#like how do i make a gif that explains the way that the lowest stakes games of all time (so low your star players probably don't even play)

[5bi5]

Tumblr girlies do YOU want a show that has more than 12 episodes a season? That won't get cancelled next year? That has beautiful talented queer women? That you can overanalyze to your heart's content? That will make you laugh, cry, and tear your hair out? That's problematic in many ways but still worth watching and loving? That has decades of lore and history? That has symbols and motifs and imagery and sometimes even live organ music? Then perhaps what you want isn't a fictional show at all but the violent sport of hockey.

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 12

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 12

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2369

Summary: Finally starting to talk about the dreams encourages Sam to start trusting himself. 

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w  b u r n

           In an ideal world, you would’ve been patient enough to let Sam bring it up next. But adding the layer of possibility of seeing Dean, really Dean, again, opening some channel to talk to him in your dreams, was sending you into a spiral that ironically was preventing you from sleeping.

           You lasted a few weeks before waking up on a morning of early spring melt and waiting for Sam at the breakfast bar with your now-prized notebook. He came out of the bedroom as you were cutting a grapefruit for him and you passed over a cup of coffee.

           “You seem, uh, chipper.” He was still blinking slowly like he always did for the first few minutes after waking up, fingers wrapping nearly all the way around the ceramic and bypassing the handle.

           Waiting until he sat down on one of the stools and smiling at how short it looked compared to his legs, you put a bowl of yogurt and granola in front of him next to the fruit. Cheap bribery, but you were willing to try anything you had. “I’m hoping maybe we can, um, try to figure this out. I thought if we could make kind of a timeline then maybe we could—” you stammered, having run through this script in your head and still feeling your heart ram against your ribs as you watched for Sam’s reaction. He set the mug down and rubbed his face before resting his head in his hands.

           “Okay.”

           “Okay?”

           “I mean, yeah. I’ve been—I don’t know, I’ve just—”

           “Sam, you don’t have to explain anything.”

           His mouth tightened into a firm line and you could see his jaw flex before he picked up a spoon and started stirring the granola into his yogurt. “Where do you want to start?”

           You’d had a small variety of dreams where Dean narrowly avoided death, but you and Sam decided the best place to start would be the dreams that were explicitly good. That left:

           Sam hadn’t immediately offered what his dreams with Dean were about, and when you sensed that moment of hesitation you didn’t push. That privacy was the least you could give him, already feeling guilty at prying into his thoughts as much as you were.

           “Well, what about those days? Did anything different happen on the days you had those dreams?” you asked, trying to change tack.

           He raised his eyebrows and considered it for a minute. “The first time was obviously the, uh, the cupcakes.”

           Remembering it made you smile a little to yourself and you wrote it down in the notebook. “And the next?”

           “Uh, that Thursday.”

           “Right, but what happened that day?”

           Sam bit the inside of his lip. “Nothing, really.”

           “Okay, well work sucked, that’s for sure. Maybe that was it, that you were more tired? Remember I fell asleep on the couch while you were in the shower?”

           “If you weren’t covered in grenadine I would’ve left you there.”

           “Can you imagine how sticky and gross I would’ve been in the morning? So work was shitty, I fell asleep on the couch, what else—”

           “You folded my laundry for me.”

           “What?”

           He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “You, uh, you folded my laundry for me.”

           “I always fold laundry.”

           “No—not the laundry, my laundry.  I forgot a bunch of my stuff in the dryer and you folded it while I was in the shower.”

           “I really doubt me folding th—”

           “We talked about it in the dream, it was the laundry.” Before you could pry, he took a big gulp of coffee. “So where does that put us?”

           “Wait, I’m still on the laundry.”

           “It was…I don’t know, it was just really nice. It felt like a really nice, normal thing. And it’s not—I mean, who cares, it was just laundry, about the lowest stakes favor there’s ever been in our lives, but it kind of hit me how far we’d come and it made me realize I’d fold your laundry too, you know? The big stuff we’ve already proven, right? But it’s little stuff like folding the laundry, that day-in, day-out, I’m-thinking-about-you—”

           “Gummy worms,” you murmured.

           “What?”

           “I feel like that when you buy me gummy worms. Maybe you’re just doing that because Dean did or whatever, but there’s something about those extra things that add up. I get it.”

           “I—yeah.” Sam gulped.

           You started writing.

           Spinning the notebook back toward him, you let Sam read and didn’t say anything for a long minute past when he was sure to have finished, even getting up to refill your coffee cups while he thought. You came back to the counter and wrapped your fingers around the warm mug, unwilling to be the first one to speak.

           Sam’s jaw tightened around nothing and he nodded slightly without looking up, vision trained on a blank spot of counter next to his bowl. When he finally tilted and met your eyes, his were so big and shiny, so Precious Moments that you almost would’ve laughed, almost would’ve smacked his shoulder and told him to stop manipulating you with those Victim’s Family Puppy Dog Eyes. But they were genuine and unmoving, electric with emotion in the morning light. You traced the angle of his jaw and slipped a fallen piece of hair behind his ear before steadying your palm on the back of his neck, hair warming your fingertips as you met his eyes, leaning an inch or two closer to Sam’s face and then he glanced down at your lips. He didn’t move at all as you slowly, carefully closed the distance between you until at the last second Sam wrapped his fingers around your wrist where it grazed his throat and turned into it, pressing his lips to the now-thrumming pulse there for an extended beat.

           He opened and closed his mouth to try to explain, but you kissed his forehead in apology before he could say anything.

           “I, um—thank you for going over these with me,” you whispered into his hairline, feeling his nod against you.  You broke away from him, taking his empty bowl to the sink for an excuse to do something with your hands. “I need new scrapers to take off the popcorn ceiling, is there anything else I should get at the hardware store?” You knew it would be hard to hear you over the running water to wash the dish, but you couldn’t risk your voice cracking if you spoke louder.

           Mercifully, he didn’t push. “Nothing I can think of, no.”

           You left a few minutes later while Sam was in the shower, careening way too fast around the curves in the rural highways just to feel the weight of the Impala strain to stay on track. There were so many things coming together, so many sweet and comfortable aspects to your life, but it was so frustrating to have the two you wanted most to be just barely out of reach; the ability to be truly happy with Sam or to see Dean in your dreams both obfuscated by the self-flagellating remnants of Sam’s unimaginable torture.

           And yet, impossible for you to be angry with Sam at all; it was yet another in a long stream of ways his life had been torn to shreds by external forces, yet another reminder of how unimaginably resilient he was to be standing at all. Screaming at the complete unfairness of it like a moody teenager in the privacy afforded by the car and the trees, you only had to wipe a few tears away in the parking lot before going into the hardware store.

           Diane was working and had some helpful tips for dealing with the ceilings, as well as a picture of her new grandchild to show you before you headed back to the cabin. You had to bump the front door open with your hip because of the heavy paper bag of supplies, and when Sam heard you he walked over from the couch with a few long strides, taking it out of your hands. His hair was still wet, dripping an uneven collar around his shirt.

           “Is this—uh, did you—do you only want this so we can see Dean again?”

           You weren’t expecting to get into it again, at least not right away, and had to take a deep breath to soothe your surprise at Sam’s nervous energy. He set the bag down a little roughly on the kitchen counter as you followed him inside.

            “Sam, of course not, Jesus. I mean, but I—but yeah, I want to see him again, don’t you?”

            “Of course I do.” He winced, pained even at the suggestion otherwise.

           “I’m sorry I misread the moment earlier. I’m—I, I love you Sam; those days were the only real happy ones I’ve had since Dean died, and if being together means we get to—” and you were cut off by Sam’s hands cupping your face as he kissed you, firm and urgent with tight closed lips like he was trying to seal himself to your skin.

           It was over as soon as it started, Sam holding your head as he pulled his own away and searching your eyes. “If it isn’t rea—” he stopped short, screwed his face together before continuing, consciously unclenched his jaw and smoothed the furrows of his eyebrows. “If we’re doing this, it has to be about us. I can’t—I just can’t build everything on some dreams.”

           You nodded, stunned.

           Sam kept looking between your eyes furiously like he was trying to communicate something you weren’t getting. You tried desperately to race through what it could be and came up short, your brain melting and swirling together inside your skull. It was impossible for you to tell whether he’d found what he wanted or not, but after a few brief seconds of shifting his center of gravity like he was getting ready to either be socked or start a sprint, his face tightened in frustration and he touched his forehead to yours. “Fuck, I’m—I’m not ready,” he growled, more to himself than anything as he shut his eyes hard. You waited for an explanation, your breath gone shallow and your cheeks fiery-hot under Sam’s hands.

           He brushed along your cheekbone with a callused thumb and lifted your chin with featherweight pressure, your lips not a half inch apart from each other. You inhaled the citrus off his breath and held perfectly still until Sam finally kissed you again. It was softer than moments before but just as serious, the emotional weight of his lips so much more than the tender movement of them against yours. As kisses went, it was one of the most innocent you’d had—even more than your first kiss ever, middle school boy you’d thought was cute at the roller rink whose braces had caught on your lips—but if this was what Sam could handle it was enough for you, would have to be enough for you. You kissed back only as his mirror and broke away when he did feeling dizzy with complicated restraint.

           “I’m almost there, I’m so sorry, I’m almost there,” he murmured, straight into the inches between you so you could let them soak in. “Please, I’m so sorry, I just—if it’s not real I can’t—”

           You wrapped your hands around his where they held your head. “I know. I know, Sam, I know.”

