Oh I was enjoying myself plenty, Klaus,” she purred, leaning in and placing a lingering kiss on his crimson lips, her tongue darting into his warmth briefly. She pulled back just as Klaus moaned into her mouth desperate for her to continue. “There’s no need to worry, you’re doing just fine in that department.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Klaus scoffed, although his tone was telling her something different. “I know what an amazing lover I am.”

“Well, to be fair you’ve had over one thousand years of experience,” she teased. “Do you realise we’ve had the place to ourselves for five minutes and we’re still talking?”

“Not that I’m complaining at all but has anyone ever told you just how insatiable you are?”

“I’m trying to make up for lost time, you know given however long it takes and all.”

“Hey, that was all you, love. You could have been in my bed, writhing beneath me for a lot longer if not for that stubborn Forbes determination.”

“I am not stubborn,” she pouted.

“Now that there is case in point” he joked. “It’s okay Caroline, in fact your obstinance is one of the many things I love about you. Your outstanding skills in the bedroom is one of the others.”

Caroline had shown up in New Orleans a month earlier. They’d had minimal contact since Hope started at Caroline’s magic school a year ago but she’d arrived to personally return his cheque. Klaus knew it hadn’t been cashed yet but wasn’t expecting her or it to arrive so unexpectedly on his doorstep. Their banter and simmering sexual tension had returned with full force as they bickered back and forth over possession of said cheque. The Mikaelsons, who were standing transfixed on the surrounding balconies, had all commented that it was the best show they’d seen in a while. Well, that was until it got extremely heated and not at all G rated.

“Stop being a baby Mikaelson and just take it,” she’d growled, shoving it at him for the tenth time.

“Oh, I’m being the immature one here?”

“I can’t accept this, the least you can do is let me return it to its rightful owner.”

“I don’t see my name on it,” he baulked. “You know it’s called a gift for a reason, Caroline.”

“It’s too much for me.”

“Caroline, you’re entirely missing the point here,” he lectured.

“Oh really, and what is that?” She scowled, hands on hips as she waited for his response.

“This isn’t for you, it’s for your school and your students, Hope and the twins included. Don’t you think they deserve to have this so they can enhance their learning experience?”

“Oh, so now you’re going to try and guilt me into accepting this money?”

“Why? Is it working?” He quipped, continuing before she could interrupt. “Think of the children, love.”

“I forgot just how infuriating you can be,” she huffed.

“Trust me, you’re no picnic yourself, sweetheart.” She paused, obviously trying to work out what she was going to say next but there was something else building between them, something very familiar. That tension that had the ability to take hold and override anything in its path.

“How about we revisit this later?” Caroline rasped. Klaus couldn’t remember who made the first move, all he could recall was their lips hungrily attacking each other, shedding their clothes hurriedly and their sweat coated limbs entangled beneath the sheets. They hadn’t left his bedroom for three days straight, something his siblings wouldn’t let him forget in a hurry given their resulting insomnia.

Needless to say she hadn’t left. After all this time apart, the pent up desire between them wasn’t unexpected. Klaus had tasted her once in those woods and he was desperate to do it again, preferably somewhere more comfortable than against a tree trunk. Rebekah compared their urgent need to fornicate at all times to a pair of sex starved rabbits and she was probably right but Klaus didn’t care. The fact that Hope and the twins were at the magic school with Alaric was another reason they’d taken full advantage of the situation.

The cheque, however, was still a bone of contention. Almost like she could read his mind, Caroline spoke. “How about you do something for me and I might consider cashing that cheque.”

“Are we playing out some Pretty Woman fantasy of yours, love?” Klaus teased, his interest well and truly piqued. “I’m listening…”

“Well, since we have the place to ourselves, I’d like to christen every room, starting with the kitchen.” Klaus decided to consider this challenge a win-win, especially given the impressive size of his compound.

“That can be arranged,” Klaus agreed, spinning her around so that her back was flat against his chest. He attached himself to her neck, nibbling along its creamy length as he walked her towards the kitchen.

“I hope you have an appetite,” she moaned in response.

“I’m pretty sure that’s obvious, we both know that’s not a pole rubbing against your thigh, love.” His burgeoning erection was unstoppable, Caroline always had that glorious effect on him.

