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eishtmo · 1 year ago

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The Story of a Cat Door

This is my cat:

We've had her for almost 7 years now. This is her last Christmas, under the tree. She had been caught as a stray and we adopted her sometime after. She's fixed. She likes to go outside, and given her past, she can take care of herself. If it were up to her, we'd leave the back door open and she could go in and out at will.

The issue is we live in Texas, and if you didn't know, it gets stupidly hot here over the summer. And it's been getting hotter, but that has NOTHING to do with global climate change caused by human action.

Our back yard also opens to a wide ditch that is the home of a variety of animals including other cats, possums and skunks. So we generally don't want to leave the back door open, and installing a cat door is impossible as it is a sliding glass door.

But we have an alternative: The garage. It's not "outside" but it's close enough that the cat is fine with it. But the garage is on the otherside of the house where we spend most of the day. If it were my choice, I wouldn't let the cat into the garage at all, but I have been vetoed by the rest of the family. So they open the door so the cat can go in and out of the garage at will.

Except it's a garage, in Texas. It's not that it isn't insulated, there is some, except for the giant metal door at one end. Yeah, it gets warm in there, but not as much as outside. Regardless, it let's heat into the house, and given the last couple of years of record heat NOT CAUSED BY GLOBAL CLIMATE CHANGE STOP SUGGESTING IT IS, it's been straining the AC.

Okay, so a month or so ago, they open a new farm supply store, Murdoc's, in the north of the city. It's a large Tractor Supply, basically, with all the same kinds of things, but they had a deal where you got a percent off of anything you fit into a bucket. And you get a bucket! Anyway, in the pet area there was a cat door for something like 17 bucks, and with the discount it was like 15, and I have tool, I can install a cat door in the door into the garage.

So we get it home, I read the instructions, and yeah, it's not that hard. Just have to measure the cat and line it up.

I'm just about ready to go when I start looking at the door and realize there's a problem. The garage floor is about 3 inches lower than the house floor. Getting out, no problem for the cat, getting back in might be a bit harder. Oh, she probably could do it, but she's going to get older.

Okay, that's not good. But it's also an opportunity. My mother mostly uses a wheelchair. She can stand for short periods of time and walk with a walk for short distances, but mostly she's wheelchair bound. If she wants to get into the garage, she has to get out of the chair, step down into the garage, then pull the chair through or grab a spare walker we keep near the door. Putting in a ramp is probably the a good idea for her anyway.

Yeah, I could build a ramp. I just got some concrete bits for my drill, and a trip to the hardware store I can get all the parts to build a ramp. But I can't make it permanent as right where the ramp is sits the dryer, which will have to be moved at some point, right into the path of the ramp. Okay, I can work around that.

Wait, the water heater. It's right across from the dryer, in small closet with a standard door. So I have to remove that door or cut or. . .

Luckily the door isn't in a proper frame, so I take that out and get a cheap according door. But the screws it comes with are too damn short, wouldn't even get into the wood above the drywall of the door frame. Go out, get longer screws. Install the according door.

Then build the ramp. I stack a 2x2 on top of a 1x2, screw them together then anchor them to the foundation step. Then build the ramp with a couple pieces of plywood (36" long, btw for every 1 inch of drop, you go out 12" for a proper wheelchair ramp). Put in a few spars to support the middle of the ramps, then cover it with carpet tiles and screw the thing into the support step, and that's all that holds it. I then need to put bricks on the ramp because the plywood is warped just enough.

Okay, now to install the cat door. The only hitch is that the door is VERY heavy. It's a proper exterior door going between the house and garage, as it should be! But it's heavy as hell. Still, with my sister's help, we get it down, cut the hole install the cat door, and put the whole thing back. And we're done!

So this is the point in the story where I tell you the cat refuses to use the cat door, but not so much. She hasn't opened the flap on her own, no, but she has used it to get in and out of the garage, so I'm calling this a damn win.

That's the end of my story. All so the cat can go into the garage anytime she wants without destroying our electric bill. Just in time for the 100F days to stop.

#cat #building #doors #feature creep #storytime

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onlinepatios · 1 year ago

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How to Build a DIY Carport from Scratch?

Have you ever wished for a covered parking space for your car but thought it was too expensive or complicated to build? Well, think again! In this blog post, we will guide you through the process of building your very own DIY carport from scratch.

Not only will you save money by doing it yourself, but you will also experience the satisfaction of creating something with your own two hands.

So, let's get started on this exciting journey of building a DIY carport.

Before we dive into the nitty-gritty details of building a carport, let's first understand the benefits of having one. A carport provides shelter for your vehicle, protecting it from the elements such as rain, snow, and harmful UV rays. It also shields your car from falling branches, bird droppings, and other debris that can cause damage. Additionally, a carport can extend the lifespan of your car's paintwork and reduce the need for frequent washing and waxing.

Building a DIY carport is not only cost-effective but also a rewarding endeavour. By choosing to build it yourself, you have the power to customise the design, size, and materials according to your preferences and needs. Moreover, you will feel a great sense of pride and accomplishment every time you park your car under the shade of your very own creation.

Planning and Preparation

The first step in any construction project is careful planning and preparation. Before you grab your tools, it is essential to research local regulations and permits required for building a carport. Contact your local zoning office or building department to ensure that you comply with all the necessary codes and obtain the required permits. This step will save you from potential legal issues down the road.

Once you have the green light to proceed, it's time to measure the available space and determine the appropriate size for your carport. Consider factors such as the number of cars you want to accommodate, the space available, and any future needs. Sketch out the design, keeping in mind the roof slope, materials, and additional features you may want to incorporate.

Gathering Materials and Tools

Before you start construction, create a checklist of materials needed for your DIY carport project. This will ensure that you have everything on hand and minimise any delays during the building process. Here are some essential materials you will need:

- Lumber for the frame: Choose pressure-treated lumber that is resistant to rot and insects. The size and quantity will depend on your design and measurements.

- Roofing materials: DIY carports can be covered with metal sheets or shingles. Consider durability, cost, and aesthetic preferences when selecting the roofing material.

- Fasteners: Nails, screws, brackets, and other fasteners will be necessary to secure the components of your carport.

- Concrete mix: If your carport requires a foundation, you will need a concrete mix to create a solid base.

- Tools: Ensure you have the necessary tools, such as a hammer, drill, saw, measuring tape, and any other tools specific to your design.

Foundation Construction

A solid foundation is crucial for the stability and longevity of your DIY carport. Here are the steps to construct a strong foundation:

Clear the area: Remove any vegetation or debris from the area where you intend to build your carport. This will ensure a clean and level surface.

Mark out the space: Use stakes and string to mark the perimeter of your carport. Double-check the measurements to ensure accuracy.

Dig post holes or pour concrete footings: Depending on your design, you may need to dig post holes or pour concrete footings to anchor the structure securely. Follow the local building codes and regulations regarding the depth and width of the holes or footings.

Allow time for concrete to cure: If you are using concrete footings, allow ample time for the concrete to cure and gain strength before proceeding with the construction of the frame. This process usually takes a few days.

Building the Frame

Now that you have a solid foundation in place, it's time to start building the frame of your DIY carport. Follow these step-by-step instructions:

Cut lumber according to measurements: Use a saw to cut the lumber according to the dimensions specified in your design. Double-check the accuracy of each cut to ensure proper alignment.

Assemble posts, beams, and rafters: Begin by attaching the posts to the foundation or anchoring them securely in the post holes. Then, attach the beams horizontally to the tops of the posts, creating the main structure of the carport. Finally, add rafters diagonally between the beams to provide additional support and stability.

Use brackets or joinery techniques: To secure the connections between the posts, beams, and rafters, use brackets or traditional joinery techniques such as mortise and tenon or half-lap joints. These methods will ensure a strong and durable frame.

Ensure proper alignment and stability: Throughout the construction process, use a level to ensure that all components are aligned correctly. This will prevent any issues with the roof installation and overall stability of the carport.

Installing Roofing Materials

The next step in building your DIY carport is installing the roofing materials. Here's how to do it:

Choose suitable roofing material: Consider factors such as durability, cost, and aesthetic preferences when choosing the roofing material for your carport. Metal sheets and shingles are popular options for DIY carports due to their weather resistance and ease of installation.

Attach roofing material carefully: Follow the manufacturer's instructions for attaching the chosen roofing material to your carport frame. Pay attention to the recommended fasteners and spacing to ensure a secure and watertight roof.

Adding Finishing Touches

To enhance the functionality and appearance of your DIY carport, consider adding some finishing touches. Here are a few optional features you can include:

Install gutters and downspouts: By adding gutters and downspouts, you can redirect water away from the carport area, preventing water damage to the structure and the surrounding ground.

Add lighting fixtures: For increased visibility and security, consider installing lighting fixtures around your carport. This will make parking and accessing your car at night much easier and safer

Paint or stain the wood: If you want to give your carport a polished and finished look, consider painting or staining the wood. Choose a colour that complements your house or other structures on your property.

Maintenance and Upkeep

To ensure the longevity of your DIY carport, regular maintenance is essential. Here are a few tips to keep in mind:

Regularly inspect for damage: Periodically check your carport for any signs of damage or wear. Look for loose connections, cracks in the wood, or signs of rust on metal components. Address any issues promptly to prevent further damage.

Clean debris from the roof and gutters: Remove leaves, twigs, and other debris from the roof and gutters. This will prevent clogging and ensure proper water drainage.

Apply protective coatings or sealants: Depending on the material used for your carport, apply protective coatings or sealants as needed. This will help maintain the integrity of the structure and protect it from the elements.

Conclusion

Building a DIY carport from scratch is not as daunting as it may seem. With careful planning, preparation, and the right tools and materials, you can create a functional and aesthetically pleasing shelter for your vehicle. By taking on this challenging yet rewarding project, you will not only save money but also experience the satisfaction of building something with your own hands. So why wait? Start planning your DIY carport today and enjoy the benefits of having a covered parking space for your car. Happy building!

#DIY Carport

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jimitjain · 2 years ago

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5 Types Of Anchor Bolts In The Market

Anchor Bolt:

Anchor bolts fasten structural components to concrete structures and secure them. In general, anchor bolts are used to fasten structural elements, equipment, and skids to concrete. The anchor bolts have one end that is buried in the concrete and the other end that is left exposed.

It is actually a stud constructed of two adjoined pieces, one-piece is threaded at the top end and the other end consists of a process that includes a wedge and clip that is expanded between the stud and the wall of the hole in the concrete.

The anchor bolt are generally a good option for a heavy shear application and for heavy load. Also the heavier duty seismic wedge anchors are used in areas frequented by seismic activities.

Anchor Bolt Types

Sleeve Anchor Bolts:

A sleeve anchor is a type of fastener used to secure objects to a concrete or masonry structure. They can be used to join two or more concrete structures, or to fasten an object such as a shelf to a brick wall.

Headed Anchor Bolts:

Construction fasteners known as headed anchor bolts have a head on the non-threaded end. In order to secure a steel column, beam, bolt, rail, or other structural part in place, this end is placed into concrete or masonry.

Wedge Anchor Bolt:

Consideration made by wedge anchor bolt manufacturers in India: The diameter of the wedge anchor should match the diameter of the holes that are drilled into the concrete.

Additionally, it is only used for solid concrete; it cannot be used with stone, mortar, brick, etc.

Bent-bar Anchor Bolts:

Bent-bar anchors, which include the customary J and L bolts, are threaded steel rods with hooks on the end embedded into the masonry.

