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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 · 5 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

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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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fixdex-fastening-technology · 4 years ago

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zombriekid · 5 years ago

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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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nsheetee · 6 years ago

Text

Yin&Yang

Pairing: Mark Lee x Reader Genre: Bulleted AU, Superhero AU || Action, Romance, Angst, Mystery Length: 6.3k Details: mentions of Johnny, Doyoung, and Sicheng, major character death, happy ending Summary: In a world where certain people obtain superpowers, you are granted the dark and destructive powers of Yin while Mark is granted the bright and positive powers of Yang. Forced to work together, Mark uses his powers of creation to fight evil and you use your powers of destruction to maintain the balance of the world. The superhero gig isn’t full-time, though; you live as a University student, and when Mark becomes your chemistry lab partner, unbeknownst to either of you of your secret identities, a love blooms that seems to be stronger than any disguise you can hide yourselves under. Will Yin&Yang be able to conquer Imitatrice, a new villian who seems to be able to imitate superpowers? Or will it cost Yin&Yang their relationship? Or worse, their lives?

▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼

Yin and Yang are forces that are complementary (rather than opposing) to each other

just like how there can never be day without night or cold without heat

in your city, there can never be yin without yang

any average citizen of your city could tell you that yin&yang are anything but trouble

yin&yang are the city’s heroes

the black and white matching uniforms with complementing masks that cover over half of their faces could be recognized by anyone

children were taught to recognize their figures and how to shout for their help- just in case

people would stop what they were doing and gawk as yin&yang zoom down the streets, cheering them on as they ran to save the city once again

ever since superheroes appeared decades ago, the entire city started to rely on the comforting notion that a superhero will save the day

whether it be from a good-for-nothing criminal that’s involved in petty crimes, or another superpowered human that decided to use their fate-given gift for malicious purposes

these “supervillains”

(a term appropriately coined by the citizens of the city)

are the reason many wealthier people are opposed to superpowers, and have tried to place a ban on the city from allowing superpowers to be used

this law never passed, the people of the city were too adamant on the idea that superpowers did more good than bad

fate granted you the destructive powers of yin

living life as yin was.,.,. mentally scarring, to say the least

to have the ability to destroy anything you touch from existence was.... a bit difficult to get used to

and finding out that your superpower matched with this other random kid’s superpower (better known as yang)

and finding out that the two of you balance out and help keep the world from falling apart

it was just a little too much for hormone-filled teenagers

despite that, you and yang have worked together for several years to stop criminal acts

yang has the power to create anything he wants

weapons, tools, literally anything you could think of

with one exception

you had to destroy something of the same caliber in return, to keep the balance of matter in the world

this led to years of fighting crime together

and years of being pushed into the shadow of yang’s accomplishments

at first, you didn’t mind that people only saw you as someone who destroyed things

you were glad that yang was confident enough to handle the press because at that point in time, you weren’t

yang was always at your side

he was always reminding you that he couldn’t do his part without you

to you and him, you were a team- it didn’t matter what other people thought

▼△▼△▼△▼△

on a bright and fresh morning in the downtown area of your city, a shapeshifter wreaks havoc, disturbing several people’s day and destroying businesses and property

you and yang run towards downtown, the wind whipping past your faces and the cheers of people with their cameras pointed at you encouraging you to go faster

you both stop in front of the shapeshifter- you couldn’t really tell what it shifted into

some sort of hybrid between a lion and something with wings with big horns on its head

both of your minds go into a fritz at the sight in front of you- you’ve never had a fight with something that looked this non-human

“you got a plan for this one, yang?” you quietly asked your partner beside you- slowly backing up as the creature catches sight of you