           Later you wouldn’t remember how you’d moved on to the rest of the day, rhythmically scraping popcorn texture off of drywall while listening to Bikini Kill. But it was a hug and a few tears in a chain of thousands between you, and that was part of it. Like Sam had said, those moments that meant so little on their own and added up over time. You both worked on different chunks of the ceiling and got through a good amount of it. The difference was remarkable, making the cabin look so much cleaner and more modern. After your shoulders got too sore to keep going, Sam threw together a bastardized puttanesca and you both tried really hard to lighten the mood over dinner, ending the evening feeling pretty close to normal.

           When you climbed into bed, Sam leaned over so that his hair fell in a curtain around your face. The closeness took your breath away, and you cursed your body for betraying you like this, unable to focus for the scent of familiar warmth coming off of him and hypnotic color shift of his eyes. For a fleeting second of panic you wondered if he would ever feel protective and safe again or if these shocks of heat—spurred on by what, two chaste kisses?—were all you’d ever feel around Sam again, if you’d be able to sleep knowing how close to tipping over that boundary you were.

           You could tell from the look in his eyes that he was going to apologize and stopped him by resting a finger on his mouth as he opened it to speak. He smiled against your hand, gentle and a little sad, before touching his lips to yours for the third time that day. It felt like some kind of healing burn; a cauterizing iron splitting you in half and reassuring you that scattered into pieces was the way you were supposed to be; giving you permission to crumble into dust, let yourself be swept away trusting that there was a plan for the place that every grain of yourself would land. There was no way to know precisely Sam’s intention, but if it was to send your mind unspooling like a cheap yo-yo about what that fourth, fifth, sixth kiss might feel like, he had succeeded.

           “Thank you,” he whispered, holding your gaze for a moment before turning off the light and fitting himself like a puzzle piece along the curve of your back.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 13

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass​ @vxnderlindes​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @akshi8278​ @itsjensenanddean​ @flannellover67​ @weepingwillowphoenix​ @tj-drinks-tea​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @winchestergirl2​ @winchest09​ @samwisethegr8​ @nobxdy​ @nurse-sarahrn​ @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love​ @deanwanddamons​ @stressedoutkitten​ @winchestershiresauce​ @tatted-trina6​ @percico-heronstairs​ @downanddirtydean​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @lyarr24​ @waywardwifey​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @wonder-cole​ @sergeantsea​ @peachyafshawn​ @tjfinnigan​ @that-one-gay-girl​ @calaofnoldor​ @daringvixon​ @fairlyspnfanfic​ @treat-winchesterswith-kindness​ @samfreakingwinchester​ @mrspeacem1nusone​ @theveridianmoon​ @underc0vercryptid​ lovelyrocker

 And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

[eternalcantarella]

Entropy - Chapter 2: Horseman of The Apocalypse - Joker/Reader

Entropy

  Summary: We all seek for some measure of uncertainty. Working against the mob is a dangerous game, you might as well be signing a death warrant. You would think it was all by a stroke of chance, the multiple run-ins with Gotham’s Jester of Genocide. When crooks begin to make more sense than do-gooders ― that’s anarchy. He’s no ordinary crook, however. And he’s still wrong. At least that’s what you'd like to tell yourself.

Word count: 17.9k

  A/N: Medical specifics - I know the rod of asclepius is more for professional healthcare usage and caduceus is for commercial usage, but I chose to use a hybridisation of both asclepius and caduceus rods instead because its symbolism was slightly more in line with what I want to portray. Sorry for the inconsistency with practical usage! This chapter took me a while to write, and I didn't expect it to turn out this long. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it! 

  Inspirations: Trafalgar Law’s speech on the new era (One Piece), Amaya & Aiko no Akatsuki's Deisaku writing - Pinky Bruiser (Deisaku fans should totally check this out), Town of Salem's Plaguebearer role.

Available to read on AO3! Check my blog description for link to my AO3.

###

He sat in the long corridor, his legs crossed. His posture was laid back, with his tablet propped up on his lap. He tried to get used to the stiff teal plastic seat, secured to the wall behind him, but it was extremely uncomfortable and he kept readjusting his position. He tried to distract himself with the forthcoming plans for the week ahead with Gotham Press Holdings, refreshing his email to check for updates from his superiors. Unfortunately, he could not find the urge to open those mails. He leaned forward in his seat, his hand instinctively searching for the familiar spot on his chin.

  The thin and bitter smell of antiseptic and cleaning products was invasive, acrid and stinging as it caused him to look away and stare at his other hand, twisting and knotting it as if doing so would hold back the unrest threatening to break within him. A man was whisked on a hospital bed right past him down the narrow corridor, and he was greeted with the disturbance of coughing, hacking and wheezing in the Emergency Department waiting room. He found the closest antibacterial hand dispenser, which was fortunately right beside him, and started working it like a gambling addict hitting up a VLT machine.

  In a disorienting ambulance ride earlier, claustrophobia had closed in on him. He stood hovering over the stretcher, trying to rationally articulate the details surrounding your predicament, trying to discard feelings of his rising worries for you. However, with every bump the ambulance made, his unease peaked higher. As expected, the paramedics had briefed him that prompt delivery to the Emergency Department should be a priority, and had administered their prehospital care procedure onto you. 

  While otherwise appearing to be asymptomatic, the fact that you lost consciousness was alarming. They had secured the airway as required, delivering high-flow oxygen by cupping a respirator mask over your face, obtaining IV access simultaneously. There was a tenseness to his muscles, his head a violent whirl of confusion, trying to organise the newly found chaos in his life. They had also administered a beta-antagonist as a nebulised treatment for bronchoconstriction, a paramedic explained to him as she spritzed short bursts of liquid spray up your nostrils. 

  And here he was, waiting. A suspense ate at him internally while he awaited the ED doctor’s examination results.

  While he was willing himself to check on instructions from Gotham Press Holdings, his hands betrayed his line of thought, and he instead found himself looking through his archived emails. His eyes glossed over the subject title.

  ‘Application for Blake Accounting Consultancy - Junior Data Analyst Applicant; Resume Included’

  He crinkled his eye, his lips stretching against his index finger resting against it. He always found himself unknowingly going back to this fateful letter, at different, random times with no real reason connecting them with each other. He didn’t like to express it, both visually and verbally, to you that he had come to care for you deeply. And he was wondering if he was regretting ever holding back and hiding his actions to show that care. With the current uncertainty, and your life at stake, it’s always easy to see in hindsight that there were many things he could do differently. He clicked onto the email he archived, going through the motions that took him back to simpler and more pleasant times. He indulged himself in the light breeze of familiarity and nostalgia. He would always have a sentimental longing and affection for the past, especially when it came to you.

  He remembered looking at your application and how absurd he thought it was at first glance. He vaguely recalled the contents of his job listing on Craigslist, having clearly stated that a bachelor’s degree in Computing or Data related fields was a prerequisite and lowest qualification one must have at the very least. Yet your highest form of education was trade school and coding bootcamps.

  This was almost ludicrous in his eyes, that he found it to be amusing. He was about to dismiss your application to sift through the others, without even looking at your resume. However he felt compelled to click on it, probably out of some sick sense of curiosity and humour, he supposed. He wanted to see what laughs or kicks he could get out of this.

  A condescending sense of jest bubbled in his chest when he started reading it. Perhaps this was just a joke applicant, he thought. Well, humour me. However, he found that the more he read into it, the more his smile started to falter. Being a data analyst requires very specific skills. You had recorded a very all-encompassing list of individual qualifications from courses painstakingly taken and they were all relevant to the job scope. Technical, analytical, math and creative skills. This was impressive for a non-uni graduate. You had also taken the initiative to contribute to opensource projects, demonstrating a fire and drive for the role. Not to mention the attention to detail and the amount of work put into organising this resume, to frame and market yourself in the best way possible. You had done a lot of research into this, evidently.

  From this, he could sense that being a data analyst was something you wanted to be strongly at this point in time. And while strongly wanting to be one is often not enough for a data analyst, you had the puzzle pieces arranged and chops to back it up. Perhaps what sealed the deal to offer you an interview over coffee was the thing that set you apart from other applicants. Other candidates wrote about what they wanted from this job. No one cares what they want. No one cares that they want to “leverage their skills working with a highly effective team”. Yours was focused solely on the employer’s benefit, rather than for personal gain. And one thing in particular had caught his eyes to show you were perhaps a best fit for the company.

  ‘To build an ethical and positive culture for the company from the ground up and inspire change in Gotham.’

  Given the current legal and political climate in Gotham, especially with the battles between parties of power going on, no one would care to write statements like this. No one even knew if they were submitting applications to companies deep within the mob, entrenched in corruption, or held hostage after having had debts to repay them. The mob had an iron grip on affairs at every nook and cranny of Gotham City. These types of statements were too fluffy, too idealistic, and often were not considered on job offers. However, things were changing. In a world where caped and masked vigilantes were jumping off roofs and Falcone was locked up in Arkham, he had hope. Politics were becoming more transparent, as candidates like Harvey Dent stepped up to the plate. And he would stop at nothing to make the most of this hope for a better Gotham. He had to believe in a better Gotham. He clenched his wrists and swallowed. He wanted to realise this idealistic vision he had. 