Drop-in Anchor Bolts:

Drop-In anchors are female concrete anchors designed for anchoring into concrete. Drop the anchor into the pre-drilled hole in the concrete. Anchor bolt manufacturer use a setting tool to expand the anchor within the hole in the concrete. Drop-in anchors require a setting tool to install.

Best Anchor Bolt Manufacturer In India

Ananka Group is one of the major Anchor Bolt Manufacturer In India offering a diverse range of anchor bolt in a variety of sizes, grades, and scales. The majority of high-tensile bolts, screws, and fasteners on the market are blackish-coloured alloys.

We are one of the best wedge anchor bolt manufacturers in India and anchor fasteners manufacturers in india.

Our website also provides a prominent washer weight calculator offering a diverse range of washers in a variety of sizes, grades, and scales. High tensile fasteners manufacturers in India follow national & international standards. Anchor bolt manufacturer use a nickel-copper alloy that is resistant to corrosion in many environments.

Contact us today to discover why we're the best in the industry. We offer a wide range of products, including 12mm stainless steel rods, M16 threaded rods, stainless steel threaded rods, and 12mm threaded rods.

We are one of the best Eye Bolt Manufacturer in India, Our Anchor bolt manufacturers use a nickel-copper alloy that is resistant to corrosion in many environments.

We are a High Tensile Fasteners manufacturer and Inconel fastener manufacturer.

For more details:

Product Source - Anchor Bolt Manufacturer In India

#anchorbolt #anchorboltmanufacturer #anchorfastenermanufacturer #anchorbolts #wedgeanchorboltmanufacturersinindia #anchorboltmanufacturerinindia

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fixdex-fastening-technology · 2 years ago

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zinc plated 3/8 drop in anchor

Click here to see more of this product

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peachy-panic · 3 years ago

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WHUMPTOBER DAY 3: “WHO DID THIS TO YOU?”

This is the next chronological piece of Do No Harm, continued directly from this chapter.

Tag list: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump

WARNINGS: Medical procedures, referenced/implied noncon, slavery setting, the usual.

The young doctor seems a bit skittish and far less cruel than the other Facility employees, and that comes with the dangerous notion that perhaps he doesn’t plan on hurting him. But that notion requires a naivety of which Jaime is no longer capable. He, of all people, is aware that cruelty can disguise itself in many shapes and sizes. Just because it isn’t obvious doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and that only makes it all the more dangerous.

There’s no use in hoping either way, he decides. Dr. Tate will either hurt him or he won’t, will either touch him or he won’t, and Jaime can’t — won’t — react. He has already made that mistake once today and will certainly pay for it later in ways he doesn’t want to think about now. He would do well to remember that he doesn’t hold any power here. Not in this room, this building, this life. And that, despite any arbitrary written rules, Dr. Tate is free to do as he pleases.

At least he had removed the restraints from his mouth and wrists. Jaime can console himself with this small mercy.

Those had always been the worst part of nights with Mr. Torley, on the all-too-frequent occasions he decided to use them. He was clearly very into them, and even more into Jaime’s fear of them. In addition to the claustrophobia they stoked in him, the use of restraints in bed had always felt something like a mockery. What use was it to restrain someone who can’t fight back regardless? The binds on his wrists and ankles were nothing more than accessories. The shackles in his mind did all the work to keep him still. And Mr. Torley knew that.

He does his best not to think about that now. Not to think about Mr. Torley at all, since that was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. Distantly, he wonders how long the influence of his first Keeper will continue to stain Jaime’s existence beyond the termination of their six-month contract.

Dr. Tate, who has been buried in the cabinets above the sink for several minutes, turns back to him sporting bright-blue gloves that adhere tightly around his slender hands. He meets Jaime’s eyes for half a second before his gaze darts somewhere just to the left of his shoulder.

“We need to run a couple of tests,” he says in a detached, clinical voice, all notes of lightheartedness from earlier removed. “I’ll need to collect some samples from you.”

Jaime nods once in acknowledgement, squeezing his fingers tightly, unconsciously around the edge of the table. There’s an unnatural pause in his cadence, and Jaime when looks up, he watches a slight twitch of movement in the doctor’s jaw.

“Please remove your pants and underwear,” Dr. Tate says, his voice taking on a lower pitch. “You can leave them on up to your thighs, if you’d like.”

The slight shift in demeanor sets Jaime on edge, but he doesn’t hesitate at the command, even as a familiar panic claws at the inside of his throat. He drops forward from the table, his legs taking his weight. His thumbs hook the waistband of the thin, cotton pants he had been returned in, and he doesn’t allow himself a moment of hesitation before pushing them unceremoniously off his hips. He takes Dr. Tate up on his merciful offer to keep them partially on his body. The cold, sterile air inside the clinic is sharp against his exposed skin.

Jaime’s eyes find the ceiling as he prepares for the touch he knows is coming. He doesn’t look to see whatever tools and instruments Dr. Tate is laying out on the silver tray beside the exam table. He doesn’t have to. “We need to run a couple of tests.” Whatever foolish hypotheticals Jaime once held in regards to WRU — what they did and didn’t know about the treatment of their wards — had long been shattered.

Of course they needed to test him for sexually transmitted diseases. They can’t have a Domestic Companion spreading something to the next paying customer that buys their time and exposing their innocent charade.

There’s a pause in Dr. Tate’s movement, but Jaime doesn’t look away from his spot on the ceiling tile.

“I’m going to touch you, now.” Dr. Tate’s voice is low and measured. “I need to examine you for bumps or sores, any abnormalities.” He clears his throat. “And I’ll take a swab from your urethra. It might be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt you.” Another pause. “Please, tell me if it does.”

Jaime’s grip on the table tightens, but he otherwise doesn’t react. Distantly, he is grateful for the warning, the bare explanation, mortifying as it is. He knows that the doctors here are not obligated to explain anything to the Companion patients, to seek consent in any form. Their consent was implicitly given in the contracts they signed at intake. He just as easily could have left Jaime gagged and bound to the table and gone about the procedure without so much as a word to him. Jaime is glad he hadn’t.

Instead, Dr. Tate’s touch is light and professional. His gloved hands don’t linger, they don’t poke and prod to get a reaction from him. It seems, even, that he touches him as little as possible. Almost as if he is as eager to get this over with as Jaime is, which doesn’t feel quite possible.

The fluorescent strip of light next to his focal point on the ceiling burns at the edge of his vision, but he doesn’t look away, using the mild discomfort as an anchor to hold himself steady. He concentrates on that instead of the gentle touches, gritting his teeth against any traitorous urges his body might provoke. Mr. Torley had loved that about Jaime — his responsiveness to touch — but not as much as he loved using it against him.

His stomach sours at the memory, fresh humiliation creeping into his cheeks at the idea of something similar happening now. He doesn’t think Dr. Tate would tease him the way his Keeper had, but he still doesn’t relish the idea of becoming physically aroused in front of this young doctor, who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him and, in another life, Jaime might have found pretty.

The thought is gone almost as soon as it comes, too painful to linger on. The idea of another life. A normal life. A life at all. These are thoughts Jaime is forbidden to have. The phantom sting of an electric shock lights up the column of his throat and Jaime winces.

“Sorry,” Dr. Tate said quickly, misunderstanding the movement and withdrawing his hand. Jaime’s eyes finally fall to his as the doctor takes a step back, inserting the long swab into a glass tube and sealing it with a cap. “The worst part is over.”

Jaime is numb all over, but he nearly laughs. He knows that having stepped foot in this facility again, the “worst part” has not even begun.

“I’ll need to collect another sample from your mouth,” Dr. Tate continues, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, and Jaime absently wonders why they even bother wasting extra product on the patients here. “And we’ll draw some blood—”

Something catches his voice mid-sentence and Jaime’s eyes flick up to his again. Dr. Tate looks at him, and then pointedly, hurriedly away. Jaime swears he can see his pale cheeks reddening.

“You can— We’re finished with that part.” He stumbles out. “Feel free to cover yourself up.”

Jaime does as he’s told, finding it somewhere within himself to be grateful that the doctor had kept the procedure professional. He couldn’t say the same thing for every encounter he’d had in the facility clinic before.

********

Sebastian knows what happens next, and that’s why he finds himself taking his time with the rest of the visit. As soon as he’s completed the mandated intake exam, he is supposed to mark the patient as cleared in his chart and alert the handlers to come collect him. To take him back into the part of the facility where Sebastian has never set foot; the “residential” wing where the unclaimed Companions are housed between contracts. On all the promotional advertisements, it’s depicted as a dormitory-like accommodation. Now that Sebastian knows just how little truth exists behind their lies, he can only imagine it’s nothing of the sort.

His mind conjures images of iron-barred cells and concrete rooms, of medieval dungeons with chains and darkness and filth. It’s a sensationalized version of what he assumes is probably the truth, but that doesn’t mean the reality is any less horrible. After what he’s seen in his time here and everything he’s heard, he has no doubt that the people who are forced to reside here between Keepers are subject to the company’s own brand of horror. Frankly, he’s in no hurry to turn his patient back over to their hands a moment sooner than he has to.

The boy is silent and entirely pliable throughout the whole exam, allowing himself to be moved when necessary and not so much as flinching when the needles for the blood draw break his skin. Sebastian is glad when the more… invasive parts of the exam are over. The boy had been no less compliant during them, maybe even the opposite, but Sebastian hadn’t missed the subtle changes in his posture, the way the muscles in his hands clenched and released around the edge of the table as he touched him as little as possible.

He had looked up at the ceiling instead of at the wall behind Sebastian, as he had done previously, and Sebastian had silently prayed that the position wasn’t intended as a way to hold back tears. He doesn’t know how he could live with himself if he made this kid cry.

When the blood has been drawn, the test samples submitted for lab processing, and a full physical performed, Sebastian has run out of ways to delay the inevitable. He closes out of the boy’s patient profile on his screen and turns to him, hands folded professionally in front.

“I’ll need to alert the handlers that your intake exam is complete,” he told him, probably unnecessarily. He hadn’t looked to see how long he had been in the system, but from his behavior, he assumes it’s been long enough to break his spirit. He probably knows these protocols better than Sebastian ever wants to. “They’ll come and escort you back to the residential quarters.”

110750 nods once without looking at him. “Thank you,” he says flatly. Then, there is a moment of pause before he lifts his eyes and seems to level Sebastian with something more sincere. “Thank you for… for letting me get cleaned up.”

Sebastian feels like shattering into pieces all over the cold linoleum. Instead, he tries for a smile and lands somewhere in the realm of a tight, thin line at his lips. “Sure,” he says, a bit mortified to hear the crack in his voice.

He watches 110750 take slow, measured breaths as Sebastian makes the call he desperately wishes he didn’t have to make. He tries not to stare as they wait in tense silence for the handlers to arrive. Of course, Sebastian could leave the room if he wants. The intake procedure is done, and so is his minimal obligation to patient care. But something feels wrong about leaving him. More than that, something feels utterly wrong about this boy being taken out of the clinic, away from his line of sight, where he can’t see what will happen next. He only knows it won’t be good.

A split second before he hears the clinic doors whoosh open, Sebastian steps closer to his patient, lowering his voice to a quick, urgent whisper. “Keep an eye on that broken nose,” he advises. “If you have any trouble breathing as it heals, please don’t hesitate to let your assigned handler know that you need medical attention, okay?”