“of course I do, smiles” even during times of stress, yang still throws out his endearing pet name for you with a smile

you relax, knowing that yang is confident makes you feel confident, too

“I just need some time” yang finishes

almost like an answer to a prayer, lissome comes from the opposite direction

his flexible and stretchy limbs propelling him further down the street- his green suit stretching with him and reflecting in the morning sun

behind him is foreshadow, a tall and lanky man with hair as black as the night and a suit as blue as the deep sea

although you and yang were the only superheroes that work together, lissome and foreshadow are known to help you out when a particularly stubborn supervillain appeared

“lissome! foreshadow! I know how we can catch the shapeshifter, I need a diversion!” yang yelled out

with one shared look, foreshadow and lissome took action

foreshadow used his ability of calculating the shapeshifters next movements and pointed that lissome should go the opposite direction

lissome’s malleable limbs seemed to catch the shapeshifter off guard and the constant movement from foreshadow seemed to confuse the supervillain, it was barely able to keep its eyes straight with all the movement from your two helpers

while all this was happening, yang quickly pulls your attention and points towards the multiple clothing lines hanging between two apartment buildings not too far away

knowingly, you sprint towards the buildings and begin to climb up the fire escape

“yin, hurry” you hear a cry from below you

you hang off of the fire escape with your right hand holding onto the railing for dear life, your left hand reaches out to the clothing line

you quickly envision the clothing line out of existence as your fingertips start to turn black with your power generating through you

and with one simple touch, the entire clothing line disappears, almost as if it wasn’t there to begin with, and reappears in yang’s hands in the form of a net

without much thought, yang, lissome, and foreshadow throw the heavy netting over the shapeshifter, stopping it from moving around

the supervillain lets out groans as it tries to shift into something that will break through the net

but it seems that fatigue takes over, and the shapeshifter returns to its normal human form

soon, the police task force used to detain superpowered humans show up and relieve the odd group of superheroes from the supervillain

and from all the ruckus of law enforcement, antidote shows up

his tall figure looms over the street, and as he walks everything behind him slowly moves into its correct place

the scratches left on cars that are parked on the side of the street are gone, the cracks in the concrete from the fighting are sealed, and even the heavy netting used to capture the shapeshifter is now once again turned into the clothing lines that hang between the two apartment buildings

antidote was the only one to ever be able to reverse what you and yang do

when you first met him at the beginning of your crime fighting career, he was a scary, tall guy whose powers seem to be stronger than yours

but slowly, you and yang realized that antidote was just a fellow superhero who would look out for you with all his might

antidote greets the four of you as a crowd forms, several cameramen and anchors ready to pounce on you to ask questions on your latest capture

more like ask yang about his most recent capture

his white mask does nothing to hide the smile on his face as he talks to the press animatedly about the events that went down

“one day, im gonna be busy and won’t be able to come and clean up after you kids and you’ll regret it” you almost don’t hear antidote’s groaning from beside you as you watch yang

his cool and calm demeanor calms down the citizens who are listening and you quietly admire his way with words- you’re quickly reminded why he is the city’s favorite superhero

“you say that every time we all show up together, but you always arrive on time...?” foreshadow grills from the other side of you and before a cat fight can break out, yang makes his way over to you

“great job today, guys! I know you all say you work alone, but I think we make a great te-”

“no thanks, one of us already has to deal with you taking all the credit for their work, I don’t want that weight on me, too”

an awkward air settles over the group and it seems like the comment put you in the center of attention, even though no one was looking at you

“yeah... I'd love to stay and continue this thrilling conversation, but I have places to be. until next time.” you end the conversation coldly

the four of them watch as you run through the crowd that parts like the red sea for you, fear propelling them away

away from your superpower

you’ve never used your power on a person before

you promised yourself you never would- that killing is not the answer to anything that you come across in this line of work

but no one wanted to find out what would happen if you did

▼△▼△▼△▼△

after quickly changing into your regular clothes, you make your way to your first class of the school year

although you love being a superhero, it wouldn’t pay the bills in the future

so you were a college student outside of your superhero persona

(yes, it was difficult to juggling both of these parts of your life)

(yes, you were stressed)