  “This mask for the anger I’ve been hiding… It’s not enough.”

  “Then channel that anger to something good, I dunno. Frankly speaking, it’s not that hard.”

  You two were sitting around a mahogany coffee table, with two plush sofas clad in burgundy fabric offering you two the luxury of sinking back into the comfort of its softness. However, you two were on the edge of your seats, not allowing yourselves to be lulled into its false sense of security and let your guards down. Your eyes were trained on each other, the air electrifying. You took a sip from the mug of your macchiato, eyes never leaving his as you tilted your coffee mug. You looked at him through your lashes, hiding behind a coy smile. Intrigued by your boldness, he quirked a brow in amusement. He sighed and pushed his laptop away from him on the table, finding no real need for it.

  “Charming. If you’re so impressive, why don’t you tell me why you hadn’t attempted college?” 

  This definitely did not feel like a job interview. He leaned back, arms folded, a smugness tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was challenging you. You sure as hell weren’t one to back down.

  “Well, maybe it’s because some of us aren’t so lucky to have our parents afford our college fees, just so we can chase our dreams.”

  In a saccharine voice, you leaned forward, tilting your head, no longer smiling. Your lips showed the hints of a pout. John Blake stared at you, slightly confused for a moment. Was this a personal attack or something?

  “That’s very valiant of you. However, Miss, if I had to remind you of something,”

  He maintained his composure, leaning forward with a slight tension in his jaw, his smirk not falling.

  “You don’t know the first thing about me, darling.”

  You remained neutral, staying in the same position.

  “Well, I’m sorry if I offended you.” 

  He had been the one to poke you first, you thought, slightly indignant. You bit your lip and spoke again, treading dangerously.

  “If I had to take a guess, I would say you feel threatened by me.”

  John Blake raised his brows at you, possibly in disbelief at your brazenness. He lightly clenched through his teeth. Were you perhaps right?

  “Far from it, kid.”

  You glared at him for this obvious condescension. If you were anyone else, the blatant disrespect you showed him earlier would have immediately gotten you rejected. But the chemistry between you two was palpable, even then. His eyes looked at the laptop in front of him. His eyes avoided yours. He looked away, and nonchalantly he asked you.

  “Don’t you think it’s impossible to really foster an ethical company in Gotham? I mean, it’s a pretty corrupt city.”

  He stirred his coffee to feign apathy. This question wasn’t important to him. You furrowed your brows and shook your head, your voice raising in tone. You felt your indignancy rise. Affronted and outraged. What kind of question is this…?

  “What? Gotham is full of people ready to believe in good and compassion.”

  You had his attention now. And he stared at you, his eyes hard.

  “Hey, don’t you think that’s pretty naive of you?”

  “You can say that all you want about me. I don’t gain much from being an idealist, but I have to do the best I can.”

  Your voice softened towards the end. This was perhaps the first time you allowed yourself to be vulnerable in this… “Interview”. The man in front of you shifted his weight in his chair and stood up. This prompted you to stand up as well, befuddled and just mindlessly mirroring his body language.

  Satisfied with his find, he stared down his nose at you with an unreadable expression. He stuck his hand out towards you.

  “Well then kid, I believe we have a deal.”

  Dumbfounded, you took his hand hesitantly, and he gave your hand a firm squeeze, bobbing it lightly in the process. Your jaw was slightly ajar and you were confused. After all that, you were in a state of doubt. Did you really just pass this… interview?

  “Check your email for updates.”

  He picked up his coffee, downed the rest of it and held his cup up towards you, a last gesture signifying his leave. He set it down against the table with a clink and left swiftly with his laptop. 

  You will become my weapon. My tool. You will fight for me, and in exchange, I will ensure that you realise your vision, and sate your burning desires.

  He smirked. A diamond in the rough indeed.

  He was stirred out of his daze when he heard the sound of the sliding doors of the emergency ward. It revealed a doctor dressed in blue short-sleeved scrub top and pants, with a white lab coat. She held a clipboard and wore a surgical mask. The mask could not hide the sunkenness in her eyes, fatigued from being overworked during her residency. Blake stood up immediately seeing her, desperate to know the outcome of your medical evaluation.

  “Sir, I’ll cut to the chase. She will have to remain under our observation for the next forty-eight hours, and we will periodically image her with serial chest radiographs.”

  Taking a moment to take this news in, he nodded, signalling for the doctor to continue.

  “We seek your understanding, patients may develop significant signs and symptoms for as long as thirty-six hours after exposure. We checked for burns in the nasal cavity and tested for particles.”

  She sighed and stared at her clipboard, shifting her weight onto her other foot. Her tennis shoes squeaked.

  “Burning was spotted, but minimal. Her airway functions are still relatively stable. Our test results revealed in her system a complex of zinc chloride and the fear gas toxin compound found in our water supply months back.”

  “I understand. Her condition is stable enough and she will recover, right?”

  He looked her in the eye, searching for any signs that would betray her jaded features.

  “I’m afraid nothing in this world is certain, sir.”

  Her voice was somber. His brows knitted. What was that supposed to mean? Realising what she uttered out, she quickly switched her expression to mask what she just said, to a more amicable one for professionalism.

  “But of course, nothing is likely to happen to her. We have databases storing synthesised antidotes and counteragents to the compounds we found.”

  He sank, his muscles losing their tension as he deflated. At least there was some solace in this situation.

  “You can check back around the same time after two days, if you’d like. She will be placed under our care til then.”

  He nodded and took that as a sign to take his leave. He grabbed the laptops from the seats and gave himself another couple of pumps of hand sanitiser solution. He sighed and felt the tension in his forehead subside a little. You always had to cause trouble for everyone involved, didn’t you? He turned his head and looked at you through the glass panes, lying unconscious on a hospital bed. He gave a snort and didn’t slow down his pace. 

  Luckily for you, you had someone who didn’t find you to be more trouble than you were worth.

###

He found the darkness strange. In the heart of Gotham city, he had grown used to having the warm, yellow-orange glow of streetlamps outside his window, light filtering in through the gaps in the curtains and seeing them whenever he walked down the street. It felt safe. Come to think of it, it was a privilege. When he took a first drive through the Narrows, there were no such safety blankets in the form of regularly spaced streetlamps. He continued staring up at the Bat-Signal, its rays projected an emblem. 

  It was shrouded in darkness. Gotham City is a bustling, urban metropolis. The signal was alone in the night sky, not a single star there to accompany it. Light pollution makes us unable to see stars in big cities. The bat was cursed to be alone in the dark. It was the only way he could exist, anyway. After all, most sightings of him caught on tape were filmed around the Narrows.

  He combed a hand through his honey blond hair, while the balmy breeze smeared against his face. He heard footsteps. Immediately, he whipped his form around, hands affixed tightly on his hips.

  “You’re a hard man to reach.”

  He walked forward, trying to seem cordial, as much as he could be. His posture was strained, however, his neck craned forward from waiting too long. He walked forward, closer to the figure and swung one arm loose, by his side. He sized him up. This was the first time he had seen him up close, and he simply remained silent. They regarded each other for a cold moment. He couldn’t expect much from him, even a response would be too much, not without Gordon around.

  He almost blended in with the darkness. His suit mirrored the plated armour of specialised jousters, but with a much more modern and practical design. He looked rigid and reminded him of a man from medieval times, a mounted warrior with ideals of chivalry and a code of conduct befitting for a nobleman. The difference was, he did not work with the state, and was in no way a perfect courtly Christian warrior.

  I believe in Harvey Dent. People needed to believe in something, just as he believed in the Batman.

  His presence, despite being mostly subdued and shadowed, did invoke a bearing to be idolised. If he weren’t Gotham’s District Attorney or the up-and-coming choice political candidate, he might have even been star-struck and giddy-headed at the sight of him. He scoffed at this. They were of the same standing in the city of Gotham, on equal footing, and they both knew it. He could feel it in his stare.

  They waited.

  The jarring sound of the door clicking open broke the uncomfortable silence. He studied Gordon, who looked just as miffed as he did. He tried to get Gordon’s attention.

  “Lau’s halfway to Hong Kong.”

  Gordon ignored him, storming forward to switch off the Bat-Signal. This rubbed Harvey Dent the wrong way. He was a little vexed.

  “You’d asked. I could’ve taken his passport―I told you to keep me in the loop.”

  Gordon was aggravated by his unpleasant overbearing insistence on being involved in the Gotham City Police Department’s investigations. He raised his voice.

  “All that was left in the vaults were marked bills. They knew we were coming, as soon as your office got involved-”

  Gordon was motioning with his hand. He waved it around temperamentally, emotion clearly clouding his judgement and choice of words. Dent felt his blood pressure rise and he definitely would not stand for these accusations against his team. He felt a vein jutting in his neck, tensing as he matched his voice level to reach Gordon’s.

  “My office? You’re sitting there with scum like Wuertz and Ramirez and you’re talking-”

  He jammed a strained finger at the ground as he stressed his words. He paused for a moment. Realisation in a recent finding gave him the upperhand. He sneered. This was turning into a full-blown argument.

  “Oh yeah Gordon. I almost had your rookie cold on a racketeering beat.”

  He jabbed more accusatory fingers directed at Gordon. God forbid his argumentative habits from the high court show through now. This was making things a lot worse.

  “Don’t try and cloud the fact that clearly Maroni’s got people in your office, Dent.”