The boy hitches in a breath but doesn’t respond. Sebastian takes half a step closer.

“Look, you have a right to medical assistance,” he says, the words feeling like treason on his tongue despite knowing their written truth. “Even here. Even now. You can always come see me here if you need to. They can’t legally prevent you from requesting care. Do you understand?”

Unexpectedly, something dark flashes in the boy’s eyes. Something less like the fear and dread he had witnessed earlier, and something much more akin to anger. Anger at Sebastian?

Before the interaction can go any further, they are interrupted by the unceremonious swing of the exam room door. The same two men who had brought him in - one with a fresh bandage on his face - push their way in, stepping between Sebastian and his patient.

“Up you go, 7-5-0,” Handler Hernandez barks, and the boy is on his feet before he can finish the command, his hands behind his back, head bowed.

“Oh, look who finally decided to behave,” the other one - Smith, maybe? - taunts as he sizes him up in a way that makes even Sebastian’s skin crawl. Just as he had prior to the visit, the man shifts his gaze to him, a sneer permanently embedded into his expression. “Does he get a lollipop for good behavior? Maybe a sticker?”

The boy doesn’t look up at him, but Sebastian thinks he sees his throat move. He feels a swell of rage rise into his throat, coming to a boiling point for the second time since he entered the room with this boy, but he swallows it back, keeping as level an expression as he can manage.

“He was perfectly agreeable,” he responds tightly, refusing to play into whatever mockery he’s initiating.

Smith answers him with a dismissive snort, turning his attention back to the boy like a predator who just found fresh meat. “What do you say, sweetheart?” He asks, the thick rubber of his boots squeaking against the tile as he takes a step too far into the boy’s personal space. “Think we can go the easy way back, or would you prefer to do things the hard way again?”

The beat of silence in the room is painful as they await his response, which comes eventually in a subdued voice, through slightly gritted teeth and with his eyes on the floor. “The easy way. Sir.”

A snort from Hernandez breaks the tension. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll see about that.”

With that, he is escorted from the room and seems to take with him all the air in Sebastian's lungs. Naively, desperately, he hopes for the briefest moment of eye contact before he’s taken away from him. But his eyes stay downward, even as a large hand curls around his bicep and makes him stumble in his gait as he’s yanked forward. Sebastian watches helplessly as he disappears from sight, one singular thought slicing through his mind on a loop:

Who did this to you?

#whumptober2021 #slavery #whump #like bbu adjacent?#Do No Harm: Jaime & Sebastian #medical setting #referenced noncon

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idreamofplaid · 4 years ago

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Inspiration

Square Filled: Artist AU for @spnfluffbingo & Angst to Fluff for @spngenrebingo

Characters: artist!Sam x Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 1863

Created for @spnfluffbingo & @spngenrebingo

The opening was a smashing success. It was what Sam had been working for a long time, and you couldn’t be more proud of him. He had sold five paintings tonight, and the gallery owner was already talking about a second show. You poured two glasses of wine and handed one to your tall handsome boyfriend.

Sam was unusually quiet, especially after such an extraordinary night that had made one of his dreams a reality, and it prompted you to ask him, “What is going on in that brilliant mind of yours, handsome?”

He took a sip of his wine and put it down on the concrete counter. “Everything’s going to change. Maybe.”

You put your arms on his shoulders and let them loosely rest there, your wrists crossed behind his neck. “You deserve this, babe. Why do you sound so worried?”

Sam looked down at you; his eyes were clouded a dark gray, and he quietly studied your face for a few seconds. “What if I can’t do it?” He reached up and wrapped his hand around your forearm by his neck, holding it. You knew what he was doing; he needed the contact. It meant he was feeling at loose ends. “This doesn’t exactly seem real.”

You moved your arms from either side of his neck and lowered them to your sides. As you did, Sam let go of your arm. You took his now idle hand into yours. “Tell me, baby. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

He sat down on one of the barstools by the counter, never letting go of your hand. “Every night, I came home from working in an office that made me feel like it was sucking my soul away, and I’d paint. Everything inside me that I wanted to get out, I’d put on the canvas.” You sat down on the empty barstool beside him and squeezed his hand to urge him to keep going.

Sam sighed. “Then it happens. Finally, a gallery is interested in my work.” You remembered how excited Sam had been when that happened. It had only been two paintings at first, and they hadn’t sold immediately, but they had sold. That was the beginning. It was followed by the sale of more paintings and eventually culminated in the show tonight that was all Sam.

He looked troubled, and you could feel it. His doubt was real, and it was keeping him from fully enjoying his accomplishment, a success Sam deserved. “Y/N, I haven’t painted anything in a week.” You sat in silence, processing what he’d said. Sam took a big sip of his wine. “I haven’t even picked up a brush.”

You understood. It had been the same way with your business. When you were reading tarot cards for your friends, it was fun. Then you’d started posting videos on social media about the meaning of the cards; it led to offering free readings online, which ultimately led to paying clients. Now you were a full fledged intuitive life coach, and the cards were one of the tools you used. It was one of the ironies of life that finding success doing what you loved could freak you out and shut you down.

Sam was still talking. At least, he had opened up to you now. “What if that’s the best I have in me, and I did it? One show. What if that’s all there is?” He ran his free hand through his hair. “I’m scared to pick up a paint brush, Y/N. What if the whole thing was a fluke? What if I start another painting and it’s just this mediocre thing that no one likes? What if it doesn’t speak to them, doesn’t touch them, doesn’t make them feel anything? What if no one wants to see my work, no one cares about it?”

You brushed your thumb lightly over the scruff of beard next to Sam’s mouth and then traced up his jawline, an idea forming in your mind. “Go change into something comfortable, something you’d wear when you paint.” He didn’t question you, just got up and went toward the bedroom area of the loft. That was one thing that made your relationship strong. The trust between you was solid.

While Sam changed, you did too...in a manner of speaking. You took off all your clothes and lay down on the sofa, pulling the throw from the back of it to cover yourself. You positioned yourself in a seductive pose and waited for him. When Sam reappeared, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a deep V; his feet were bare.

His eyebrows raised slightly when he saw you. You swiped your tongue out over your bottom lip and pulled it back into your mouth, dragging your teeth across that lip behind it. You waited a beat before announcing, “Hi, Sam. I’m your muse.”

“Y/N...I...uh…” Sam’s eyes were riveted on you.

You shifted and rolled a shoulder, holding the throw to your bare breasts. “Go get the easel, bring it over here, and put a blank canvas on it.” Sam’s mouth was slightly parted, then he swallowed looking at your cleavage peeking out over the throw. You nodded to him. “Go on. Get it.”

Sam followed directions very well, especially when he was feeling lost. He had told you more than once that you anchored him, and that’s exactly what you were going to do for him right now. He came back carrying the easel and a medium sized canvas, set them up along with some paints, brushes and his palette, then waited for further instructions from you.

Instead of saying anything, you dropped the throw to the floor. Sam’s eyes traveled down the length of your body, following your curves, and back to your face. “Wh...what are you doing, Y/N?”

You draped yourself over the couch the way you’d seen artist’s models do in movies. “You’re going to paint.”

“I don’t do figure painting; you know that.” His mouth hung open before he found the words. “I can’t paint you. I could never make you look…”

You combed your fingers through your hair. “You’re not going to paint ME.” Sam’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “You’re going to paint for the next hour whatever it’s in your soul to paint, and when that hour has passed I’ll be here waiting for you.” You winked at him just in case he hadn’t caught your meaning, but the way he pushed his palm against his crotch told you that he knew exactly what you meant.

Sam gathered his paints and the brushes he wanted to use. He squeezed some paint onto his palette, then dipped the brush into a cerulean blue and swiped it across the canvas in a broad stroke. He glanced at you every so often as though he were actually painting you then directed his intense focus back to the canvas.

You stretched your arms over your head, ran your fingertips over your decolletage, and started at him seductively providing inspiration and motivation for whatever it was Sam had started to create. Sam didn’t notice when you subtlety checked the time on your phone. He was immersed in the painting. His intensity when he was in the process of creation this way was a kind of sexy that was ethereal and earthy. You quietly put down the phone so you could watch him and marvel at the man who had agreed to be yours and possessed a kind of talent that was rare, a talent to be treasured, and a talent he wasn’t fully aware of.

His hair moved with the strokes of the brush, falling over his forehead and he tossed it out of his eyes with a shake of his head; he had broken past the barrier of his earlier creative block. He was into the work now. You smiled, and like he could feel it; Sam turned to look at you. He smiled back, dimples framing his mouth. The worry and uncertainty was gone. He put down the brush, walked to you, and reached for your hand. You lifted your hand up to him, inviting him down to the couch with you. Sam took your hand, and you pulled him down on top of you. Your lips met, and the passion was instantly ignited.

His tongue tangled with yours, his firm body pressed against you, and you felt him grow hard through the denim he was still wearing. You could feel Sam’s muscles through the cotton of his t-shirt while his tongue delved deeper into your mouth. You grasped at the back of his shirt to pull it up so you could feel his skin warm beneath your touch. “Sam, take your clothes off; I’ve been waiting for you.”

He peeled off his t-shirt, then went for his belt buckle. In seconds, he was naked and gorgeous before you. If you could paint, you would want to paint him. You’d want to capture the strength of his shoulders and the way his muscles gave form to his arms, gracefully curving to shape powerful biceps. You’d want to give life to the light in his green, gray, and golden hazel eyes. Most of all, you’d want to show just how his hopeful smile could inspire joy in anyone who saw it.

The most beautiful man you could have ever imagined made love to you there on that couch where you had patiently waited for him to reconnect with his confidence and tap back into his talent that sprang from the well of experience inside him that fueled everything he created. He gave you his passion and his tenderness. He worshipped you with his body and his words.

In the afterglow of your joining, you lay in his arms with your head on his chest listening to the beat of his heart. Sam’s fingers were entwined in your hair, and the contentment you both were feeling was palpable. “What did you paint?”

He nuzzled his nose into your hair and inhaled you deeply before he answered. “The ocean, at night under the full moon, with the waves rolling onto the sand. It’s a balance of turbulence and peace.”

You rested your chin in the center of his chest and drew curling lines on his pec. “I’d like to see it, but I don’t want to move.”

Sam slid his hands down to your hips and pulled you up so he could kiss you again. Even after being completely sated, he could still make you breathless. It was your turn to play with his hair and run your fingers through it. “I’ll show you tomorrow. It’ll be waiting for your appraisal.” Sam smiled. “I can’t let you go right now. This feels too good.”

He located the comforter with one hand and pulled it over you. You were snuggled in a warm cocoon between the blanket and his body; it made your eyelids heavy. Sam whispered in your ear as you were falling asleep, “Promise me you’ll always be my muse.”

As you drifted off, in the warmth of his embrace, you answered, “I will.”

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @gh0stgurl @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @oldfreakything @winchesterxfamilybusiness @deansotherotherblog

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @sammit-janet @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @i-joined-social-media-finally @autumninavonlea @spnxbsessed @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @wendibird @team-free-will-you-idjiot @waywardnerd67 @neii3n @fullmooner @supernatural-took-me-over @julesthequirky

#spnfluffbingo #spngenrebingo #sam fluff #sam angst #sam oneshot #sam x reader

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lambourngb · 4 years ago

Note

How bout some Michael POV for your masterpiece?!!!

This takes place during chapter 2, Michael has just exited the mindspace and is waiting for the agents to question him.