(yes, you were going to continue being yin- there were too many people that count on you and yang to save the city to just drop the superhero side of your life)

you made your way into your chemistry lab, greeting the professor and the professor’s assistant

the assistant’s name tag read “doyoung” and he showed you the seating assignment

once you sat down, the door to the lab opened once again

mark stumbled in, his backpack half open and hanging off one of his shoulders as he balanced his water bottle, phone, and several papers in his hands

before mark knew what was happening, he was falling over his own two feet with his phone flying up in the air and his papers falling to the floor

in one swift and fluid movement, doyoung grabbed mark’s arm to stabilize him, placing his foot down on the papers so they wouldn’t move away

when mark looked up at his savior, doyoung held mark’s flying phone in his other hand

mark’s gaze shifted to the other student’s in the class, but somehow no one was aware of the scene that just took place

they were all talking amongst each other and some even had their heads down on their table

“next time, tie your shoes. this is a chemistry lab, clumsiness can be fatal.” doyoung preached and sent a dumbfounded mark to his seat

as he arrived, his things practically fell from his hands and onto the table, getting your attention

when you look up at the ruckus next to you, your breathe leaves you

it feels like you can’t move

like whatever comprehensible thoughts you had before were suddenly erased as you looked at the person next to you

“hi, I'm mark. I’m your lab partner.”

he’s preoccupied with his things but he still smiles, pushing up his round glasses with his fingers and you swear you can’t look away from a sight like this

“im y/n”

mark finally looks at you

and everything suddenly feels right

like the feeling of completing a 1,000 piece puzzle

or the feeling of ending a 1,000 page novel

complete, relieved, and content

you both look at each other for a few more seconds as if the whole world doesn’t matter

“alright everyone, settle down...” the professor interrupts and you and mark snap out of the trance

he takes off his jacket and you gulp down some water from your water bottle because the room just feels a bit too hot for the two of you right now

your mind, that was blank from all thoughts before, was now running a million miles per hour and you try to shake off the weird feeling in your chest

you discreetly glance over at mark

he’s nothing like your type at all

the clumsiness he showed as he came to his seat and the nervous laughs he let out as the professor talked was not something you were usually attracted to

you felt weird to admit it, but you were most attracted to someone like yang, who was cool and confident and almost unbothered

mark tried to listen to the professor as they talked, but his eyes kept wondering over to you

he couldn’t shake off how much you looked like yin

the same hair color and the same shaped eyes, even your lips looked the same

but as soon as the thought came into his mind, he shook it off

yin was a bit... stone cold

the yin he knew wasn’t one to be super warm and fuzzy- they were calculated and decisive

and you sat next to him with sweater paws and an aura of softness around you that made you look so so so inviting

more inviting than yin could probably ever be

(despite that, mark still admired yin... very strongly admired)

so you both sat through your professor’s talking, silently wishing that the other would say something

hoping that you could catch each other’s gazes just once more

▼△▼△▼△▼△

with all of this going on, neither of you notice beatrice, who sits behind both of you

lets talk about beatrice for a bit:

she belongs to a wealthy family, they fund several activities at the university and are well known in the city

(they are well known for hating superpowers as well...)

despite this, beatrice is not that popular on campus

she mostly keeps to herself, and just sticks to her small group of friends (if you can even call them that)

but she has a secret:

she has a superpower

and it’s a dangerous one

she has the ability to know when someone possesses a superpower, and even worse, she has the ability to copy it

this type of superpower is not common, usually superpowers stick to just expanding normal human traits

because of this, beatrice sees herself as someone special, that fate has given her this gift for a reason

when she told her family of her amazing gift, thinking they would accept her and maybe even change their minds about superpowers

she was shocked when they told her to keep it to herself, to not let anyone find out

she was even more shocked when her parents continued to parade around the city with nastiness dripping from their mouths about superpowers

now, sitting behind you and mark, she immediately understands

she understands her purpose

she understands that you are yin and mark is yang

and judging by the way you are acting around each other, you don’t even know it yourselves

she chuckles quietly to herself

“what a bunch of fools”

after peering her head around to make sure no one was paying attention to her

she leans forward in her chair, across the table, and quietly plucks a strand of mark’s hair off of his jacket that hangs on the back of his chair

she quietly forms a plan in her mind as the professor drones on and on

▼△▼△▼△▼△

the next few months are pretty hectic not only for you and mark, but yin and yang as well

you and mark both realize you aren’t that good at chemistry (I mean, who is?)