  Gordon’s statement was final and harsh. They stared each other down. This was going nowhere. The night breeze blew against them. The Bat was silent. Quietly, he stood and analysed whether he could really trust both of these men to solve crime in Gotham together. The wariness and doubt was palpable. What makes them think they could make him trust them, when they couldn’t even trust each other?

  Dent didn’t know how to respond to this. He went silent. He couldn’t dispute or disprove this. The Maronis’ got their reigns deep within all walks of this city.

  Gordon sighed, giving up. If they couldn’t have transparency at this point, they could forget about asking for Batman’s help. He would not accept this if they were to only hinder his goal. It was embarrassing, to say the least. They would only appear to be a joke to the man. He had to relent, for starters.

  “We couldn’t detain him. He has too much power. We can’t conclusively accuse Lau at this point, and we were denied prior warrants on him. We have no data on him aside from pure speculation.”

  Looking down, Gordon bit on his bottom lip, his facial hair caught between his lip. He tugged at his pocket with exaggerated movements, looking like a jovial dad who thrived on telling dad jokes, pulling out a scrap of notes. He skimmed through it. Harvey Dent’s hands were still on his hips, gripping at his hipbone. He turned to look at the man in the dark suit.

  The three of them stood in formation, on the rooftop of the Major Crimes Unit, circling each other. They formed the three pillars of justice in Gotham. All unyielding in their beliefs of their methods of crime fighting, and their ideals. Coming to a compromise seemed near impossible moments ago.

“We need Lau back. The Chinese won’t extradite a national under any circumstances. Not that we even have the right documents to prove his involvement with the mob.”

  Batman took this chance to respond, for the first time.

  “I have no jurisdiction. I believe I personally have enough proof to track that rat down.”

  Harvey Dent raised his brows a fraction. The gall of him to talk about legal power or authority having no control over him, right in front of the DA no less. If he didn’t know better, he would say he was boasting about operating outside the law. Even if he was a vigilante, that was a bold statement. He liked that.

  “If I get him to you, can you get him to talk?”

  Batman’s voice was deep and raspy. Dent did not expect his voice to be like this. The corner of his mouths tugged a bit. This was his area of expertise.

  “I’ll get him to sing.”

  Nodding for further assertion and poise in confidence, he said so knowingly. Gordon unfolded the scrap of notes handed to him by his officers. They had brute-forced their way into the systems of the recent bank heist at Gotham National Bank. Apparently, they had digital tracks of code and graphs as potential sources of evidence for this case from a foreign system. The department, however, was not specialised enough to interpret this data definitively.

  “The GCPD only recently uncovered leads to prove Lau’s dirty work in the mob, but I suppose it’s better late than never.”

  This caught Harvey Dent’s attention. He signalled for him to elaborate.

  “We traced the source to be devices registered under the Blake Accounting Consultancy company.”

  Bringing a finger to his lip, Dent bit against it lightly. He pondered

  “We can do this concurrently while Batman forcefully extradites Lau. We need to do this fast, however. Set up an interrogation with this company, as soon as possible.”

  Dent and Gordon looked at each other. For once, they saw each other eye to eye. Gordon took in a deep breath, and nodded, this time with a lot less hesitation than before. The Bat looked at them, his focus flitting between the two, and pressed his lips together. Maybe there was hope in this after all.

  “We’re going after the mob’s life savings, things will get ugly.”

  Gordon inclined his head, indicating the urgency of this harsh truth. Gordon gave Dent a hard stare, a direct warning to the man. A pretty-boy working high up in the office, who had never gotten his hands dirty like that in the life of a city cop. He had to know what was in store for him, and Gordon wanted to see if he really was all that serious about this, rather than being purely concerned with racking political points.

  “I knew the risk when I took this job, lieutenant.”

  Harvey Dent leaned back, seeming a tad bit offended by his warning. As if he didn’t know already. Hell, someone had even pulled a gun on him in the courtroom. In Rachel’s words, as Gotham’s DA, if you’re not getting shot at, you’re not doing your job right. He decided to let it go.

  “How are you getting back in-”

  He directed his attention back onto Batman. He vanished into thin air. Dent was at a loss for words. How dysfunctional this agreement between the three of them seemed. He dared Gordon to give him an explanation. Do I really want to know, he scoffed. Gordon cocked his head derisively, a wry smile in place.  

  “He does that.”

  Pretty crude sense of humour, even for someone flying from building to building with a cape. He relaxed his upper body, hands still on his hips. He looked at the ground. He gave an audible groan. He was going to need a cold shower after all this―This absolutely baffling and absurd confrontation. It almost seemed comical. Well, he couldn’t complain. After all, he did ask for it.

###

It had been a while since you’ve woken up from your blackout. You could only see darkness. 

  Distant static noises from the television muffled in and out through your ears. When you cracked open your eyes, they still felt raw and fluttered back shut repeatedly from your drugged up state. You had no idea where you were.

  “-according to eyewitnesses, each man wore a clown mask.”

  You gripped the bed sheets. This news was… unsettlingly familiar. You felt a mild stinging pain on top of your hand with the restricted movement. It felt like plastic taped against your hand.

  “-used grenades to intimidate the hostages into submission.”

  Suddenly everything came flooding back, the feeling of fear re-imagined. You tore your eyes which were sealed shut open. You remembered the clowns. And the clown beneath the clown mask. And the sight of a live grenade beside you. You stared up at the ceiling wide-eyed, the whirring sound of a ventilator a droning hum beside your ear. You reached up to your face and touched the plastic sterile respirator cupping over your nose and mouth.

  Oh. You were in a hospital. It took a while for you to register this.

  You looked at the television and saw Gotham Tonight News. Your thoughts immediately shifted to John Blake. He had saved your life. Your eyes desperately searched the room, darting around all corners. You only saw other patients as you were in a public ward, and in your movement you unknowingly hit a button on your hospital bed with your elbow. Distant beeping noises of machines could be heard, with the occasional coughing and hacking. The feeling of grogginess was slowly subsiding. You heard footsteps coming.

  In your silent hope, you half-expected it to be John Blake. But much to your dismay, it was a doctor. She held a clipboard and wore a mask that was tucked under her chin, and a white clinical lab coat. She offered you a warm, hospitable smile, despite the tiredness that dragged down her sunken eyes.

  “Miss, I see you have woken up. We can let you rest for a while before we discharge you, you slept for longer than we have expected.”

  Longer than they had expected? How long were you out? You needed answers. You resisted and slowly tried to sit up. You gestured towards your respirator and flailed your hand around slightly. She seemed to understand you.

  “Ah, I understand. Eager to get out?”

  She continued smiling tiredly. She dislodged the mask from behind your head and took it off your face. You felt a drastic change in pressure as you tried to adjust to the current atmosphere, taking even deeper breaths and sputtering slightly. You suddenly felt breathless. She let you take a while to get used to this before working on the tube that went up your nose and down your throat. She pulled it straight from your nose, much to your horror, and you felt the friction of it sliding against your pharynx. You could have sworn you felt blood trickling down your throat. Excruciatingly, you let out a prolonged sob the more she pulled onto it. When she was done, you panted, using the back of a hand to wipe against the saliva that dribbled around your mouth.

  She took your other hand in hers and tore off the IV access, effortlessly and with little pain around that area. You stared at her behind tearful eyes. Nurses and doctors were so amicable yet did actions like this with that much intention and precision. It was daring, courageous and you guessed it took a lot for them to not be squeamish. You licked your chapped lips and proceeded to thank her.

  You looked at the golden badge pinned on her breast pocket. It was the Caduceus symbol. The omnipotent Staff of Hermes. A staff once carried by Hermes in Greek mythology, slender and splendid, entwined by a serpent coiling around the body of the staff in a downward spiral. The wand of healing. It was beautiful, magnificent, if not a bit eerie and otherworldly. You sucked in a breath. You were lost in thought. Must we really fall prey to the deceptive trickster of Eden in order to achieve greatness? Medicine is a holy tome, the all-encompassing, for the most glorious knowledge in the world. 

  Break the rules.

  To achieve greatness, you must know the truth, and to know the truth, you must take the forbidden fruit for the knowledge of all things good and evil.

  And that means walking away from the lies you were told your whole life.

  Your eyes glazed over, starry-eyed over the dreams of a past life. You stared at the healthcare worker with eyes of green. 

  No, that dream simply isn’t possible.

  Disillusionment tore at your eyes. No, it really wasn’t.

  She returned you your set of clothes from before and you changed out of the hospital gown. You were given a brief rundown of your condition, as well as pictures and radiographs of chest scans. You had suffered minor burns down your air passages and suffered from acute zinc chloride and fear gas poisoning, but the counter-agents had already been administered. Luckily for you, the actions taken against the fear gas were swift and that prevented long-term effects from creeping into your system. You would hate to be plagued with images of that darned clown for life. Soon, you found yourself at the counter, ready to be discharged. You groaned inwardly at the hospital bills this stay would rack up. You would experience mild discomfort and difficulty breathing for a while, but it wouldn’t be anything serious. You guessed that you really did owe Blake one for this time.

  Speaking of whom, you would have expected him to at least pay you a visit this one time, seeing as it was in fact a weekend. If you hadn’t gone through that terror that previous day, you would have felt a petty disappointment in him, for you felt that you were important enough for him to do that much for you. But this time, you felt a bit worried. You chewed at your cracked lips, hoping that nothing bad had happened to him while you were out. 