“I take my last chance, to burn a bridge or two”

Michael had passed the point of exhaustion both two days and ten years ago.

The thin, plastic covered cushion in the holding cell at Chaves County Sheriff's Office had the same feel of familiar comfort as his camp bed mattress in the Airstream, both places adequately met his needs after a bender or a brawl. He was never one to shy away from dropping into oblivion, met in the bottom of the bottle or at the end of a long night of working on his ship, until today. Closing his eyes meant slipping into the almost hypnotic state of the mindspace, and then he would hear her voice again.

His mother. Golden and whole for a moment. She was the energy between his cells, the original instructor of his atoms, funneling life into him; to grow and be strong.

“Oh my beloved son, oh you’re here, you’re here already grown and bound, I’m here, but no time, not enough time, there’s so much you should know my beautiful boy, I love you, I love you so much, I will always love you, now go, run, run for me.”

His eyes snapped open as the burn of tears threatened again. Goddamn it, he didn’t have time for that. Taking a deep breath, he stared up at the unremarkable ceiling to force his mind to go quiet. It was an old building, but built soundly. Not a crack in the plaster, not a flaw to betray its age. It housed the broken, who knew where home was but stayed away in the arms of intoxication; the evil, who knew home as a place for violence or thievery, and the lost, who longed for a home but never found the way back. All those souls gathered under its roof, this solid roof that sheltered without wear or tear.

At one time Michael had been all of those; deep into the dark warmth of drunk, or full of crooked wagers from dice games, he had even been picked up on a cold night a time or two with nowhere to go. Marked by violence in a tool shed, the system shocked with such a hard shove on his orbit, that he was knocked forever from the path he once had as a teenager, left to wander in all of those grim directions.

Once upon a time his English teacher assigned to the class, near the end of term with graduation nipping at their heels, some busy work in the form of a ‘where do you see yourself in ten years’ thought experiment. His hand had sketched out a good job, college degree, and a house, while his mind traveled the fantasies of holding the small hands of a child, of helping pat dirt down over a buried seed in his garden, of Alex, always Alex, playing his guitar on the back porch-

Fuck. His bare left hand, now whole and hale, mocked him.

Michael wrenched his mind back to the present, and dug out a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket to wrap over his left hand. He tied a knot, pulling it tight with his teeth. A bitter smile crept over his mouth, using his teeth again for the grip he lost in his hand was familiar at least.

Hopefully whatever trouble that Max was in, was teaching him a lesson in meddling where he wasn’t wanted. High on power Max thought to heal his hand, but took no care to think about the damn consequences of everything, of Noah, of the things Noah was up to in Roswell. He flexed his hand again, the tight constriction of the fabric felt comfortably close to how the scar tissue pulled and tugged over his ruined knuckles. Already there were too many questions to answer, he didn’t need one more on his hand.

As angry as he was at Max, he couldn’t help but hope that the flash of pain/wrong/vacuum wasn’t so serious that he couldn’t be useful now. Ride into the Sheriff’s Office, explain away the questions to his boss about Noah and Racist Hank, so Michael could be released without need of Alex and Alex’s story.

Goddamn it Alex. Showing up at the Wild Pony, those hopeful dark eyes turning wounded and betrayed as he realized that just because he didn’t see Michael as suitable, someone else did. Like he had the right to protest Michael moving on from them. It wasn’t Michael saying that they couldn’t be together because of Michael’s record, and it certainly wasn’t Michael saying that their relationship wasn’t worthy of a pyrotechnic breakup.

And yet. When the pyrotechnics were happening, Alex was there. Immovable. Saying everything that Michael had longed to hear for ten long years.

“I love you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you and I would give anything to have this story be true, that you were mine all along.”

A tear slipped down his unshaven face as he blinked rapidly. Alex was so stupid, how could he miss the fact that Michael had been his? Across the years, through two different battlefields, and after Alex had finally come home, Michael had worn two concrete boots, Alex and Isobel. Each his own anchor to this planet, as he worked to complete his ship.

The door swung open, startling Michael off the bunk, as a tall, dark haired man was escorted into the room by Agent Ross, who shot Michael an annoyed look. “Just knock on the door when you’re ready.”

The imposing cut of the military uniform and densely packed square of ribbons on his chest sent a shivered down Michael’s spine. It was only just over two days since Michael had been involved in the destruction of a secret military operation.

“Michael Guerin?”

“Depends on who is asking.”

“I’m Major Mark Torres, attached to the JAG office at Kirtland Air Force Base.” The officer tucked his cover under his arm and held his hand out toward Michael.

None of what this Mark Torres said made any sense to him. Kirtland was three hours away, Holloman was the closest base to the Caulfield facility. Michael lifted his eyebrows mockingly, but made no move to step closer to the open cell door, “That’s nice and all, but I’ve got nothing to say to anyone until my lawyer shows up.”

An amused smirk flitted over his mouth, “I am your lawyer, Alex sent me.” Instead of waiting for a response, Mark entered the cell and took a seat on the bunk, turning to Michael with a patient expectation. He placed the brim of his cover next to Michael’s black cowboy hat and then pulled his slim briefcase into his lap. “I admit, this isn’t how I expected to meet you, the infamous Michael.”

“Alex got me an Air Force lawyer?” The rest of that implication, that Alex had spoken of them to anyone in the past, let alone someone in the service was too much to even think about.

“I’m a lawyer who’s in the Air Force, and I’m doing this in the civilian court system pro-bono,” Mark replied easily, and popped the fasteners of his briefcase open to pull out a yellow legal pad and a pen. “Now that we’ve covered why I’m here, let’s talk about why you’re here. Tell me everything you know about Noah Bracken, what your connection to him, why the police might think you’re involved with his disappearance, and why they found a body when they came to question you.”

Michael stared at Major Mark Torres for a long moment, weighing his extremely limited options. The distant place inside him, where his faint connection to Max lived, was still and empty. He rubbed his wrapped fist against his face before sighing as he took a seat next to him. Alex said to trust him that he would get Michael out of this, and whatever mess that lay between them after Caulfield and now Maria, Michael believed wholeheartedly that Alex didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

As a rule Alex Manes didn’t make promises at all, to anyone, least of all to Michael.

“I know Noah Bracken, I mean everyone does in this town and I have a record, petty shit obviously, but that’s enough I guess for them to suspect me. But I have an alibi, I was with my boyfriend all night- hell, I’m with him every night. We’re kinda makin’ up for lost time since he was in Iraq, until well-”

“You’re referring to Captain Alexander Manes, correct?” Mark asked, scratching notes down on his pad without looking up.

“No one calls him ‘Alexander’, but yeah. Alex.” Michael licked his lips almost nervously, before he took a deep breath. This was the easy part of the alibi. “Alex is everything to me. I fell in love with him when we were seventeen, and I never stopped fallin’.”

“He did mention you were a romantic.” Mark nodded in approval of Michael’s words and capped his pen, “let’s start with the last time people saw Bracken in public at that-, good God, this town has a museum dedicated to aliens? What a thing to celebrate. Anyway, Alex tells me you’re a mechanic, that you can fix anything you put your hands on, were you at the gala for business purposes?”

Michael stuttered a little, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. He wasn’t used to anyone singing his praises, let alone a complete stranger. What did Alex say to this guy? “Um I helped do the lighting and sound for the organizer, Isobel. Um, Isobel Evans-Bracken. I left Alex at home, err, my Airstream ‘cause he doesn’t really enjoy the dog-and-pony show even though there was free booze. I gave a friend a ride home, Maria Deluca, and then spent the rest of the evening with Alex. In bed.”

His pen never stopped moving, “and last night, when this Hank Gibbons ended up dead, you were with Alex again? At your Airstream again?”

“Yeah, um, Alex lives pretty far out of town, and I had work in town. Um, during the week he spends a couple nights at mine, on weekends we’re at his place. Compromise.”

Spinning this fairy tale of shared residences to Torres, of disappearing to Alex’s cabin on the weekends and splitting the time apart during the week renewed an ache inside Michael. The slow turn of a bolt, burrowing into his heart as the threads of the light caught on hope and corkscrewed deeper into place.

“No one can corroborate that, correct? Other than Alex?”

“We’ve been keeping our relationship quiet. For personal reasons.”

This time Mark’s pen came to a halt, and he looked over to Michael with a sad understanding smile, “I’ve met Alex’s dad. He’s a first class prick. I’ve never met anyone more different from Alex in my life.”

“That’s for sure. Niger can have him. In fact, I hope he gets Ebola over there.” His eyes glanced up to the video camera on the corner before dropping to Torres again. Michael paused, hedging the risk of this disclosure, before continuing, “I’m not a violent man, but if I were, I wouldn’t bother with the town lawyer or the local racist asshole, it would be to protect Alex from that guy.”

Mark followed his gaze to the camera and back, before nodding. “I think I know all I need to know about you, Michael. Let’s go clear this up with the locals and get you released.”

***

“You were with Captain Manes all night? You didn’t leave at all?” Agent Ross asked quietly, his thin face placid, while his partner, Agent Rollins barely held back the curl of disgust from his face.

“Have you seen Alex? Like dude, I know I’m punching way above my class with him, you would have to be crazy to leave a bed that had him in it.” Michael smirked, fiddling with his hat on the table. Next to him, Major Torres stayed quiet taking notes.

“And he can confirm that?”

“Yes. I know he didn’t let you have a good look, but my Airstream isn’t big enough for him to miss me leaving. Trust me. We were together all night.”

“Let’s go back to the fight you had with Mr. Bracken-”

“Man, that’s bullshit, okay?!” Michael cut him off, “I did not have a fight with Noah, and whoever says differently is lying.”

Mark set down his pen to touch Michael’s hand lightly, before looking at the two agents evenly, “one eyewitness, on a dark night, does not overturn the alibi provided by Captain Manes. Let’s move on, shall we?”

“This relationship you’re in with Captain Manes, he’s alluded to the fact that it was kept secret. I find that rather convenient, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to help out a friend. Maybe cover up the fact you were having an affair with the wife of our missing lawyer?” Rollins smirked, exchanging glances with his partner.

It took a moment before Michael could catch the inference, and then only Mark’s tight grip on his wrist kept him in his seat. “Wait?! You think I’m lying about Alex to cover up for an affair with Isobel? What the fuck, man? Number one, that’s gross on a number of levels, number two, Alex is the most stubborn man alive, but he’s also the most honorable. He wouldn’t do that for anyone, especially not about adultery. He could get court martialed for that shit.”

Ross picked up his turn to provoke, offering another even almost-bored question to Michael, “I see, you deny that an affair was going on with Ms. Bracken. So you’re not attracted to women then?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Torres protested.

“Mr. Guerin opened the door earlier, basing his alibi on how attractive a bed partner Captain Manes was.”

Michael took a deep breath again, pushing down the nettled feelings of exposure. Of all things he thought he would be discussing at the sheriff’s office, this wasn’t anywhere on the list. “Not that it’s relevant, but I’m bisexual, yes. I’m also monogamous. It’s not that difficult to understand. I love Alex, I wouldn’t cheat on him with anyone.”

“So on the night of the Gala, that was thrown by your platonic good friend Mrs. Bracken, you were there, without Captain Manes, but in the company of a Ms. Maria Deluca. Another platonic friend, I assume. Do you remember anyone bothering Mr. Bracken? Someone who might have wanted to harm him?”