so you decide to spend some time outside of class to catch up and help each other with your studies

(this was totally because you are lab partners, not because of how you felt towards each other hahahah.,.,. no- not at all)

the library was extra crowded at the beginning of the school year and you and mark found yourselves sitting on the floor during some study sessions because there were not enough tables

when doyoung, your professor’s assistant, ran into both of you studying on the library floor, he helps both of you pick up your things and takes you to a library cafe a few streets away

there were way less people here and many more seats- also, coffee was discounted for students

this is where you met johnny- the owner of the place, and sicheng- a fellow student at your university who works part time at this store

the first time you met them, sicheng was at the cash register of the cafe part of the store, all smiles and low giggles as you, mark, and doyoung gave him your orders

“what is your major, sicheng? I haven’t seen you around?” you ask and lean forward to hear him better

“dance... which is probably why you’ve never seen me before” you both lightly laugh at the small talk, until you feel mark by your side

he gently pushes you away and gives his order to sicheng

mark didn’t really like how your attention was all on sicheng

how you just met him, but you could start up conversation so easily

when you could barely talk to mark without stuttering after several weeks of knowing each other

“what the hell is wrong with me?” mark thinks as he pays

you were just talking to the cashier, that was it, he shouldn’t be feeling like this- for his lab partner, no less

thankfully, you didn’t say anything about his small gesture

as johnny started making your drinks, he walked away from the expresso machine for just a moment

an abrupt clatter caught everyones attention

sicheng was holding the coffee cup to his chest and a bunch of straws were spilled all over the floor and the counter

he gives a shy smile “sorry everyone, the cup was about to fall off the machine. I caught it, though!” and everyone turned back to what they were doing as johnny chastised sicheng about wasting product

(you, mark, johnny, and doyoung found it slightly weird how sicheng was able to catch the cup so fast even though the machine was over five feet away from the cash register)

▼△▼△▼△▼△

you and mark LOVE the library cafe, it was cozy and kinda small

but you could actually sit in chairs to study, and you kept coming several times a week

especially when doyoung was there, he would sit down with you and help you with the concepts you couldn’t understand

one particular day, johnny was moving through the tables and replacing the daily newspaper with the one that has today’s date

as he set it on the table you were working on, your eyes stared at the picture on the front cover and you slowly dropped your pencil to pick up the thick collection of articles

taking up half of the front cover was a picture of yang- it was from a few days ago when you and yang defeated an armed bulgur at the city’s bank

but only yang was in the picture as he handed off the criminal to the police, yin’s figure was in the back- a blur as you moved around

the cameras didn’t even bother to catch your presence

a feeling of anger started to fill the bottom of your stomach

yin was there, too

yin helped capture the bugler, too

you were used to not being on the cover of any newspapers or articles, but for some reason your existence as yin being boiled down to this one blur in a photo made you angry

why weren’t you given any proper credit?