  You signed the relevant documents and walked towards the entrance, ready to head out when you suddenly saw a head of familiar, clean cut chestnut hair walking towards you. He wore a navy suit with a cool-toned pink tie. You felt a warmth bubble inside of you when you smiled at him. Boy were you glad to see him, and he had made it to visit you after all. You were about to reach out to him and say something, but he stopped you in your tracks only to turn you around and walk you in the same direction as him.

  “Hey kid, glad to see you’re out and all, but we have no time right now. You’ll understand when we get there.” 

  His jaw had a greater tension to it than it did normally, and his dark features were serious and silent. He didn’t really have a smile gracing his lips, but his eyes showed a hint of relief seeing you well and recovered. You were confused by this and felt a slight dejection constricting at your chest. What was with him and wouldn’t he be happy seeing you? You furrowed your brows for a moment and avoided his gaze. He handed you your laptop he stowed hastily by thrusting it into your hands. You fumbled with it and nearly dropped it. You felt your blood boil slowly, you thought to yourself, oh no you’d better not expect me to work overtime like this. You stopped in your tracks.

  “Hey―You really think I’m going to work for you at this hour, under these circumstances? You’re out of your mind.”

  He simply continued walking, not slowing down his pace. He only turned his head behind indifferently, regarding you coldly, then returned his gaze in front of him.

  “You’re not working for me today.”

  Your jaw agape, you stared at his back that was getting smaller by the second, incredulous. You’ve had it with this caginess, he was tight-lipped. Why couldn’t he just tell you anything at all? You pulled at your hair and ran ahead to catch up with him, the heels of your pumps clacking against the hospital floor. At this, you felt a fiery burst pulsating down your throat and windpipe. You ran out of oxygen very quickly and sputtered for more, the friction of air against the burn marks up your nostrils raked mercilessly through your nerves. It was obvious you couldn’t do much physically for a while. Your footsteps slowed down, but Blake’s did not. You guys had perfect communication most of the time and today was one of the rare times you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You pleaded again, between agonising hacks, clearly vexxed.

  “Could you... at LEAST tell me what’s going on-”

  He stopped suddenly, at the west-wing entrance of Gotham General Hospital. You caught up to him, about to lose your mind at him. You gawked, your gaze landing on the sight in front of him. Your brain stutters for a moment and your eyes seem to betray you. To say that you were shocked was an understatement. You wanted to turn to Blake to confirm that you were indeed working for these people, but you couldn’t find it in you. There stood two of the most authoritative men in Gotham, hands on their hips, feet tapping impatiently. They weren’t facing each other. The vibe felt a little off. Gotham’s White Knight, Harvey Dent, and Lieutenant James Gordon. 

  “This is your Junior Data Analyst, Consultant Blake? I hope you had a speedy recovery, Miss.”

  Jim Gordon adjusted his spectacles and nodded at you, his brows frowning, a sorry expression written on his face.

  “We uh, apologise for bothering you on such short notice, but we hope you can understand.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, the name’s Harvey Dent. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you,”

  Harvey Dent stuck a warm hand out, smiling affably as you took it to give it a firm shake, shifting his eyes onto Blake at the last sentence. He was charming, just like the clips of him you’ve seen on television. You expected no less, but this level of charisma was unprecedented. You introduced yourself and smiled hesitantly, unsure, before you turned to look at Blake, hoping for an explanation. He looked at you and nodded reassuringly, the first time he had shown any real emotion to you this whole time. That made you feel slightly more relieved. The two men still didn’t exactly look at each other. Did they have some kind of beef with each other…?

  “We’re not going to waste your time and get to the point,”

  Gordon ushered you out of the hospital and into a cop car. This was your first time in one, and you were sure that you weren’t in it for illicit reasons, after seeing how John nodded at you earlier. It still unsettled you a little bit, you couldn’t be too sure. You had a read on the atmosphere after your initial shock subsided, and it was grim and urgent. You did not like this energy, no one says anything unnecessarily, probably to save time. It’s no wonder Blake was acting so unusually secretive, and uncommunicative. You felt bad now for blaming him. Blake and Harvey Dent sat to your left. Gordon took the front passenger’s seat.

  You looked up outside the windows. It was dark outside much like the way the cop car’s leather seats and roof were painted black. A return back into the concrete jungle was imminent.

  “We need your combined efforts in decoding whatever work you had on Gotham National Bank.”

  You loosened your grip on your laptop. At least you weren’t in trouble for anything. You tried to maintain eye contact with Jim Gordon through the rear-view mirror, his kind yet profound looking eyes looking deep into yours. You could almost feel his burdens undoing into you. He had a weight on his shoulders and immense responsibilities you could not even dream of imagining. Gordon was the open-book type of person, evidently.

  “Oh, is it the one proving Lau-”

  “Yes, Lau’s fraudulence and involvement with the mob. He’s still in Hong Kong. Your data could really help us with his case and get him to talk. We need to take out the big dogs.”

  Harvey Dent interjected. You turned your head towards him, and you saw his profile with his strong nose and golden hair. The golden boy of Gotham. Normally, you would be rather bothered by someone who cuts you off like that, but it felt different with Dent. Even you would defer to such absolute authority and apparent righteousness at a pressing time like this. From all his campaigns and court hearings, you could tell he was sincere in his pursuit of goodness in Gotham, he just overflowed with integrity and honour. He embodied that All-American charm, handsome, deep blue eyes monumental with some form of knightly honour. A heroic presence, almost like the kind Robert Redford sort of had. He shifted his cleft chin in thought, a hand to his temple, before he looked at you.

  “Can you present us a full analysis of your findings and write out a report by tonight?”

  He raised his brows a fraction, looking at you pleadingly with his blue eyes, lips stretched slightly with a gentle half-smile. 

  How could you say no when he had asked you with such sincerity? While he appeared to be brash at times, it was a quality that came with the job of being the city’s persecutor. It couldn’t be helped, you supposed.

  After all, wasn’t this a dream of yours? To serve in the movement for change in Gotham.

  This city is dying. It’s rotting.

  No, it was rich land for the seeds in the car sitting right beside you. And you had a part to play too, a golden opportunity had presented itself.

  “I already planned to expose that little rat, I didn’t need to be told.” 

  You looked away, snorting. You felt a slight tightening in your chest, and you cursed at the breathing difficulties caused by the smoke bomb. Blake eyed you from the corner of his eyes, trying to hide that twinkle, and his cheeks aching from holding down the pull of the sides. Harvey Dent paused, lightly taken aback by your statement, quirked his lips downwards in an arc, nodding his head unexpectedly.

  “Well then, the youth these days never fail to surprise me. Welcome aboard, Miss.”

  “Listen Mr. Dent, you’re still considered a spring chicken compared to those insufferable old farts we tolerate on a daily basis.”

  You smiled. Harvey Dent let out a hearty laugh within his chest at this joke you cracked. It did well to ease the tension for critical times like these. You did consider him to be part of your generation, at the forefront leading this revolution. John Blake looked over at Dent, adding onto your statement.

  “She’s right, you’re cut from the same cloth as us, you’re our peer. And you are the cream of the crop, the very best of us. Gotham is changing because of you.”

  “Well, I feel very flattered, but I’m not the only one. It’s all thanks to the Batman.”

  You grunted, a rumble through your chest, ignoring the pain. You’d agree to a certain extent, Batman was just the beginning. However, Harvey Dent was the culmination of all this. He was the hero with the face, the hero grounded in reality and tangible change. Batman can only go so far without the help of Harvey Dent.

  “This is inspiring stuff and all, but are we forgetting something? Or someone? Or an entire generation above you?”

  All of you turned your heads to Jim Gordon in the front seat. On the rear view mirror, Gordon had an expectant look on his face, his lips underneath that mustache pressed together in a thin line. The three of you in the backseat felt a light feather ticking your insides, threatening to break free at your throats. You all chuckled weakly, subdued laughter as you all darted your gazes, looking away at all absent corners of the cop car. You hid the humour in your voice with a stinging cough. Heaven forbid you all make light of the situation at a time like this.

###

You cleared your throat, feeling the lingering effects of the smoke on your system, the noise resounding off the washed out concrete brick walls, frosted white with an almost steely-blue. The small room made you feel sick and oppressed, with its air-conditioner temperature set to an isolating sixty degrees fahrenheit. You stepped back, the soft clicks of your heels hitting the concrete, non-tiled floor as you brought up a finger. It shuddered slightly, and you raised it up to point to the projector screen fabric hoisted on the wall, the shadow of your hand looming over the makeshift light projector setup the GCPD had provided, sending ripples through the fabric.

  The room felt like a prison cell, almost deliberately designed to make you feel alienated and scrutinised. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, a fluorescent lighting irradiating through the room with a cool toned jarring brightness that made you squint a little, yet not completely illuminating the dark shadowy corners of the squarish room. A grey rectangular table sat in front of you, with Harvey Dent and Lieutenant Jim Gordon sitting back cross legged in their foldable plastic chairs, while John Blake sat hunched over on the other end of the table, furiously typing out a report on his laptop. You guessed you couldn’t expect anything too fancy from the Major Crimes Unit of Gotham. You needed to push through this presentation, despite the building physical discomfort following your predicament from the day before.