***

Hours later, after they had combed through every minute of Michael’s time at the gala and the night before when Hank Gibbons was at the Wild Pony, the agents finally concluded their questions and granted his release from temporary custody. There was still an air of disbelief from both agents regarding his alibi being with Alex.

From the outside, Michael couldn’t blame them. Even setting aside his spotty employment record, rap sheet, and history of being in care of the state, anyone with eyes could see that Alex Manes was a man who could have his pick of partners. Why would he pick the outcast of Roswell? It didn’t make sense to Michael that was for sure, and that had been true almost from the beginning.

“This was fun, Agent Rollins. Let me know if you want me to go over my movements from the other night again, and Alex’s even better movements. I can really open up on that, if it helps,” Michael offered, stomping the blood back into his boots as he left the interview room eagerly.

There was some satisfaction in seeing out of the corner of his eye, Agent Rollins looking as if he had bit into a lemon.

Next to him, Torres grabbed Michael’s forearm with a warning squeeze and steered him down the hall where Alex was waiting with a worried expression. “What my client means is, you have my number if you wish to schedule a follow-up interview. We’re happy to cooperate in any investigation, especially if it leads to Mr Bracken returning safely home.”

Alex’s eyes flickered from Torres’s hand on his shoulder to the agents and back to Michael, but there was a hint of smug satisfaction in those dark eyes. Somehow Michael knew that Alex was holding back amusement over his graphic words to the bigoted agent. Well, there was no sense in not completing the performance.

He moved into Alex’s space comfortably, and brought his hands to Alex’s neck to draw him into a kiss. His last memory of kissing Alex, had been handled and revisited to the point of being thread-bare before being set aside as an old fantasy out of reach. Feeling Alex’s arms come up and hold him close, sent shocks down his fingertips as he cupped Alex’s chin to hide the chasteness of the kiss from view.

Alex wasn’t playing fair in return.

Those big, firm hands of his slid up Michael’s back, and threaded into the sweat-thick curls of his hair. Michael felt Alex’s lips part against his, that clever hot mouth opening to Michael, and nothing tempted Michael more in that moment, than following Alex’s lead.

That long bolt of the lie, turned deeper inside him, shredding the few safeguards he had in place. Alex loved him, Alex wanted to protect him, Alex had never stayed before- so many truths, so many reasons he wasn’t able to trust this especially now. Michael kept his mouth closed, and after a second, he felt Alex back away. They were good at that at least, retreating.

Alex’s cheeks were warm, probably from the public nature of the kiss, even as his face showed only the firm resolve of their shared story. His eyes drifted down, playing his role of a shy lover with Michael expertly. “You uh, ready to go home then?”

“Long past ready, darlin’.” Michael exhaled tiredly, already wondering how he was going to make it through this without losing more of his heart than he had to spare in the process. He reached for the familiar weight of his hat in his hand, and tipped it to the still watching agents.

#malex fic #fake dating your ex because of the feds #no beta here #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #missing scene #no excuses ask meme #hmd023

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thirsty4theextraordinary · 4 years ago

Text

Everything Burns- Chapter 17

Pairing: Ledger Joker X OC

Warnings: Murder, Knives, Guns, Extreme Violence

Word count: 3646

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | - Chapter 16

Chapter 17: Bluffing

She looked over as the Joker moved and she smiled, he was still in his nurse's outfit.

"Will you take that ridiculous outfit off now?" She asked as he grinned a yellow-toothed grin at her.

"Don't you think it's sexy, nurses are sexy right?" he joked giggling.

"Not always and I don't really think the look suits you," she sighed laughing as she sat up fully.

"What about now, Jester?" he cooed, as slowly he pulled the skirt up his leg with one hand, as though teasing her.

She burst out laughing and he frowned. Suddenly he had pushed her back into the bed covering her body with his own, he began to kiss and nibble at the sweet spot on her neck and she moaned at the sudden pleasure. He bit hard on her neck and she arched her back pushing herself against him again.

"Am I sexy now?" he asked and she nodded breathlessly as he kissed her again, his hands moving down her body and she moaned again. She couldn't believe he could actually get her wet even when he was in a nurses uniform. She moaned again as his hand caressed her inner thigh and began working it's way up.

"J" she moaned as he undid her waistcoat and pulled it from her roughly.

"That's Nurse J to you" he muttered as he began to nibble on her ear.

Around an hour later, Joker led Jester down the stairs to help him make another video for the news. She was pleased that after removing all of his clothes upstairs, he had redressed in his normal attire rather than his nurse costume. When she entered the room, Mike Engel was laying face down on the ground, his feet bound at the ankles with a rope that was connected to a pulley that led to a hook in the ceiling. She grinned at Joker as he came into the room behind her, he pulled off his coat and jacket and dumped them in the corner of the room.

Mike Engel groaned as Joker began to pull the free end of the rope, hoisting the news anchor into the air by his ankles. The Joker cackled as he looked at the hanging man strangely bending his neck so as to look at Mike in the eyes.

"Jester, here is going to do your makeup now, Mr Engel" said Joker as though he were the producer of the news channel. He handed Jester a pot of red grease paint and she took it and approached the news anchor.

She began to smear the red pain on the anchor's lips and he groaned angrily.

"Oh don't moan, I'm sure you're very used to wearing make-up for the camera" she laughed as she began to paint a smile that from her angle looked more like a frown. She applied more and took a step back to admire her work before she turned to Joker.

"Mr Engel is ready for his close up now, Mr Joker," she said smiling widely and he grinned at her before giggling wildly.

Joker pulled a sheet off of the table in the corner and handed Jester a spray can.

"This will be his backdrop" the Joker explained as he pulled the cap off the can. Jester nodded as she began to spray the words 'Breaking News' on to the sheet sloppily. There were already a few black spots on the sheet and so some of the letters were blurred, but the Joker looked pleased with her work. He took the can from her and sprayed a few 'Ha Ha's' on the sheet before he dragged it over to the wall behind Engel. She followed pushing Engel slightly so he spun around. Joker laughed as he held the sheet up to the wall, the paint running slightly. Before he frowned and looked at Jester and then Engel before he turned the sheet upside down and proceeded to hammer it into the wall.

"Give these to him, to read," said Joker and handed her a pile of cue cards. She flipped through them quickly while the Joker set up the camera, in front of Engel, flipping it upside down. He pulled the table in front of Engel before he bent so his elbows could rest on the table as he filmed.

"Read your lines," said the Joker as Jester handed Engel the cue cards. She laughed loudly as he took them from her. On the card right at the back was the word Hi Mom written and Joker shot her a grin from his awkward spot. She made herself comfortable on a chair behind Joker and watched.

"Ready Mike," shouted Joker nodding to Engel slowly, but the news anchor said nothing.

"Okay ACTION" said the Joker as he pressed the record button and the red light on the camera switched on. Mike looked down at his cue cards and then up again, as though he didn't believe he was really there. Engel looked over to Jester and she grinned madly, his gaze turned back to his cue cards again.

"I'm Mike Engel for Gotham Tonight" he said, his voice more confident than Jester had expected.

He looked back down at his cue card again. Jester began playing with her knife, twirling it in her hands and Engel swallowed hard.

"What does it take to make you people wanna join in?" he continued dropping the first cue card to the ground causing it to fly over his head.

He looked at the next card, his face sweating.

"You failed to kill the lawyer. I've gotta get you off the bench... and into the game" Engel said.

"Bench. Game," said Joker quietly along with Engel. A little giggle fell from his lips as Engel dropped the next cue card and began to read from the third.

"Come nightfall, the city is mine," Engel continued.

"Mine," growled Joker quietly a little after Engel, his voice louder than before.

"And anyone left here plays by my rules," continued Engel.

"Rules." growled Joker.

"If you don't wanna be in the game, get out now." said Engel, dropping the penultimate cue card to the ground.

"Get out NOW!" the Joker laughed again.

"But the bridge and tunnel crowd are sure in for a surprise." Engel said after a short pause.

"Ha-ha, ha-ha," said Engel dryly and The Joker giggled wildly again. Before he turned the camera around and switched it off.

"That was very good Mr Engel. You were fabulous!" laughed Jester patronisingly as she spun him around again. Joker undid the tie holding Engel up and they both watched as he plummeted to the ground head first. He was knocked out cold by the time his feet hit the ground and Jester laughed loudly.

"Now, we need to send this off, but I'll wait for the boys to get back first" Joker said and Jester frowned.

"Where are they?" she asked.

"Running an errand, I had some ammonium nitrate left so I thought I'd put it to good use," said the Joker laughing madly, before he closed the gap between them and began to chew on her ear lobe sharply. She purred as her knees went weak and he chuckled before he pulled away. He led her back into the main room of the warehouse.

The Rottweilers had been locked inside an enormous metal crate and Jester went over and opened the door. The three large dogs padded out and she lay on the floor, allowing them to lick her face, the smallest laying in-between her legs and she laughed as she stoked them.

The Joker looked on frowning slightly, these were supposed to be attack dogs.

"You've made them soft" he shouted at her angrily and she looked up from the floor at him with wide eyes.

"These are supposed to be vicious, they are supposed to attack people not lick them" he shouted, approaching her, her eyes went wide and innocent and she sat up to look at him. He stopped in his tracks and looked at her, sighing he smiled.

"You sweetheart, I can't stay mad at you," he said, his grinning widening as she smiled at him. Jester went back to playing with the dogs.

After 3oclock the 'boys' got back, they pulled Engel back to the locked room. They confirmed that both ferries had been filled with explosives and that both had their 'presents' hidden. Their distress signals and phones disconnected.

They had also found an unfinished skyscraper that overlooked the bay and had secured it for Joker. Joker only nodded as they told him of their work before he went about explaining his ‘plan’, handing them all a doctors lab coat.

The boys told Joker that everything had gone well and that the commissioner was actually planning on filling one of the boats with prisoners, some of which were Harvey Dent's most wanted. This piece of news entertained the Joker greatly, and he thumped Grumpy on the back as he laughed.

The weapons table had been raided somewhat and Jester pulled a few items from the relatively small pile and looked them over. She poked at a pistol before picking up a handgun, swapping it for the one she had. Then she spotted something that made the monster insider her mind purr like nothing else. The chainsaw sat on the desk balance on top of other weapons. It was smaller than a standard chainsaw meaning she could probably wield it with just one hand if she wanted. She snatched up the chainsaw and held it in both hands.

"This is mine!" she said loudly but no one replied and she continued to stare at the tool in her hands. There was a large clip connected to the handle to allow for the item to clip to the pants of the user.

She had never used one and she suspected she would be slightly useless with one, but she loved it. Though she didn’t know why, she knew she needed this. She clipped it to her shorts so it hung against her hip uncomfortably but she didn’t care.

There was nothing to do but wait till sundown and Jester sat on the stairs watching the boys playing Poker at the table, the Joker was in his office planning still. Jester sighed heavily and one of the goons looked up at her.

"Everything okay?" he asked kindly and the other goons shot him a strange look.

"I'm bored," Jester sighed her chin resting on her propped up arm.

"You can play with us if you want," he said and again his friends shot him a look, but it was too late as the psychotic clown girl was now bouncing down the stairs towards them.

She pulled a chair over to the table, the metal legs squealing angrily along the concrete floor, before she sat herself upon it at the table. The goon who had spoken to her dealt her some cards and she handed over $100 in cash in return for some chips.