“y/n... are you okay?” mark asked from where he sat next to you

he noticed your tense figure and something propelled him to lift his arm over you and lay it on the back of your chair as he leaned in closer, all his attention on you

his fingertips grazed over your arm, and for some reason you weren’t taken aback by his sudden closeness

you relished in the attention he was giving you and it made you relax

yang deserved the recognition, the amount of people he has saved is immeasurable, and your power... just scared people away

you could deal with it

you have been for this long

“yeah, I'm okay.” you pushed the newspaper onto the table and a plate that was sitting on the edge was pushed off and shattered on the ground, catching johnny’s attention

“oh god, I'm sorry, johnny-”

“no, it’s okay, don’t move. I got it.”

mark eyed the newspaper on the table in front of you

seeing himself as yang would always be weird to him

he picked up the papers with his other hand and looked at the photo a while longer, sighing at the blurry, dark color of yin in the background

mark was glad that people saw him as a hero, but he wished people saw yin as a hero as well

yin puts just as much effort into fighting crime as yang

yin&yang are a team

the city wouldn’t be the same if there was just yang and he wished more people could recognize this

“are you sure you’re okay? you looked... not like yourself just now?” mark is brought down to earth from his thoughts when johnny repeats the question

“yes, johnny. thank you. I'm just... a little stressed with all this work, you know?”

johnny seemed to accept your answer “you guys don’t work yourselves too hard, okay?”

you, mark, and doyoung all nodded and johnny bent down to retrieve the plate, picking it up and setting it back on the table and walking away to continue his business

all three of you looked at the plate

it was whole

not in pieces like it was moments ago

and almost as if everyone at the table could read each others minds

you all left it alone

returning to your books and notes, quietly noting the small incident, but not daring to speak of it to each other

▼△▼△▼△▼△

as for your feelings towards mark, they kept coming

you thought that maybe after spending some time together, they would gradually go away

maybe you would find somethings that you hated about him- he must have some sort of faults... right...?

but no, it seemed like someone, somewhere, wanted both of you to keep these feelings for each other

you even tried to find things you don’t like about him

like the fact that he’s super clumsy

(how could you hate the small blush that covered his cheeks when he asked you to help him carry his things, or when you catch the sleeve of his jacket and pull him away from stepping into a puddle or running into a door?)

or the fact that he laughs at everything... I mean EVERYthing, even if it’s not funny

(how could you deny the fact that his giggle sounds so much like yang’s???)

as for mark- he lets himself fall

he falls completely into his feelings for you, at first by accident, but after getting to know you more- he is relieved that he allowed himself the pleasure of loving you

you were different from what he thought he wanted, but he accepted it wholeheartedly

your soft smiles, your hard-working mind set, whatever it was- he fell for it all

unfortunately, these feelings translated to yin&yang as well

the feelings were there because you and mark were yin&yang- but neither of you knew that

which just added to the confusion and made both of you wonder:

who was underneath the mask of your crime fighting partner?

▼△▼△▼△▼△

on one particular night, after catching yet another criminal and handing them over to the police, you and yang made yourselves scarce from the scene

yang noticed your hunched posture and walked faster to catch up to you

he grabbed onto your elbow and moved both of you into an alleyway a few feet away

“yang, what is it?” you weren’t really in the mood- crime fighting always made you tired

“what’s going on with you? is it the paparazzi again? I know they don’t give you the credit you deserve but you can’t let them get to you like that-”

“no, yang, it’s not that. it’s... you”

yang tilted his head

“me? what did I do?”

you sighed and rubbed your hand over your mask

“you’ve been very.... restricting lately”

“what do you mean?”

“you haven’t been letting me destroy things like you used to. like when we stopped that one armed burglar, you didn’t let me destroy his gun-”

“it was a GUN, you could’ve been SHOT”

“when has that ever stopped me before?” you ask and yang shuts his mouth

“don’t you trust me?” you ask again “because I trust you”

the alleyway becomes stuffy with your choice of words

“I can’t help it, smiles.” he weakly says, using your pet name, knowing that it’ll make you soft for him

you roll your eyes at his tactics but your heart beats a little faster anyways

“I don’t know, I just... I don’t want you to get hurt. what we do is dangerous and if something happened to you- if you got hurt and I couldn’t protect you... or even worse, if you got hurt because of me... I don’t know what I would do with myself”

the confession slips off of yang’s tongue so smoothly that the words pluck your heart strings, a beautiful melody resounding in your chest and you began to feel light

yang sighs, if there was any chance to tell you his thoughts- it was now

“I think I could let you do your part if... we show each other who we are.” yang says and the airy feeling spreading through you abruptly disappears