  You made eye contact with Jim Gordon, with a little bit of difficulty, but you still pressed on to make your point. He had his hands clasped together, sitting between his thighs, and avoided your gaze to favour studying the data presented on the screen. Harvey Dent had a hand wrapped around one side of his cheek, and an elbow propped on the table, resting his head against it and listening intently. You had been given unreasonable demands to give impromptu presentations rather frequently at work, but definitely not within an hour of getting discharged from the hospital. Your nerves fired off a little bit and you tried your best not to let your voice betray you. You tugged your blazer tighter around your waist, blaming the cold for this action.

  “I think we have a pretty strong case here. This is all the information you need, reallyㅡto charge Lau, especially with the insights from Mr. Blake. He was a forensic accountant.”

  Gordon and Dent shared a pointed look at each other, expressions unreadable, before Gordon turned back to you to nod a gentle ‘thank you’. You took this as a sign to give them ample space for their own discussion and consolidation, and you let out a huge sigh, walking swiftly over to John Blake after being granted the permission to be dismissed. You dragged another foldable chair and scooched over to sit beside him. You leaned over to look at his laptop, then at him expectantly. He ignored this and continued looking at his screen.

  “Little nervous there, weren’t you kid?”

  You puffed your cheeks and let a stream of air out. You were punished for this motion as you felt searing pain up your larynx and flaring at your nostrils. You were about to lose your mind on him but you remembered the presence of the other two justice hounds in the room. Blake snickered inwardly. You supposed two compliments in two consecutive days was unheard of from the man. You hadn’t been silly enough to hope for that. Yesterday, what he said to you at the bank was possibly the most acknowledgement you had ever gotten from him for your worth as his partner, and you will take that to your chest and run away with it.

  “Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you try giving a presentation after literally being discharged from the hospital?”

  He decided to let it go and brush this off, his smile still not withholding however. He scrolled down the document he had impressively typed out. It seemed he had been working on it while you were out. It was way too detailed to have been put together in the short amount of time you were here, while you gave the presentation. You raised your brows, he was on his A game tonight, more so than usual. Working behind the scenes, after hours. You wondered what sparked this escalation in work ethic and quality. This little rivalry between you two felt slightly more visceral.

  Covertly, you stared over at Gordon and Dent, who looked cold and calculative under the subtle hue of blue-toned lighting. They seemed to be in some kind of disagreement, brows furrowed and stubborn towards each other. Did this happen often? You chewed your lips and tapped lightly at the table. You could see Blake at the corner of your eyes rubbing his chin again. While you two were confidently secure in your abilities as analysts and consultants, working with public servants required a different form of rigour. It required a different kind of convincing. Not one that was only concerned with profits and risk-bearings, like your previous clients, but something that held ethical weight and certainty. You two had done something that could be classified as immoral, and you weren’t sure if this level of convincing was enough to gloss over that fact. Judging from John Blake’s body language, he shared the same sentiments. You took in a deep breath, despite the pain, desperately needing the extra air to catch up on your shortness of breath.

  Gordon and Dent signaled for the two of you to come over and show them the written report. You could feel your heart beating quickly, hammering against your chest. The desire to please the authorities made your senses go wild, and it would only serve as a testament to your abilities if you could help the highest forms of justice in the city in these respects. Blake took this chance to explain briefly the navigation of the report, and to bring focus to the more important details of your presentation highlighted in the report. This would allow them to utilise the information more effectively and constructively should they ever need to take this to court. This once was his area of expertise, after all. Gordon and Dent gave each other another look and they looked pleased. Well, at least they came to a consensus on something. They had their attention on you again after the mutual confirmation.

  “Astounding work you two,”

  Harvey Dent smiled politely at you. Your erratic heartbeat calmed as you felt heat radiate off your face like a hot pan. Slowly the high of authoritative validation crept within your system. His words definitely felt like honey.

  “I’m gonna need you to come with me to County tomorrow, after hours, to account for certain data and ledgers regarding Lau’s case. Could you spare me some of your time, Miss?”

  You gulped. It was extremely hard to say no to this man. You weren’t going to turn down a request like this anyway, if it meant one step closer to saving Gotham City. A little sacrifice for something you love was nothing. You nodded tentatively at first, charting a rough impression of your weekly schedule in your head. You had work the next day and it would be very hectic for you. Blake looked impassive. You couldn’t get a read on him. Harvey Dent leaned back in his chair, threw the documents on his lap back onto the table and stood up to be eye level with you.

  “Well, that would be all for today. I need to rush back, so I thank you all for your hard work.”

  After Harvey Dent promptly left the room, Gordon shifted the laptop in front of him and stood up. The room felt significantly emptier with Dent gone, he had quite the presence. You looked around the room again, eyes scanning the white brick walls, squinting as your gaze briefly landed on the bare LED light bulb. You silently waited for Gordon to collect his thoughts.

  “Consultant Blake, you're not going off the hook so easily, I’m afraid. The GCPD needs your help in tracing the mob’s money while it is being stowed away indefinitely.”

  Blake pressed his lips into a thin line, giving a single nod of understanding. Gordon shifted his weight to his other foot, pondering. He cast his eyes downwards, then back onto Blake and you.

  “You know, you two enjoy fighting against crime, right? I see something very special in you youngsters. Well, I have a proposition for you... So, here’s some food for thought.”

  Gordon looked a little more intently at you two.

  “We really could use your skill sets for our ongoing and future investigations for our fight against organised crime. We-uh, don’t receive nearly as much funding as we need from the state… So our financial forensics department is not as developed as it should be.”

  He paused. You saw those worn down eyes again, beaten down by the world around him. He was an old soul, and he made no effort to mask the worry in his eyes, his forehead grazed with permanent crease lines, perhaps from constant frowning. You could see however, the silver lining behind his dark irises. The one thing not jaded, remaining pure and undiluted, was his hope in enforcing justice for Gotham City. That is where his true passion lies.

  “We don’t have enough people with the relevant technological or knowledge based capabilities. I know this is too much to ask of you… But the offer is always open―I could negotiate a permanent spot for you two on the team, if you were to change your mind in future. That is, if you want to, of course-”

  Gordon fumbled a little with his words, his hand waving about slightly. John Blake held a hand out, saving Gordon from his apparent awkwardness as he felt it unbecoming. Cops should at least have some pride. It would not do well for a lieutenant to be appealing to two private sector workers for help like this, it was almost completely undignified. Had the cops really been pressed thin to the brink? Pushed into a corner? Here, he had thought that the state of Gotham was improving immensely. Evidently, the fine balance of all powers in Gotham has been knocked over. Something was brewing. There was a storm coming. 

  You interjected.

  “We’re, uh, very flattered! Thank you, Lieutenant Gordon. We will definitely keep your words in our hearts, and keep your offer in consideration.”

  You all regarded each other for a moment, unspeaking―completely aware of the implications of all this. This whole agreement, and Gordon’s open proposal to you. John Blake stared hard, his jaws fixed in position. You sensed the energy in this room and it held an excruciating weight. You didn’t even know what you all were waiting for. You clenched your fingers at the hem of your blazer. You looked discreetly at John Blake, not really knowing what to expect. As if you didn’t want him to catch you staring.

  “It’s been nine months since the first appearance of Batman. Since Falcone’s incarceration.”

  Blake started, his voice sure and certain.

  “Did anyone actually accomplish anything?”

  His voice echoed through the room, piercing through everyone that stood. He stepped forward slightly. His gaze flitting down to the laptop in his hand.

  “All Batman did was end Falcone’s era. The Police Headquarters rounded up new forces. The mob replaced the figurehead at the top. Dent’s attempts to take down the top dogs have been, to no avail. The big-timers didn’t take any action.”

  You adjusted your collar, uncomfortable and unable to stare at him for any longer.

  “Sure, petty crimes have been reduced, one by one. Things have changed. But at the root of it all… Nothing’s been fixed.”

  He pondered wistfully.

  “It was like… everybody was just preparing for something.”

  Blake adjusted his tie.

  “...And now you’re here, Lieutenant Gordon―You and Harvey Dent. Asking us for help, knowing very well that this-”

  He waved his laptop around in his hand.

  “-data right here, was gained unscrupulously. And it’s not too far-fetched to believe you two are corroborating closely with the Bat, despite that official policy is to arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight.”

  John Blake tilted his chin downwards, looking up at Gordon, a purse evident on his lips. You flinched a little.

  “You are resorting to outlawed measures to fight the outlaws. And you’re telling me.”

  Gordon could not find the right words to this. He responded carefully. He would have to humble himself and swallow his pride for the sake of Gotham’s future, and he had in fact pitched you all a rather unreasonable request. He hoped to be able to earnestly appeal to the parts of your hearts, no matter how small, that cared deeply for the city of Gotham. It had to be there, he assumed, otherwise you wouldn’t have aided in the investigations as readily as you did, at the drop of a hat.

  “The mob had… squeezed us to the point of desperation, as much as I hate to admit it. I realise the first step to having a successful collusion with all parties involved is to drop the act and acknowledge this.”

   You gulped, and finally said something. At this point, the tension in the room had made you forget the slightly debilitating pain in your trachea.

  “Frankly speaking, we crossed the line first. We aren’t the only ones, and soon they’ll be hammered to the point of desperation, Lieutenant Gordon.”

  Gordon grunted, a hum low in his chest.

  “I know very well.”