A groan broke out amongst the men as Jester pulled her winnings towards her, her pile of chips was really starting to grow and she grinned happily. The cards were dealt again and again she won. This happened three more times before something hit her hard in the chest and she flew backwards off her chair, her chips flying up into the air. Before she could stand there was a goon known as Happy standing over her. Happy was the biggest of all the goons his shoulders were about double anyone else and he had a strong broad chest. He pushed his heavy booted foot down onto the middle of her chest and she struggled as the wind was pushed from her.

"You think you can cheat us of our money, you're not the boss you can't just do whatever you want." Happy shouted and Jester shook her head as tears began to surface as she struggled for breath.

"I wasn't cheating, it's called bluffing" she choked out.

Happy let out a roar of anger and with his other foot kicked her hard in a chest. For a split second his full weight was bearing down on her chest and as his foot collided, she heard something crack.

She looked up towards the stairs praying to see Jack come down as she struggled to get out from under this colossal man's weight.

"First you carve Shaun's arm and now this. What do you expect us to do? With you prancing around with your boobs out, we are men we are bound to notice. But you think you can do it coz your the boss, well you're not! You are just some pathetic girl who tries to dress like him and god knows why you would even wanna do that. I don't even get how someone like you can even want to be around someone like him! Something must be wrong in your head, you must be crazy or something." Happy shouted at her. As the rage of insulting both her and Jack in one foul swoop filled her, Jester found her strength. She wiggled out enough to bend so she could bite down hard on Happy's bare ankle.

He let out a yell and grabbed her quickly as she rushed up to him. He turned her and held her back against his enormous chest, his arms holding her own at her side's stiffly. She wiggled and he cursed.

"You think, he's gonna save you. You really think he cares about you? He doesn't care about anyone! I don't even think he cares about his own safety. But that's why you do it. Because you think he's gonna come and save you if you get into trouble. Because he once told you, you could play boss. Well you're not my boss, lady. He let you think that he cares, so he can fuck you when he wants. And who could blame him, you are mighty fine. Well now you know, you can't just do what you want cause no one is coming, let alone him." Happy said so close to her ear, she could feel his hot breath moving her hair. Jester continued to struggle, her back brushing against his solid chest.

"You know with you so close, and wiggling like that. I'm having a change of heart, maybe if you give me a good time. I'll forget all about our differences" he cooed quietly into her ear huskily and she felt his new found arousal pushing into her bum cheek. He was clearly suffering from some sort of bi-polar, with his mood shifting so dramatically. She gagged at the thought of him touching her and launched her foot backwards in-between his legs. It made a satisfying thud as her foot connected with his crotch. He let out a yell and his arms realised her, as he bent over in pain.

She backed away keeping her eyes on the enormous man as he reared his ugly head again. She fumbled for her knife as a laugh bubbled up from her manically. She took a step back, readying herself for a fight and collided with something solid. A soft arm wrapped itself loosely around her and began to play with the material of her waistcoat subconsciously. Happy looked up at the man behind Jester and he smiled warily.

"Boss, I was just teaching her not to cheat," said Happy confidently, a smile on his face. Joker let out a cackle which stopped abruptly. Joker moved away from Jester and towards Happy, his hand brushing her side as he passed her.

"Do you remember Melvin, Happy?" giggled Joker cheerfully. Happy shook his head.

"Ah, of course, you're too new to remember that. Well, let me tell you a story. You see Melvin liked Jester, a little too much. I don't really like to share. I guess that is a flaw of mine. Well when Melvin tried to play with Jester, I killed him. Do you understand?" laughed Joker standing very close to Happy, his knife in his hand, hanging loosely at his side.

Happy's face lost its colour and his smile faded as he nodded to his boss. Though Happy was at least twice the size of Joker, Joker was an intimidating man no matter how big his opponent, maybe it was his unpredictably or maybe that he did not care for his own well being, you could hit him as much as you wanted and he would just laugh.

"Good lad," said Joker laughing. "This shouldn't be a surprise then."

Joker launched himself at Happy, though Joker was not as large as Happy, Joker's strength was enough to hold him down as he knelt on the larger man chest and began to carve a smile into Happy's face.

"Why so serious?" Joker asked over Happy's screams to the other goons, who quickly dispersed.

When the large man had finally stopped breathing, Joker stood and wiped his bloody hands on Happy's shirt before moved over to Jester quickly. He took her hand and quickly dragged her up the stairs, shouting to one of the men to clear up the body.

He led her into the bedroom and stopped in the middle of the room and looked her over.

"Okay?" he asked seriously and she nodded.

"Thank you, Jack. It won't happen again" she assured him and he grinned.

"Any time gorgeous. I won't let anyone hurt you. Ever" he said taking her hands up in his and turning them over in grasp, not looking at her as he spoke.

She pulled her hand from his grasp and instead wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her body close to his. She closed her eyes and breathed in his intoxicating scent. It took a while but soon Jack wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her closer.

Once the sun began to set, they all headed off for the skyscraper the boys had found, along with the hostages. Jester helped as they taped unloaded guns into the hands of the hostages and forced them to stand as they placed clown masks to all of them.

The boys were dressed in doctors and nurses uniforms and they sat on the floor in front of the biggest window in the skyscraper, making sure that the cops would have a perfect shot from the building opposite. Joker went up to the highest floor and Jester followed. He stopped himself by a window overlooking the water and stopped and turned back to her.

"Look down there, the last of the people are loading onto the ferries," he said pointing down to the two large boats docked up. She simply nodded and he began to laugh.

"Now all we gotta do is wait," giggled Joker and she nodded again. Her nerves were making her feel slightly sick and a feeling of dread had washed over her. Without a word she went back down a few floors to check the boys had secured the last of the hostages.

She approached slowly as they bound a blonde woman's hands and her blue eyes shot up to Jester.

"I know you!" she said looking Jester in the eye.

She was right, she was a trainee at the hospital, Scarlett had worked with her a number of times.

"You are a nurse! How could you do this?" the blonde she knew as Kate asked, her eyes wet with tears.

Jester couldn't help the laugh erupted from somewhere deep within her and once it had started she couldn't make it stop. Soon she was bent over in hysteria, shaking her head slightly at Kate.

"When the police come, I'll tell them your name!" said Kate boldly, and Jester pulled her gun out of her back pocket and raised it, pointing it towards Kate’s head.

"You really think the police are coming? And if they do, you think they will realise you are the hostage before they put a bullet through your face." Jester asked, waving her gun at the woman.

"Because if you think so, then I'll just get a head start on them now." laughed Jester.

"Please Scarlett, we were friends," said Kate, her voice shaking, as her tears began to spill.

"No, we weren't friends. I didn't really have any friends, we were colleagues, nothing more. And really you shouldn't beg I have no compassion to appeal to" said Jester as she laughed again and pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped a path through Kate's skull and Scarlett frowned as she looked down at the dead body on the floor.

"Well that was not satisfying at all," moaned Jester as she pushed the gun back into her back pocket and turned on her heel to leave. Though the feeling of dread she had been experiencing seemed to float away as the bullet had left the gun, and she now felt rather good as she skipped back up the stairs to find Joker.

The Rottweilers had been brought up to him and were now roaming the top floor. Joker continued to stare out the window at the ferries which were still docked, Jester sighed and took a seat on the floor, the smallest Rottweiler curling up at her feet.

"Who got shot?" asked Joker without turning around.

"One of the hostages, she recognised me from the hospital," said Jester, not looking up as she scratched the chin of the dog in her lap. The Joker didn't say anything and simply shrugged.

After an hour the ferries finally moved off and the Joker moved back to the window again. He watched as they moved further away until slowly one stopped and then the other. They were completely stationary in the middle of the lake and Joker began to giggle to himself quietly.

--------

Thanks for reading if you liked it please, Like and Reblog

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haro-whumps · 5 years ago

Text

Box Boy Plurality: 40 Minutes (Explicit)

CW: explicit dubcon, slavery, caning, dehumanization, degradation, brainwashing, creepy + intimate whumper

Tag list: @thatsthewhump @whump-it @ashintheairlikesnow @fairybean101 @finder-of-rings @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @that-one-thespian @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @raigash @im-not-rare-im-rarr @spiffythespook @whumps-the-word @frnkieroismydaddy @whumpity--whump--whump @michelleswhumpyreblogs @jo-castle @newandfiguringitout @lumpofwhump @infested-with-blood

Masterlist

They had 40 minutes, a little less, before dinner would be ready and they would need to put away their toys to go enjoy what Soren made for them. But 40 minutes was plenty of time, and 02 was in dire need of some shaping up.

“Look at you,” Ren intoned, noting the little ways 02 listed into their palm before holding himself still again. He was good at hiding it. How much he wanted to be touched. He was good, but they were better. “You just need someone to take you in hand, don’t you?”

“Processors tried,” 02 grit out, fingers trembling where they dug into his own thighs. “Turns out I’m a handful.”

“You really do think you’re so terribly cute, don’t you?” Ren asked disdainfully, taking their hand away. They pulled the retractable cane out of their skirt pocket and hit the button that sent it springing out, the snap making Soren jump and 02 tense, eyes wide.

“I believe you’re familiar with this particular tool? You’ll have to forgive my coworker; he clearly did not know how to use it properly.” 02’s jaw worked and he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. They were careful only to watch him in their peripheral, keeping their eyes on the cool, black painted metal in their hands.

“He used it plenty.”

“Mike is… charming, for a certain value of charming, but I do believe he couldn’t have effectively used this if his life had depended on it.” They stroked their hand down the cane, barely catching any friction against the pads of their fingertips, a caress, almost. Goosebumps rose along their skin, a pleasant sort, while their shoulders tingled with excited anticipation. They turned their head, just a hair, and laid their eyes on 02 with a pleasant sort of smile, their body still turned in around the cane. “Don’t worry,” they purred, “I’ll use it properly. This will hurt, but this is a necessary first step to fix you, 02.”

“I don’t need fixed!” 02 asserted, almost shouting.

They were out of practice (they should really go to the gym more, ugh), so it was a 50-50 shot they were toying with. But at 02’s defiance they snapped their wrist and brought the cane to a halt just a breath beneath the tip of his jaw, air currents catching, 02’s whole body jerking with fear. But he stayed on his knees. What a delicious dichotomy.

Success made Ren’s lips curl, having avoided knocking 02 in the jaw unintentionally, and they took an easy, pleasant tone when they said, “If that were true,” they stroked the tip of the cane along his jaw, watching the muscles twitch, “you wouldn’t have said so.”

Ren witnessed a struggle, 02’s body shifting only once, but his nostrils flaring, his eyes darting between the cane and Ren’s face, the gears of his little maggot brain positively whirring. In the end, what won out was 02’s desire to jerk his jaw away from the cane and spit, “Fuck you.”

They caned him on the arm, just below the shoulder, and were gratified with his cry of pain.

“This will hurt you,” they repeated, voice measured and calm, circling around him with slow ease, “but it will fix you.”

“I don’t need--” 02 yelled, cut off with a high cry of pain when they brought the cane down on his back.

“Hush, 02,” Ren murmured, as though to comfort. “I only want a plaything; this doesn’t have to hurt. As soon as you learn how to mind that nasty tongue of yours,” they brought the cane down again, satisfaction shivering through them, making their chest squeeze and their eyes momentarily close, “this will all be so much better.”

Not that Ren wasn’t having fun, at present, but it was important to give little fleas like 02 a goal to work towards.

“No,” 02 gasped quietly, with a mirthless chuckle, “No it won’t.”