“yang... you know that’s dangerous. we can’t-”

“we can, smiles. we can pulls off our masks right now and that can be the end. wouldn’t you feel better knowing who I am?”

you thought about his question, would you feel better if you knew who yang was? it was a tempting offer, and something that you’ve recently thought about...

but you’ve gone this long without knowing who he is.. does it even matter anymore?

yang senses your doubt and steps forward, pushing you against the cold, brick wall behind you

but you don’t feel trapped or pushed, his presence doesn’t frighten you

he looks into your eyes, swearing he’s seen them somewhere else before, and those lips... how close they were getting to his

he’s so close you can see the sweat still sticking to his forehead and the individual strands of his hair hugging his skin, his fair skin glowing even though the alleyway was dimly lit

you can’t see all of him, but you know that underneath the mask he must be beautiful

“there can’t be yang without yin- that’s the whole point of our powers. In our world, there can never be a me without a you. Why are we hiding from each other?” yang whispers, bodies only inches apart now

your mind is infused with him- his proximity and scent and aura so overwhelming you feel like you’ll be complete if you could just lean in all the way

yang’s hand slowly creeps up to his mask, his fingers finding their way under the edge and he takes a deep breathe before-

“yin&yang!! help!! we need you!!!”

the shout pulls yang away from you, and you share one more look before leaving the alleyway and running towards the shouts

but the tension and questions that have risen don’t leave either of you

▼△▼△▼△▼△

the rise of imitatrice came very suddenly, and with almost no warning to you or anyone else

all you got was a notification on your phone from the local news station

a picture of a woman standing on top of the city hall building, wearing a dark purple uniform with long blonde hair whipping around in the wind

you didn’t think twice about changing into your suit and running towards the center of the city, where city hall is located

when you arrive, the whole front yard of city hall is blocked off and several people stand around along with the police and tv crews, filming the mysterious woman who is now by the fountain that is situated in front of the building

suddenly, on the command of an officer, a line of policemen all shoot a round of bullets right at the woman, making some members of the audience release screams in shock

she reacts quickly, her hands coming up in front of her, and several shields appear out of thin air, blocking the bullets from hitting her

gasps leaves the audience as the shields fall like dominos to the floor, breaking the concrete underneath

“oh, yin? you’ve arrived, came to join, huh? do you like the show I've been putting on?” the woman yells with a taunting lilt to her voice and the audience turns around at the mention of you

they part for you as you walk towards the woman, a familiar scene when it comes to yin walking through a crowd of people

your mind is reeling- the only other person able to conjure up something like that out of thin air is... yang

you look around- he’s no where to be seen

“where is yang? what did you do with him?”

“oh, I didn’t do anything, dear.” she steps forwards, raising her voice to make sure everyone hears her

“I am imitatrice, and my superpower is to imitate other superpowers. I have been silenced all my life, but no longer.”

“do you have to talk like that? you don’t look that much older than me, why are you so demeaning-” you try to play off her vague threat

but you’re cut off by an uncomfortable feeling in your gut starting to form, it cramps up and makes you feel sick- imitatrice notices your discomfort

“oh, what is the matter, my little yin? do you feel sick? maybe a bit... unbalanced?” she hints and your eyes widen in realization

if imitatrice really is copying yang’s power... then the world is slowly becoming unbalanced from her previous actions

despite the pain in your abdomen, you quickly run over to some parked cars, your left hand gliding over them as you run by, hoping that destroying them could balance out the matter in the world

when the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach goes away, you make your way back to imitatrice who has been watching you the entire time

as if everything is going the way she planned- she looks pleased

“imitatrice, please. you don’t have to do this.” you now try to reason, but the words don’t go through to her