  John Blake, for the first time in this confrontation, allowed a smirk to grace his lips. He looked over at you.

  “You always told me, kid…”

  His gaze on you was unnerving, and compelling.

  “...that the new era of the daring ones is coming along with an unstoppable swell. Batman is just the beginning. He... broke the gear. And we’re not going to be the only side taking up arms, fighting back.”

  He shifted his gaze back onto Gordon.

  “Expect a storm. Expect escalation. Expect a resistance like we’ve never seen before. There’s no turning back.”

  You watched as their eyes locked, their hard expressions unyielding. Gordon was obviously not new to this line of thought, but perhaps no one had been courteous enough to engage with him in discussing the implications of such. He was at a loss for words, but not caught by surprise. His deeply emotive eyes stirred, and he spoke quietly.

  “I am well aware of all this Consultant Blake. It’s not anything new to me. But I am prepared for anything and will stop at nothing. I do the best I can with what I have.”

  Blake’s eyes softened a little, but still retaining their edge, knowing fully well what all of you had gotten yourselves into. The very moment you had engaged in these investigations and accepted the request in lending your contributions, you had placed all of your lives at stake. He stuck a palm to him out of habit, always one for the conditioned nicety. 

  “We have a deal, then. We will lend you our tentative aid. ”

###

Your teeth gnawed slightly at your lips as you made your rounds around the main office room in the MCU. The administrative office had been closed long since you arrived here. You reorganised your datasets you gathered from Gotham National Bank, and printed out the required evidence for your visit to County the next day. It occurred to you, with the impromptu presentation you delivered earlier, that you needed to revise the formatting of your work before it was court-ready. You stood by the printer, listening to the squeaking of ink running across paper and the whir and buzz of the mechanism inside. 

  You exhaled, the first time this night since being discharged that you could take a brief moment of respite. You had a newfound respect for crime fighters in Gotham, if this was what their lifestyles consisted of. Gordon hadn’t even left the MCU, he resolved to return to his private workspace at the top floor of this building. Justice never sleeps, you supposed. You looked out the window, groaning then pinching the bridge of your nose. It was a special kind of blackness out there, one you would probably only see during the witching hours. You wouldn’t be able to get the rest you needed to recover properly, since you probably only had a couple hours of sleep at best before you had to wake up to head for work. Then, when you were done for the day, you would have to rush over to County, grab a bite on the go for dinner if you were lucky, and turn in late again.

  Never would you have thought that you would find yourself working on the side of justice in this way, having a direct hand in adjusting things in Gotham for good. Although, it did seem like a sort of calling to you, in a way. Things were a little bit too convenient, and pieces fell into place together too easily. It was like a feasible chemical reaction in a way that was bound to happen at any given point in time, so long as time had stretched on. You tapped your fingers against your chapped lips, deliberating for a while.

  You did always wish you had a reliable way of measuring what was guaranteed and what wasn’t. It would provide you with a greater control over your life than what you had over the past few years, one that you sought after.

  Serendipity.

  You weren’t exactly too sure if you could call it that.

  Your thoughts wandered back to your coworker and boss, John Blake. He was pretty much done for the night and didn’t have much else to wrap up on. He would wait for you at the porch of the MCU. He had been acting rather strange. Ever since you first saw him, he had been pretty cold to you. But now, it was currently walking along a fine line of coldness and slight, dare you say, hostility. You supposed that he had always been pretty insufferable to you. God, since the start, he had been pretty provocative even when you were sitting round the coffee table at that one boujee cafe. But it had, well, mostly always been in playful jest, or friendly banter. You supposed you always did feel the strife of competition with him, always needing to prove something to him.

  You groaned again, feeling a pinch behind your eyes. You had to save all this thinking for later when you weren’t exactly sleep deprived. You ran a final check through all your printouts, languidly flipping through them with an index finger. Satisfied, you tapped the width of the entire stack a couple times against the surface of the wooden table, aligning the sheets within. You slotted it in an empty file supplied by the GCPD, and headed to the entrance with the large front doors.

  Harvey Dent and Gordon sure made the impression on you, though you did have your doubts towards them. Their relationship seemed… unnatural, kind of strained. You could even describe it as seeming dysfunctional. And it was obvious to you. You couldn’t really blame them, though. With corruption levels so high in this city, you wouldn’t know who to trust either. You would love to have faith in the system, but if they were so good, they wouldn’t be turning to you and Blake.

  You stepped out into lights cast upon the porch by the warm streetlamps, lost in your thoughts.

  John Blake.

  You squinted upon the intrusion of the flaring streetlamps. You saw two streetlamps in the spot where there should only be one.

  What the hell?

  You rubbed your eyes with your free hand. You couldn’t hear anything.

  Where is he… anyway?

  You strained your eyes open again.

  The streetlamps were like a desert mirage. You saw the two balls of light separate slightly, then start to converge.

  Your hair stood on ends, from the back of your neck to the entirety of your arms. Something scraped along the inside of your ears, a high-pitched screeching that bounced within your ear canal.

  You blinked, your shoulders tensing up. You took a step forward, your breath faltering.

  Your feet wobbled slightly as you made your first descent down a step. You gripped onto your laptop and file even tighter. 

  No…

  You broke into an all out sprint, almost nose diving down the long flight of stairs, the sensation pulling at your lungs disorientating.

  Does it depress you? To know that your reality is based on comforting lies?

  Poor little girl... You think a safe space will actually help.

  You felt something black and long, emaciated fingertips reaching into your ear and scratching lightly. They were charred and felt like the bark of scorched trees. They were lanky and skinny like tree branches, about a foot long and grazed at the walls of your ear canals.

  If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back at you.

  It was a creature of the underworld. One of the most fearsome apparitions, not from the corporal realm. Then… What was he doing here? You bristled.

  Judgement had been passed, and the final fight between good and evil awaits.

  He was the plaguebearer, the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. He was the harbinger of the pestilence. When the time was right, he will besiege the world with pure pandemonium.

  Flesh thudded against stone tiled floors. A strangled scream tore gutturally through the streets. These sounds were incredibly muffled to you.

  He barely turned his head to give a brief, uninterested, side glance.

  And all of a sudden, all your senses returned to you in one compounding moment, everything came crashing down dramatically upon you like a surging, symphonic orchestral blare, and you were met with your fears. The scratchy fingertips stabbed and pierced into your eardrums, and a sharp, debilitating throb pounded through your head. No amount of alcohol could make you forget the sight of his gruesome face.

  Here he stood, in the corporeal world, insidious and spectral. The time had come, and his presence heralded the arrival of world’s end, the armageddon before Judgement Day.

  You were unfortunate enough to be caught, dead in the center of this maelstrom.

  You looked death in the eye, watching carefully as you anticipated his next course of action. He opened his mouth to speak.

  “Ah, uninvited guests―Always a, uh, welcome surprise.”

  He slurred the last word. You tried your hardest to react, to at least do something, anything at all really would do at this moment. Ounce by ounce, he filled every space and cavity your physical being had to offer, and then those your spiritual and mental being as well, for there seemed to not be enough space for this surreal and... grotesque thing. You couldn’t breathe, it felt as if his mere presence was asphyxiating. You wanted to move, you wanted to run, you wanted to curl up into a ball, you wanted to move at least one goddamned muscle in your body.

  But you can’t.

  Sighing exaggeratedly, as if the world owed him a living, he trudged forward slowly and expectantly towards you. He put both his palms up, facing you, stretching and spacing out all his gloved fingers, perhaps in mock concession, a friendly gesture showing that he had nothing to hide. He raised his brows at you with his lips in a sulk, derisive in his condolences. All at once, the air was knocked out of your lungs, and your torso was constricted. You could barely comprehend what was happening, and he seized you by warping behind you as quickly as his stature allowed for. You bit into your lips, tears pricking at your eyes that you could allow such a thing to happen without having the guts to put up a fight. You thrashed your head around, struggling against his grasp, his leather gloved hands muffling a yelp that escaped your lips.

  He grumbled about something related to people minding their own businesses, but you were far too busy trying to pry away at his iron clasp around your figure to comprehend what he was really saying.  

  You couldn’t breathe properly. You sucked in as much air as you could through your scalded nostrils. Your lungs burned. Perhaps it was because you couldn’t see his face, that you could muster the courage required for this display of resistance to his restraints. Your laptop and files were left forgotten, dropped by the pavement and driven into the soil.

  “Kid, it’s fine, just relax and don’t―urgh! Don’t...don’t do anything rash.”

  You peered down as he rasped, the side of his face pressed mercilessly down into the concrete slabs of the sidewalk. Your shaky pupils searched the scene in front of you. The darkness was illuminated by the mellow streetlamps. John Blake was pushed, head first into the ground with a big, pale, brown-haired man kneeling against his form, restraining his arm behind his back. He was armed. That put you slightly more on edge, and slightly more willing to comply. The wraith behind you removed his hand from your mouth, and just as you were about to let out an ear-curdling scream, you felt a cold smoothness of the point of a knife tickle you lightly at your neck, drawing circles around your pulse point gently. Stubbornly, you slackened your arms a little, but still maintained a hold on his forearms.

  Let… Let go of John.

  You saw another man a couple feet beside him, frightened out of his wits, held at gunpoint by another goon, this one wearing a clown mask. He was quivering slightly, both his arms behind his head, clad in a grey suit, a piece of paper duct-taped at its front with words scribbled sloppily―‘Please deliver to Lieutenant Gordon.’ You scrunch your nose a little, tracing your eyes up to look into his panic-stricken, beady eyes.