“Do not disagree with me,” Ren ordered plainly, bringing the cane down again. 02 cried out in pain, and midway through it evolved into a scream of rage.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you assholes--AAH!” Ren brought the cane down twice, one for each slight.

“02,” Ren said with a little huff. “I am not Mike; refrain from treating me like him. Each time I punish you can and will be linked to a misdeed, and each misdeed you do will be met with punishment. I’m reliable, and you’ll learn that soon enough.”

“Oh, gee, thanks Exalted!” 02 gasped, his forehead pressed to the floor, now, thin frame heaving with his rapid breaths, sweat giving his skin a pleasant sheen and aggravated red bright on his back. “Thank you so fucking much for letting me rely on the fact you’ll beat my ass whenever I don’t do ‘good enough!’”

“You’re welcome,” Ren said cheerily, whacking him with the cane again. Their arms were going to get tired, if they had to keep this up all week. “That was for the sarcasm.”

“Fuck you!” 02 sobbed, crying now. They struck him again. The cane was heavy, metal, and, well, a cane. It wasn’t meant to be an endurance tool; carelessness could easily fuck up a person’s ribcage or, if striking somewhere vulnerable like a fucking chump, a person’s organs or spinal column. The bruises they’d already left would be heavy, dark, painful with each movement of his core or arms, and uncomfortable to stand or walk with. They were surprised he’d lasted this long. Precious, sweet, delicate Soren wouldn’t have made it past the first blow before he would be begging for mercy--not that Ren would ever hurt Soren like this, of course not! But it was fun to know that they had a more durable plaything, now, something stupid and spiteful that would grant them every excuse to be as mean as they could possibly want.

“If you vomit from pain, you’ll be the one to clean it up,” Ren commented, nudging the side of 02’s face with the cane’s tip and admiring the flushed, wet mess they found.

“I’d rather v-vomit than,” 02 gasped and swallowed, choking down his sobs, “l-lick your fucking boots,” 02 rasped, and Ren rolled their eyes. They stomped on the back of his head, slamming his face into the concrete, and raised the cane high, high above their head. He cried out, in fear, in pain, in the exhaustion that came with both, his dumb mouth pushing his body to its limit, and, for the first time since his arrival at Ren’s doorstep, tried to physically struggle away. But he was too weak for that, now. He was injured and feeble and Ren felt on top of the fucking world, delighted grin on their face.

“Exalted!” Soren cried, colliding into them, pressing his lithe little body up against theirs and gripping at the front of their blouse. They blinked, shocked, and momentarily forgot all about 02 beneath their foot. “Exalted, p-please, he’s just, just having a hard time, adjusting, please, you’ve taught him good, Exalted, it’s just that he’s--a, a s-stupid m-m-mutt. Y-You have better, um, better things, you could do, than, um, w-waste your time on, on a w-worm.” Soren begged with his wide, pretty eyes, full of fear, his brain just barely moving fast enough to keep up with his mouth, and Ren barked a laugh at hearing him talk like that. He was… terribly transparent.

“Oh, my little angel?” they asked, letting the cane dangle loosely by their side and caressing his face with their free hand. “And what ‘better things’ could I be doing?”

Soren took one, then two quick, rushed breaths, and then lifted up onto his tiptoes to kiss Ren. They hugged him one-armed around his waist, holding his body in place as he pressed into them so sweetly. Cute and submissive and acting just like he did when he wanted it. When he pulled away, he smiled at them, and he was such a bad liar, every ounce of it looked forced. But Ren didn’t mind. Ren kind of liked it.

He tugged at them, by the sleeve of their blouse, by the waistline of their skirt, and coaxed them over to the thick, heavy metal pipe that ran from the floor to ceiling of their laundry room. They let themself be gently pushed up against it, fully aware of what Soren was doing. But they let it happen. If Soren wanted to sink down so neat and gracefully onto his knees and tug down their skirt and underwear, why should they stop him? If he wanted to spare 02 the punishment he rightfully deserved, well, they’d have plenty of opportunities to punish him later. Why not let Soren take Ren’s cock into his mouth? Why not lean back against the pipe with a pleased hum and a hand idly caressing Soren’s cheek?

They deserved this, honestly. To get a nice little go-around with a bad mouthed brat, followed up with Soren sucking them off. It was a decadence. They were drooling. They were brimming with electric energy from the caning, and it was all too easy for that to shift south with beautiful, lovely Soren at their feet, slender fingers cupping their balls and anchoring himself on their thigh.

“Exalted?” Soren asked, slipping off of their cock and staring up at them with his big brown eyes. “Will you grip my hair?” he asked, his hand covering the one they had on his cheek, as though to keep it from moving. He was very, very obviously trying to coax them into putting away the cane, probably made nervous by its continued presence--or wanting to spare 02 the nerves. But, well, why not let him coax them? They were in an indulgent mood.

And Soren was good with his mouth. They retracted the cane and let it drop on top of their skirt on the floor, gripping him by the hair and forcing him down their cock. He knew how to hollow out his cheeks, how to run his tongue up along the underside of their dick, the pressure and strength that felt best when he fondled their balls. He was so, so good at sucking dick, and another pleased, satisfied part of Ren reared its head. He’d been decent, when they’d first started fucking him, but his skill had grown exponentially since his purchase. They were responsible for this skill. They had been the one to make him like this, mold him into this, teach him and shape him to their will.

“Pretty bird,” Ren praised, head leaned back against the pipe, and when they slit their eyes open, they smiled. 02 was watching. Horrified. Disgusted. Guilty. Rapt. He couldn’t look away, they were sure.

“Such a good mouth, Soren,” Ren praised, the words directed at 02. He looked up at their face, and flinched, still lying on the floor in agony and weakness. Unable to spare himself the pain, unable to stop Soren from rescuing him from his own idiocy.

They dragged it out. Each time they would get close to their orgasm they would pull Soren off, make him mouth along the side of their cock, reminding him to breathe. They would, if the surge hit them too fast, too close, sometimes press Soren’t face into their hip, holding him there, crooning at him about how good he was doing, how wonderful it felt. They praised him loudly, frequently, a reminder to both pets that good behavior was rewarded. Sure, Soren had interrupted them, presumed he might manipulate them, but his knees would pay the price for that; they weren’t worried.

And 02 got to watch and hear all of it, in useless pain, and Ren finally let themself come, to that thought specifically, to the knowledge that they ever so thoroughly owned both of these boys. And the fact that there was nothing either of them could do about it.

“Oh, perfect timing angel,” Ren praised, stroking his jaw as his throat worked, listening to the alerting beep from the kitchen. They turned their eyes fully on 02 and grinned. “Time’s up!” they announced cheerfully, making his eyes blow wide again, and a keen rose off him.

“Oh don’t be such a little bitch, mutt,” Ren scolded lightly as they raised their skirt back around their waste, sliding the cane into their pocket as Soren wiped at his mouth. “It’s just dinner. Get up.”

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zombriekid · 5 years ago

Text

The Devil Takes Care of His Own 3/?? [Alastor/Gender Neutral Reader]

Series: Hazbin Hotel

Chapter Name: Checking In?

Chapter Summary: you’re faced with a dilemma as the happy hotel opens its doors to you

Text from: The Boss

“WHAT. THE FUCK. DID YOU DO, NEWBIE?”

Oh no...

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

Fuck... oh fuck, oh god no, please.

“WHY ARE SO MANY OF MY CLIENTS COMPLAINING ABOUT YOU?!”

The drop of your stomach echoes with a fluttering impression, while a surge of heat, abrupt and uncomfortable, licks at the lining of your throat all the way up to your jaw and it bleeds into your ears; the burgundy walls all around you begin to shrink.

“SOWBELLY SAYS YOU BROKE SOME SHOT!”

“*shit you broke some shit”

“AND THAT COFFEE SMELLIN HIPSTER FUCK SAYS-”

With a resounding clack, your phone slips from your grip and plummets to the sturdy countertop below, a noise that makes the three people around you flinch (you notice distantly), but your brain- your outermost awareness- doesn’t even bother. Because your entire world is now summing up to the blurbs of rapid fire notifications assaulting the LCD screen. Message after heated text message just filled to the brim with expletives and threats and perpetual capslock until this massive wall of verbal abuse blurs your vision; makes your head throb in sync with the increasing thump-thump of your heart.

The device vibrates against the bar and its screen lights up with another message alert, this one demanding your immediate response before declaring you a “useless piece of shit”, and then not long after comes a voice mail about a minute in length.

You’re not gonna listen to it though, you’re gonna grovel.

A tap from your right middle finger brings the digital keyboard to the glass, and your digits begin dancing across the letters to formulate what you consider to be a heartfelt apology, and you beg forgiveness for your transgressions as a lowly delivery person.

But three paragraphs in your hand forces a sudden stop; typos in need of amending due to the constant use of the backspace key, an entire sentence underlined by red squiggly lines with no break between the nonsense letters, and without realizing it at some point you accidentally pulled up the emoji list and now thirty percent of your sniveling is made up of a bunch of cartoons. It’s an odd sensation, you think as you stare back at the jargon, a backlog of muscle memory for modern technology yet you can’t even design coherent text messages in order to save face.

In order to save your fucking job.

All because your goddamn useless hands won’t stop fucking shaking.

Suppose it’s a futile effort at this point- your ass is one hundred percent absolutely and totally fired now.

Meaning no money for bills, no money for food, for utilities, for clothes... Here comes your eviction notice- goodbye lumpy mattress, and a fine greeting to the filthy streets of Pentagram City. A steep price for your compulsive philanthropy, go figure that that’s how things operate down here. How bass ackwards.

But that’s alright, that’s okay, you’ve been through worse you think- you’ve been- you’ve...

You’ve suffered through worse before. Homelessness? Ha, nothing compared to the shit you’ve seen willingly, a temporary setback, maybe a coworker will let you sleep on their couch. The new girl, what was her name? Stacy? Yeah, she’s pretty eager she’ll let you crash with her- it’ll give her more of an excuse to “befriend” you but that’s alright. Sacrifice comfort for survival, right?

“Newbie.”

Not the first time, definitely won’t be the last; life in a concrete jungle is such a fickle bitch, especially here in-

“Newbie!”

-here in Pentagram City.

Present time. Post death. Hell. The here and now.

Impossibly small hands are pulling the apples of your cheeks into fleshy bulbs, folding your lips as a pout, and the darkened corners of your vision dim until Niffty’s lone ocular takes precedence in sight; a triad of quick blinks help anchor your focus.

Oh. How wonderful. Yet another episode... how many does that make today? Certainly way more than usual.

You blame the stress.

“Newbie, you okay?” Niffty asks with a tight throat, and a bob of your head delivers your response.

“Just havin’ a... moment. But I’m alright now.”

She glances down to her right in the direction of your phone, still glaring at you from the grainy surface of the bar, and it’s as if you can literally see the gears in her brain start to rotate. You’re fairly certain that she’s about to put two and two together and get four.

“That’s just my own bossman, Mr. Terry. Well, pretty sure he’s my former boss now.”

“Is it cause of today? When you helped me?”

Your knee-jerk reaction is to mindlessly blurt out a response that would confirm her suspicions, but luckily whatever humanity remains in tact notices her pitch- not necessarily concern rather something akin to it paints the undertone- and it clamps your mouth shut with an audible click of your teeth. Because what you were about to do, what you were about to say, be it directly or indirectly that was going to shift at least some of the blame on to her, and that would be completely unfair. The fault doesn’t lie with her. It’s entirely your own. First off the little lady didn’t even ask for your help, she didn’t beckon to you she didn’t plead for interception, you swooping in to “save the day” was your body’s reflexive need to act, to just do something instead of perpetuating the stereotype of morbidly curious bystander. Second, the manner of which how you saved her was incredibly, stupidly sloppy- a path of damage shadowing your trek and all you left behind was a substantial cost of repairs and replacements. Since when was charging through a line of stores ever a good idea?!