“I meant hunger wise.”

“So, did I,” Klaus smirked knowingly, continuing his assault on her neck.

“I want you to lay me out on the table and cover me in some of that homemade caramel. Seems fitting given our location, don’t you think?”

“You know I’m more of a savoury fan,” he mumbled, against her skin.

“You’re really going to question me now?” She baulked, turning around to face him, her skin already flushed from his initial teasing. “I’m offering you the opportunity to get hot and sticky with me, Mikaelson and you want to argue over tastes?”

“On second thought, I might need some sugar to sustain me for our planned activity throughout the house given the number of rooms,” he murmured. Only pulling away briefly to collect the caramel in question from the refrigerator and place it on the table in readiness.

“Now, where were we?” He asked, surprising her by pulling her shirt open, buttons scattering in all directions at the sheer force he’d applied.

“That’s the tenth shirt you’ve ruined.”

“Well, given you spend your time practically naked or wearing one of my henleys, who bloody cares? But if you’re concerned feel free to take it out of that cheque once you cash it,” Klaus smiled appreciatively, admiring his impromptu handiwork. “Now, what exactly is this situation?” He looked towards her chest accusingly.

“They’re called breasts, Klaus,” she explained. “Do I need to give you a talk about the female anatomy?”

“I thought we outlawed underwear?” He indicated, ignoring Caroline’s sarcasm and gesturing towards her lacy, cream bra.

“Well, I think that was more your idea than mine.” Klaus didn’t argue, instead he cupped her denim clad cheeks and lifted her effortlessly onto the table. It didn’t take him long to tear off the rest of her clothing, ripping her bra off one handed and tugging down that short, jean skirt.

“Glad to see you paid some attention to the rules, love,” he observed, licking his lips in anticipation as he realised she was indeed panty-less. His white henley and jeans were off in an instant, his impressive length rubbing teasingly along her smooth, pink lips below.

“Now, how about we get dirty?” She only nodded by way of a response, obviously too turned on to verbalise her thoughts at that exact moment.

Klaus drizzled the caramel slowly over her body, watching as she arched her back in reaction to the cold, syrup like substance. He began with her delectable breasts and taut, rosebud nipples, making circular patterns with the caramel as he went, like he was the artist and she his blank canvas. Klaus had to remember to repeat this later with his assortment of paints when they eventually made it to his studio.

He continued his assault, pouring the caramel down her flat abdomen and ending at her quivering centre for now, Caroline now moving her hips upwardly from the sensations it was causing. Klaus hadn’t even touched her yet and could tell she was already climbing towards orgasm. He bent over taking her right nipple in his mouth hungrily, tasting a sugary hit of the sweet nectar while stimulating her senses with his tongue. Klaus used his thumb and fore finger to tweak the other nipple, her short, sharp whimpers telling him she was close. It had been a a few hours since their last tryst so it was hardly unexpected. Klaus could tell from the lust coursing through his body and the almost unbearable pressure stirring in his cock, that he wouldn’t be far behind.

Klaus continued to suckle on her as he ran his fingers along her smooth torso towards his destination, pausing along the way to make patterns with the caramel on her creamy skin as he did. She took hold of his wrist impatiently, obviously trying to hurry his journey. He stopped his attack on her breast, looking at her curiously.

“Now, now love. There’s plenty of time for that. Plus, I recall you saying you wanted to get hot and sticky.” He could tell by her unimpressed groan and accompanying frustrated look she didn’t quite agree with his assessment. He continued to massage the thick liquid into her skin, looking forward to washing it off in the shower when they made it to the bathroom. At this rate, Klaus wasn’t sure how they were ever going to leave the kitchen in the next two days.

He finally relented, finding her waiting pussy through the sticky, caramel path and slowly rubbing her lips, already slick from her arousal. He dipped his fingers inside, amazed at just how wet she was already as he massaged her silky folds, his speed only building. She was moving in synch with his fingers now, her hips bucking wildly to meet each stroke. Klaus knew she was ready to erupt, pulling his fingers free and replacing them with his throbbing cock. Caroline matching his thrusts as he slid back and forth, her cries only gaining in urgency and decibels as Klaus bent down to kiss her hungrily.