“save your words, listen to me instead.” she counters, “I have yang’s power now, and you have yours.. why don’t we team up?”

her proposition makes the audience gasp and chatter fills the area before imitatrice starts to speak again

“why did you ever think that your powers of destruction could make you a superhero? you were made to DESTROY, for god sakes.” she chuckles and it makes your skin crawl

“If we work together... we could get equal credit, your name could be on all of the tabloids and media there is- not yang’s... yours” no doubt some people in the audience quietly think to themselves that you could do it- you could become a supervillain

“everything you touch dies- it rots away. do you ever think that yang could love you for that?” she asks

confusion runs through your thoughts “why would she bring up yang like that” but it quickly disappears

because a scary thought replaces it

“what if I did join her?”

you would definitely be on tabloids and a talked about person, fate’s gift to you would be used for what it was probably given to you for: destruction

but at what cost?

the cost of death, grief, and misery in a whole city?

....not on your watch

“if I have to use my power for evil, I'd rather not use my power at all”

your words anger imitatrice and she lets out a growl

“fine. have it your way” she turns around but she doesn’t get far before a voice catches her attention

“imitatrice, there’s room for only one power of creation in this city, and it’s mine”

you whip your head around at the sound of mark’s voice, only to see yang standing by the audience

he sounded so much like mark- but that was not something you had time to think about

lissome reaches over the crowd and the blockade, straight to imitatrice

foreshadow yells towards you and yang about going inside to help the last group of people out

and city hall slowly turns into a hot mess

the fountain in front of the city spills water onto the concrete and the grass has been turned over and ripped from the ground

several objects that imitatrice and yang both conjure up are laying all over the concrete- everything from rope to guns to materials like wood and metal

despite the dangerous action going on, citizens stand around and watch, phones up and recording every last second of the fight

soon yang, lissome, and foreshadow are trapped behind the shields that she imitatrice first made and have been thrown into the ground

you crouch down next to them- you’ve been running around touching anything you can destroy to keep up with yang’s and imitatrice’s tricks

you’re out of breath, but you still focus on what the group is saying

“nothing is working” lissome growls as he rests, at some point his uniform tore at the arm and you can see his skin covered in dirt underneath from all the fighting

“she’s not letting up, how do I defeat her if she’s just using my power against me?” yang asked, frustration seeping through his words

you look at the members of this odd group of superheroes- everyone looked so worn out from the fighting

tired eyes and confused thoughts prominent in all of them

“maybe yin can destroy something that’s the opposite of you, wouldn’t that give you more power?” foreshadow asks

“no that’s not possible” yang shakes his head “the only thing that’s the opposite of yang is-”

“me” you simply state, and all three superheroes turn to look at you

“the only thing that is the opposite of yang.... is yin” you sigh, and the tone of your voice makes yang panic

you sound like you’ve made up your mind on something

“no, don’t even think about it. absolutely not.” yang’s voice rose in volume as he talked

“I know you can defeat her. I mean it when I say I trust you, yang”

you honestly can’t even believe yourself, you were about to do something you promised yourself you’d never do

and you were willing to do it all for yang, for your city

“smiles....” yang says weakly, reaching out to you, but lissome holds him back

and before anyone can change your mind or stop you

your left hand, finger tips black from dirt and from your superpower, comes up and presses into your chest

and like you never existed, your presence was completely erased

gone

just like all of the things you’ve ever destroyed

yang couldn’t believe his eyes, lissome and foreshadow breath heavily as they stare at the space you once occupied

the audience that was watching you gasps and covers their children’s eyes and look away themselves

it was the most sudden death anyone could imagine

yang wasn’t about to let it be in vain

“c’mon. let’s finish this”

for once in his crime fighting career, yang lets anger take over

he doesn’t know if it was the surge of energy he was gifted by you or the fact that you just erased yourself from existence

but he could barely think about what he was doing, letting his gut take control of his powers

at one point, gray clouds cover the city, and rain starts falling, thunder rumbling and the ground was shaking from the new weather- but yang never stopped

in the future when asked about this fight, he would say he was blinded by the fear of you leaving him, by the sight of you killing yourself for him

he didn’t calm down until imitatrice’s hands were stuck behind her back in handcuffs with dome covers over them to keep her from creating anything else

yang falls to his knees, from exhaustion and from the numbness building in his chest and quickly spreading like a disease

the reality of what happened finally coming to him

as he looks up at the citizens of his city, he does not feel proud to be the hero

he does not feel joy to have saved everyone- because it was really you who saved the city today