No, you made the decision to do something about Niffty’s situation, so you could’ve found a better way to engage it- actually you should’ve found a better way, but your lapse in judgment cost some people tools, resources, products, and even some clientele, thus costing you practically everything, and now Hell is demanding its pound of flesh from someone’s hide.

Don’t let her believe that it may come from her.

“Nah, I accidentally pissed off some clients recently,” you say as you gently take hold of her hands and remove them from your face. “No need to worry about it, kiddo.” Which none of that is a lie in any capacity, sometimes your cleverness does in fact shine through.

Niffty doesn’t seem to think so, though obviously there’s no way for her to know without some form of mind reading, regardless her face falls into a displeased frown complete with round, bulgy cheeks. “I’m not a kid, Newb. Besides you’re younger than me!”

Oh, she’s so friggin precious, you’re gonna miss this youngen. “In terms of dates, sure. But my, uhh, ‘departure time’ so to speak-” you decorate this with air quotes “-gives me some years on ya.”

“Yeah, by a few at most.”

... No? By, like, ten-ish years? Are you missing something?

“Dude I’m pretty sure I died somewhere in my twenties.”

“Okay? And?”

Okay, yeah, you’re definitely missing something. The tingles on the back of your neck prove this.

She’s not a child, is she?

“... Niffty, how old were you when you bought the farm?”

“Twenty two.”

Alright, okay, that’s dope- how long until the next extermination? That’s a thing you’ve heard about, and you’d really love to volunteer yourself to be first in line right about now. The sooner the better, really.

From pit in his stomach comes an eruption of raucous glee, such an intense reaction that it forces Angel Dust- long forgotten until now- to bend until he’s bracing himself with two hands on his knees, the other pair clutching around his heaving abdomen, as he cry-laughs at your expense.

Meanwhile, the feathered feline fellow manning the bar makes a sound in the back of his throat loud enough to reach your ears, and when you give him your attention he deems the conversation relevant enough to glimpse at you from the corner of his amber eyes; there’s a deep green bottle entrapped in his massive paws and with a tip of the neck he takes a hearty swig before he finally mutters whatever is on his mind. You catch a whiff of the unmistakeable odor of bitter, cheap booze.

“Didja really think Niff’s a kid?”

...

Ten minutes.

Ten whole arduous minutes spent enduring rigorous taunting and not-so-light-hearted ribbing from all three demonic compatriots; statements such as “not so bright are ya, smooth talka?” ala Angel and “no wonder you’re so weird” courtesy of Niffty force the tips of your ears to sear with your cheeks quickly following the same trend.

In your defense, Niffty’s rather small stature and youthful disposition makes her seem much younger than she actually (apparently) is, and sincerest apologies to the court but she’s the most humanoid individual you’ve encountered downside- other than Charlie, of course- so how were you to know that she wasn’t a child in danger solely based on the information you were given? It’s not like you had the time to stop and ask!

And if this trio of assholes would take a few moments to consider your perspective then maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to jump straight to mockery, so until they do they can just suck your bits.

____________________________________

Some time passes, you’re unclear on how much for you refuse to even so much as think of your phone right now, and though you’ve yet to receive anything further from Mr. Terry- no more text messages, no more voice mails, no more notifications- and though the hotel’s three residents have retired from their cruelty and are seeking entertainment elsewhere- Niffty on a dusty painting, Husk at the bottom of a bottle, and Angel Dust... doing whatever in another room- still you find no peace.

No respite from this fuster cluck of a situatio.

And you don’t know what you’re going to do about it.

But you gotta do something, can’t let this continue to fester, so take a deep breath: one, two, three, four- and let it out: five, six, seven, eight- and repeat. Clear your head. Think about this logically.

The first step should be an apology, of course, but your gut tells you that a simple “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to, won’t happen again” just wouldn’t suffice- not for a group of pissed off demons at least. And your employment with Mr. Terry is a measly two weeks young, nowhere near enough to build up some sort of history of positive work ethic, so starting with him is practically a fool’s errand already.

After all, your enigmatic boss isn’t known for his mercy.

... maybe...

Maybe you’re on to something with that assessment.

Maybe you shouldn’t apologize to him first but rather save him for last. Work up the list of priorities instead of down.

Starting with the demon you pissed off first: Mrs. Sowbelly.

Two pokes at your back.

A delicate, graceful exclamation of “FUCK!” comes bellowing out of your mouth as the abrupt shock nearly sends your ass careening to the floor, your hands scrambling upon the bar in order to hook stability.

Mere seconds later and you find Charlie over the slope of your shoulder with her right index finger pointed in your direction; the look on her face suggests that your squawking startled her. In this moment your mouth works much faster than your brain and an apology is already leaping off your tongue... that is until you notice the person standing next to her.

Now, not to be rude about it, but there’s nothing inherently striking about this individual; gray tinted skin, long white hair pouring down the length of her spine, a few inches shorter than the blonde at her side, and a large pink eye staring straight at you with something like irritation. For the most part, she looks human- not humanoid like Charlie and Niffty, but like you.

Human.

And that’s why she’s stealing your attention.

“Hey Newbie, I want to introduce you to the Happy Hotel’s manager and my partner, Vaggie.” Charlie says with a somewhat forced smile, likely residual from your outburst.

With your eyes trained on the gal in question, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Howdy, pleasure to meet you.”

Vaggie doesn’t say anything back.

Luckily, however, Charlie keeps the conversation rolling.

“The two of us actually wanted to talk to you about something important. Is... is that okay?”

For your anxiety? Anything that even remotely parallels “we need to talk” is a near guarantee to sending your heart to the racetrack, so no it’s not okay in that regard. That being said, given her response earlier, before Mr. Terry battered you with derisive texts, and the fact that she called the manager/her girlfriend over is... well, you’d be lying if you said that you aren’t intrigued. Skeptical, maybe even paranoid, but intrigued. So you give your consent.

“Cool beans! So, umm, I think I’m just going to cut to the chase here,” she clears her throat, “we want you to stay here. At the Happy Hotel. To be rehabilitated.”

...

....

“I’m sorry, fucking what?”

The question is out before the rest of your body has time to process Charlie’s words, but even when you fully digest the information you’re still left feeling perplexed. What does she mean “rehabilitation”, what all does that entail, why did she have to call her girlfriend for this?

And, oh, how her patience seems to know no bounds for the smile that curls on her lips is soft, and her brow pulls together in what you can only call generosity. Like she understands your confusion; makes you wonder how often she goes through this schtick.

“Allow me to explain our predicament since you’re still new.”

And she does, in great detail, weaving a copper-scented tapestry with threads dyed the shades of suffering and heinous sin. In less pretentious terms, she regurgitates material you’ve only heard in passing. Hell is bursting at the seams with its substantial over population issue, one that only grows more exacerbated with each newcomer, and with limited real estate and even more limited resources the powers that be reached the conclusion long ago that a percentage just... has to go. Enter the exterminators, a team set out from the tippy topside whose sole purpose is to literally slash some numbers in half once a year.

Charlie doesn’t like this, in fact her exact words are “it kills me inside knowing that my people are being systematically annihilated” and honestly they kinda make you equate this to that of a speech from some representative- an authority figure, someone with power, which makes sense if this is her hotel. It’s pretty, the way she feels about the annual genocide, but you’ve yet to hear her alternative solution if she has any to begin with.

As the saying goes, actions do speak louder than words.

That’s when she genuinely explains the hotel’s purpose: to purge the demons of their vices, purify their souls, make right their wrong doings from when they were alive so that they can walk through the pearly gates as a reborn person, faultless and whole. Redemption. Rehabilitation. Because a hotel is only a temporary pitstop between two destinations.

The idea... makes enough sense, you guess.

“I mean, that’s neat, super admirable, and the whole idea of reforming demons instead of just- ya know- offing them sounds way better in comparison. But uhh- what does this have to do with me?”

“Well,” Charlie looks over at Vaggie before advancing her explanation, “you’re new. You haven’t regained your memories yet, your body hasn’t adapted yet, you still have your humanity- I mean you helped Niffty out of a tight spot without any expectation of a reward!”

“Nah, I just did what felt like the right thing at the time.”

“Exactly! We need someone like that here!”

Ah.

Now the picture has clarity.

What Charlie said earlier, “... if I can help just one demon find redemption here then everyone else will believe too!” that was merely another way of saying “we haven’t succeeded yet.” And judging by the way the hotel’s current residents, this motley crew of friends(?), they’ve been trying with people who have been here a lot longer than you have- you, a newbie that hasn’t gone through “the Change” yet, hasn’t full acclimated or been assimilated into the disgusting system of eternal suffering. Like they have. If redemption can be had here it’s more likely to be found with a newcomer like you, and if you can be saved then it’ll prove possible for anyone else.

At least that’s what you’ve surmised from the situation.

It doesn’t sit right with you though.

You did something topside to warrant your arrival here, or maybe you did a lot of things, or maybe you didn’t do enough, you don’t know and that’s the point. You don’t remember. There could be a mountain of skeletons shoved into your closet that you’re completely unaware of and until further notice that’s where they’re going to remain if they even exist.

You. Don’t. Know.

There are way too many unknown variables regarding your past- no, you’re very identity, and though you’ve been reassured on numerous occasions that that’s actually the standard here for newcomers... that doesn’t mean you deserve a second chance. Because who you were may not deserve it.

So don’t waste the room on a potential lost cause, is what you tell them.

“All the more reason to try it now before your memories can influence you.” Vaggie says in a firm voice, the very first you’ve heard her speak.

And admittedly the logic is sound, you’re not trying to dispute that, it’s just...

Not you- a clattering racket against the bar top- anyone else may deserve this opportunity- disrupts the conversation- but not you- and it takes all of two seconds to determine the source. It’s your phone, probably Mr. Terry announcing you officially dead to his business.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Still Vaggie.

As of right now, no, you really don’t.

“Residents can board here for free, you just have to stay clean- no sinning, at least as best you can.”

That’s not too bad, you think. Maybe you should-

No! No, one “good deed” doesn’t merit a shot at atonement. It’s not going to negate whatever it is you did to topside to leave you downside.

...but you’re more than likely out of a job now, one that barely paid enough to cover expenses to begin with, and losing your apartment is trailing not that far behind.

“What do you say, Newbie?”

“I-” the sudden dryness in your throat drags forth a minor coughing fit. “I don’t know if I deserve it.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Sacrifice comfort for survival, right?

You take a deep breath. “O-okay. Where’s the check-in sheet?”

____________________________________

a/u: mental health has been a bitch to deal with so i’m sorry that this took longer than i expected. i have half a mind to scrap this and redo it again but i’ma do this funky fresh thing where i stop overanalyzing it and put it out there for y’all to read. still no beta, and still no al yet, but we’re definitely getting c l o s e r, got this bitch all planned out and everything. y’all know the deal by now: like, reblog, and comment; the engagement makes my lil queer kokoro go doki doki

tagged: @kryptum-one @itz-kira @peachesandkats (i’m in love with all three of y’all, just letting you know)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x you #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #writing

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