He could feel her tightening around him and Klaus stood again wanting to watch her impending orgasm as it hit. It was a vision he’d never tire of, after all. Caroline cried out, Klaus continuing to pump inside her so as to prolong her pleasure and heighten his. She began to convulse, as the waves of pleasure rippled through her and Klaus couldn’t contain himself any further, coming with full force inside her.

Klaus rode through the delicious dizziness, trying to stay steady on his shaky legs while Caroline moaned beneath him from the residual sensations of her orgasm. Klaus decided they really needed to include food more often in their sex life, even if it was a sticky mess. When he’d finally recovered and pulled out slowly, he looked down at her flushed face and beautiful, toned physique covered in caramel and splayed out across the table.

“Wow. That was…”

“I know,” she grinned wickedly.

“So, about that noise thing?” He asked curiously. “Were you faking it then because from what I could tell that’s probably the loudest you’ve been and we’re all alone.”

“Okay, maybe I was trying to avoid stroking that already inflated ego of yours, but what’s wrong with being a little noisy?”

“You won’t hear any complaints from me, love,” he smiled, bending over to place a chaste kiss on her lips. “Plus if it gets my siblings out of the house more often then I’m definitely on board. So, how about we take a shower, your breasts have my name and some soap written all over them.”

“Not just yet,” she said, sitting upright and placing her hand on his cock and stroking it possessively. Klaus felt a jolt from her unexpected touch, knowing that he was already starting to recover. “There’s a part of you I definitely want to lick some caramel off before we’re done.” Klaus wasn’t going to complain, handing her the jug and just hoping they had enough caramel left to finish the job.

Funnily enough the cheque wasn’t cashed that day or the next, its fate becoming a bargaining chip in the bedroom, or whatever room they chose.

Would love to hear your thoughts on FF HERE

[shaizstern]

Article from WSJ: Germany Struggles With an Unfamiliar Form of Anti-Semitism

With prejudice against Jews cropping up among migrants, fears grow that ‘a new generation of anti-Semites is coming of age in Germany’

By Bojan Pancevski

BERLIN— Solomon Michalski loved going to his new school on a leafy Berlin street because it was vibrant and diverse, with most students from migrant families. But when the teenage grandson of Holocaust survivors let it slip that he was Jewish, former friends started hissing insults at him in class, he says. Last year some of them brandishing what looked like a gun took him aside and said they would execute him.

It was no isolated occurrence. The police registered 1,453 anti-Semitic incidents in Germany last year, more than in five of the previous seven years, and organizations including the American Jewish Congress say fewer than a third of such incidents get reported. Their stubborn persistence in the country where the Holocaust was plotted and executed is raising concern that decades of work to eradicate anti-Semitism are slowly being undone as prejudice against Jews spreads beyond its traditional home in the far right.

“I fear that a new generation of anti-Semites is coming of age in Germany,” Josef Schuster, head of the country’s chief Jewish organization, told journalists on Wednesday.

Israel flags were burned and anti-Semitic slogans chanted at a December 2017 rally in Berlin that was originally organized to protest Donald Trump's decision to move the U.S. embassy to Jerusalem. PHOTO: JUDISCHES FORUM FUR DEMOKRATIE UND GEGEN ANTISEMITISMUS E. V.

German police attribute more than 90% of cases nationwide to far-right offenders. But Jewish activists and victim representatives say the data are misleading because police automatically label any incident where the perpetrators aren’t known as coming from the far right.

The problem goes beyond Germany. The murder of an elderly Holocaust survivor in Paris in March in what prosecutors said was an anti-Semitic attack has fueled a perception that anti-Jewish acts—from casual insults to brutal violence—are on the rise across Europe and that governments appear unable to do much about it.

Levi Salomon, head of the Jewish Forum for Democracy against Anti-Semitism, a Berlin-based organization that documents hate crimes against Jews, says most violent incidents these days come from Muslim perpetrators.

“It is wrong to generalize or to stigmatize Muslim communities,” Mr. Salomon said. ”But to say there is no specific problem there is even worse. We need to devise urgent strategies to deal with this.”

Others paint a more nuanced picture, saying prejudice and stereotypes harbored by recent migrants from largely Muslim countries have added to an existing undercurrent of anti-Semitism among some Germans and older migrant communities from Eastern Europe, resulting in an increasingly threatening environment.