“are you happy?” he asks the audience, voice cracking under the tears that threaten to flow down his face, and everyone settles down after hearing his helpless tone, only the pounding of rain on the concrete could be heard

“yin... killed themselves, for me, for us, for all of you.” yang points in the direction of the crowd

“we never deserved yin, no matter how you saw them, they were too good for us.” a blanket of guilt settles over the crowd, but no comfort comes to anyone as yang continues

“none of us really appreciated yin, and now we mourn them. how selfish can we be?” and with that, yang rises to his feet and a commotion is heard from behind him

antidote slowly walks through city hall’s front yard, slowly everything goes back to order

the fountain is repaired, the concrete is made new again, and the rain ceased

almost like the fight that just occurred here never happened

but no one would forget the events that took place

everyone looks towards the area that you had ended your life in, anticipation weighting down everyones chest

but nothing ever happened, you don’t reappear

antidote walks up to yang and places a steady hand on his shoulder

“what happened? shouldn’t they have come back” yang asked, despair dripping off of every word

“I don’t know, yang. I've never brought back anyone who was destroyed by yin’s power. only time can tell now.”

and like that, the crowd started to disperse and yang was left on city halls front yard with a heavy heart filled with guilt

▼△▼△▼△▼△

johnny messaged the group chat containing you, mark, doyoung, and sicheng later that day

“come to the store, after all that happened at city hall today... drinks are on me”

johnny’s phone notified him that the text was only seen by three people

▼△▼△▼△▼△

in johnny’s store that night, doyoung and sicheng crowd around johnny’s phone as they watch footage from what happened earlier that day

the mayor issued an investigation into the events of what happened at city hall and a message to yin to show themselves if they are still alive

the message has not yet been answered, and several people and businesses keep their window blinds open in hopes of seeing the black uniform running down their street

although it was once again sunny outside, the weather did not reflect the city’s feelings

as the bell above the door jingled, all heads turn to look at the new customer

mark walks in and stumbles up to the counter

“glad everyone’s here, and that you’re all okay” johnny sighs and mark clears his throat

“where’s... where’s y/n?”

silent looks are shared between the men

they all turn their heads to face the floor, knowing what your absence means

as no one talks and no one moves, grief fills the store, and slowly it turns into sadness

until the bell chimes again

“hey, guys. am I late? I just saw your message, johnny. I came as quick as I could”

your warm laughter never sounded so hopeful and has never been so appreciated until now

mark thinks he could cry when he sees your smile as you walk through the front door

suddenly everyones shoulders seem to fall in relief at your presence

“alright, I said drinks on me tonight, but shouldn’t we go out for dinner? I think we have a lot to celebrate tonight.”

couldn’t agree with you any more, Johnny

you decide that the city should be kept on their toes for a little longer- the return of yin would come eventually

tonight was the time to spend with your friends after so much happened earlier that day

you lock fingers with mark, a sheepish smile rising to both of your faces and you hope your friends don’t turn around to catch the affection you’re showing each other

walking down the street in the city that you and your friends unknowingly (but silently knowingly) saved together

the tune of your friends’ laughter and the promise that everything is okay again comforts you- mark's loving gaze a reminder of all the good things to come

both of you are only slightly aware that fate has brought you together

whether it’s as yin&yang

or as you and mark

neither of you really care how you stay by each others side

as long as you can keep staying together

▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼

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