Liam Rückert, a 15-year-old Jewish student in Berlin, said he was recently mobbed by Arab and Polish classmates. And Klara Kohn, a 16-year-old whose father survived the Auschwitz death camp and Dachau concentration camp, said German students at her elite school in Hanover had taunted her, chanting “gas for the Jews!”

Heinz-Peter Meidinger, head of Germany’s teachers association, said a particular hot spot of anti-Semitism seemed to be schools, many of them in Berlin, where children from migrant families made up between 70% and 100% of students.

“The key part of the problem are the parents,” Mr. Meidinger said. “But we can’t reach them as teachers. Most of them don’t speak German and they are sometimes hostile toward authorities.” He said there was a tendency among Arabic- and Turkish-speaking communities to view Jews in Germany in the context of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

The very word “Jew,” Mr. Meidinger said, is now a generic term of abuse in some school yards.

In an interview at his family’s home this week, Solomon Michalski said his tormentors were “actually cool kids, but they get this from their parents.”

Solomon—the boy’s middle name, which he asked The Wall Street Journal to use—changed schools after he was threatened, but he found himself revisiting his ordeal recently after reports that a seven-year-old Jewish girl had faced similar threats at another Berlin school.

Solomon’s parents, who until recently hosted a Syrian refugee, took no action until their son came home with bruises. After that, Wenzel Michalski, Solomon’s father and head of the German branch of Human Rights Watch, invited his own parents, Holocaust survivors, to hold a lecture at the school.

That changed little. A teacher said Solomon should try to avoid provoking the Palestinian student who was his most violent tormentor, Mr. Michalski says. The school management later apologized in a statement, pledged to investigate the anti-Semitism allegations and to ensure the perpetrators faced consequences.

Teachers have also faced abuse from their students. Jessica Schmidt-Weil, who taught a class of teenagers of predominantly Middle Eastern origin in Berlin, said she changed schools two years ago after being abused by students. She now keeps her Jewish faith a secret.

The notion that some among the well over a million recent arrivals—many from Syria, where criticism of Israel laced with anti-Semitic clichés has been part of the official discourse for decades—might be harboring prejudice about Jews has presented authorities here with a dilemma.

Jewish representatives say Germany’s tried and tested toolset to combat anti-Semitism through education is failing to reach communities that often don’t speak German and know little about Nazism and the Holocaust.

Barbara John, a former Berlin integration czar, said cases of Arab families resisting Holocaust education or refusing to send their children on the traditional school trip to concentration camps have come up since the 1960s.

Back then, however, Germany’s Jewish community, half-a-million strong before Hitler’s rise to power, had become virtually extinct. It began growing again in the 1990s thanks to immigration from the former Soviet Union and, more recently, from Israel, making the fight against anti-Semitic prejudice an even more urgent necessity. Germany now has an estimated 200,000 Jews, more than 100,000 of whom are in Berlin.

Persistent complaints about the quality of crime statistics prompted Berlin authorities to team up with Jewish organizations in 2015 and set up Rias, an independent institution that collects data about anti-Jewish incidents, from hate speech to assault.

Benjamin Steinitz, head of Rias, counted 936 such incidents in Berlin in 2017. The police registered only 288.

This year, the newly appointed government of Chancellor Angela Merkel announced it would create the country’s first commissioner for combating anti-Semitism, now expected to be named in April.

With the media increasingly pointing the finger at Muslim perpetrators, some Islamic organizations are taking steps to combat prejudice among their members.

Aiman A. Mazyek, president of the Central Council of Muslims, said it would make 10 imams available to join with rabbis and visit problematic Berlin schools.

“There is racism attached to every religion,” Mr. Mazyek said. “Our job is to help remove racism from our midst and educate people about our religion, to explain that we are devoted to living in respect, peace and tolerance with other religions.”

As for Mr. Michalski, he says he recently started googling property prices in Israel. “For the first time I’ve seriously thought about leaving. I hope it won’t come to that,” he said.

Wenzel and Gemma Michalski with their son in Berlin. PHOTO: MUSTAFAH ABDULAZIZ FOR THE WALL STREET JOURNAL

—Ayla Albayrak in Berlin contributed to this article.