  “Lau?”

  You spit out in disbelief, momentarily forgetting the compromising position you were in. The phantom circled his arms around you tighter like a python, a ritual they performed before they devoured their prey. It was no use, your arms were wedged by your sides at this point. You tried one last time to fight it, but it was met with a mere chuckle.

  “I see we’re all, uh, acquainted here?”

  He gestured in sardonic formality with his fingers that weren’t latched onto the trigger. He had an incredibly erratic cadence to his voice. His intonations and inflections were completely irregular, he stressed words in a pattern that seemed completely… random. This made even the way he spoke instinctually threatening, for you didn’t know what to expect from him, a sort of jagged edge that laced his words. It granted him a heightened sense of unpredictability, and a malicious air of danger that felt even more tangible. You felt this, it was all too real.

  “You’re working with the police to sell me out, is that how it is? You would betray your own company’s affiliate.”

  Lau, with as much disdain he could gather within him in his sorry state, glared daggers at you. His hands shook more violently, unable to control the trepidation of fear and anger mixed together in a deadly concoction. The ghoulish man who held you shifted you in his grasp a little, pressing your head closer to his cheek, and you felt the stickiness of his greasepaint latch onto your hair. You cringed and recoiled, lips contorting in disgust. He swiped his tongue against the ridges along his bottom lip.

  “I wouldn’t be so ah... concerned with that, if I were you. Seeing that our boy-o over here so valiantly jumped in to save your little-ol life.”

  You snarled at this implication, how dare he mock John? You clawed at his forearm, digging your nails into the velvety textile of his purple sleeve, and jerked yourself against his grasp. Roughly, he tensed his arm against your body. He shifted his lips closer to your ear, his slimy breath stroking the shell of your ear, smearing some hot waxy face paint against your cheek.

  “Ah-tatta… Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

  He growled that last bit menacingly into your ear, pushing the slender tapered point of his blade deeper into your neck, sashaying side to side ominously as he adjusted his hold on you to expertly elude his arm from your long nails. He played around with the butt of the knife, tapping it and twisting it around absentmindedly. The blade slid against the delicate skin of your throat carelessly, with varying pressure. You froze. Just because you couldn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. As a grim reminder of his presence, he knowingly did this, intruding all boundaries of your personal space. Your blood ran cold, frosted by the chilling metal digging into your neck, and your sight remained trained on John Blake.

  Events that happened at the bank flipped through your mind like the pages of a comic book.

  Terrorist. Master-manipulator. Criminal. What the hell are you?

  You weren’t sure if you should be more afraid of this more talkative version of the clown, or the dead silent dirt green-haired man under the frowning mask.

  If there was one thing they had in common, you couldn’t fully understand either of them.

  Your life was in the hands of a madman who treated it all like a game.

  You saw John looking straight into you, seething underneath all that pressure. You tried to seek solace in him and calm him down at the same time, trying to convey your emotions through your eyes.

  Tongue in cheek, the man behind you was clearly watching this interaction, unamused.

  “For a couple of party crashers-ah? You guys sure are bor―ing.”

  With a low rumble in his chest, he shoved you forward and seized your hands behind you, pressing the knife against the back of your neck. A gasp escaped your lips, not used to the crassness of which you were being handled.

  “Ooh, I have an idea, something real fun. It wouldn’t do to do this at our, uh, current venue however…”

  He gestured his goons towards the abandoned building in front of you.

  Catching your breath, you twisted your head to the side to look at John Blake, your eyes widening and searching his face desperately. You had no choice but to be subjected to this… sick game of his.

  “It’ll be okay, John. We’ll be okay.”

  You only managed to catch a glimpse of his jaw clenching and his hard eyes looking back at you, before the clown in the purple suit pushed you forward again. The clown smacked his lips together.

  “Make it fast, lovebirds.”

###

Your head spun feverishly. You were sleep-deprived, couldn’t breathe well, and in a… sticky situation. You were just slammed forcefully, thrown head first into a fiberboard office desk. Through a teary-eyed vision, for a moment it was pitchblack, with the dim light of the city at night filtering through the window. Then, you were blinded by the sting of office-grade LED strip lights arranged neatly on the ceilings above you. Your trachea was already burning from being forced to climb up a flight of stairs. You had just about enough. This debilitation and lightheadedness gave you a newfound strength, ironically.

  You thought back on the 9/11 attacks, and on every other occasion you felt this similar genuine terror strike up in your heart. You vaguely remember some quote, to never negotiate with terrorists, or something like that. Terrible advice really, to anyone who was actually in a terror situation where it was life or death, but to hell with it. You were at your limit for the amount of bullshit you could tolerate. Being absolutely manhandled was not in your itinerary this night. You thought back on every good thing you’ve tried to do for Gotham, sickeningly undone by thugs like these. Your hunched form felt an animosity that was like acid, burning, slicing and extremely potent. And luck has it, you’re trying to stop me again.

  Your forehead was propped against the desk for support. Your hands were free, but your world was spinning too much for you to do anything with them. You bared your teeth, and you swear you could feel fangs growing where your canines were rooted.

  Violently, you hurled your voice against the desk.

  “Haven’t you done enough to us at the bank?”

  You squeezed your eyes shut and gritted your teeth, clenching your fists tightly. Your blood was hot, and you could no longer feel the coolness of the blade against your neck.

  “I’m not afraid of you terrorists. Frankly speaking, I am absolutely sick of you little bastards.”

  Venomously, you spit the excess saliva in your mouth against the desk, overwhelmed with emotion.

  You felt him tugging at your white blazer sleeves, and an excruciating force wrenched at the crown of your head by the hair, lifting your body up slightly, with it still looming over the desk. You felt a suppressed rage as you ran out of ways to express your anger in this awkward position, and you prepared to resort to launching a spit at him to resolve this compulsion.

  But the moment you were face to face with him, the hairs on the nape of your neck bristled. Trapped in your own psychosis, you were wheedled into a living nightmare tailor made for your own brain to play on your deepest fears. Two holes gouged out for eyes, and a bloodied smile carved in place of lips, all splotched onto a chalky white canvas. He looked like a corpse, and you felt the urge to puke. You felt your stomach lurch, and you clutched at your mouth to coax the acidic feeling back down your throat.

  He studied you, frowning deeply and narrowing his eyes, straining his head sideways to get a better look at you. God, when he narrowed those eyes, his sclera disappeared and they looked like the eye sockets embedded within a skull. His greasy hair frayed around framing his head stiffly, lifeless with its strands starched and stiffened together with muck, as if it were dipped in formaldehyde, its proteins coagulated rigidly like it belonged to a cadaver that had long been embalmed. They were bleached off of their natural colour and a faded wash of pallid, acid pale green remained. The fact that he smelled strongly of a queasy mixture of many different chemicals definitely did nothing to help.

  “Ah, so you are that little doctor girl back there. I remember you... Who else on earth wears a, uh, white blazer?”

  He snorted at the end, pinched at your sleeve at the same time, causing your forearm to be lifted, before he let it go. Your wrist bone landed, smacking against the table with a loud snap. The bite was sharp and pointed. You quickly grabbed your hand and held it to your chest, rubbing over it soothingly. You had no idea why you felt offended by this.

  “Glad you made it, little girl-”

  “Doctor... What? And says you! You’re-you’re dressed in a purple trench-”

  You cut him off. He regarded you with a slow lick of his lips, gliding languidly over the fringes of his scars. He gets even closer, up in your face. He stares down at you, looking directly into your very being. You try to look away, but you could only see ink black. You could even smell the greasepaint in this enclosed space. You felt the world spinning.

  “C’mere―Hey. Look at me.”

  He rasped, dragging the clipped point of the dagger against your cheek, pressing it against the corner of your lips.

  “Y'know, whenever people say they’re... not afraid of me,”

  He looked away, inflecting his voice. Then he pointed at his face with his gloved hands, gesturing at the distance between you two, etching even closer. You felt an internal score rising in pitch.

  “I do this. I get all up in their face.”

  He nodded at you. To this you sealed your eyes back together. You dared not look. The world had not stopped circling around you. He yanked your head.

  “Hey―come on…”

  Cooing, he sticks the blade in your mouth. It took all your strength in order to keep your eyes open, just to stare helplessly into back his cavernous ones. The straining notes were reaching an unbearable dissonance, tearing jarringly into your eardrums. It was excruciating. Your ears ached and bled. They reached a frequency that was no longer audible to you.

  “And guess what? They’re always silent. Like you, right now.”

  He smiled, patronisingly, with a sympathetic look on his face, shaking his head slightly.

  “People that, uh, put on a show… are spineless, more often, than no-t.”

  He patted your face gently with his leather finger tips, then rubbed loose patterns around. He had you in his trap. You were his prey, no more than a little mouse to a cold-blooded viper. He flicked his tongue rapidly out of his mouth, then retracts it. What he said wasn’t… false. You couldn’t take it any longer. The revolutions around you were excessive.  

  “Hey―Freakshow. Does it feel good intimidating someone smaller than you? Behind a mask?”

  You saw his eyeballs shift to the side with the weight of a boulder, this time jarringly wide, and you could only see the white of his eyes. He really did not look amused. He shifted his bottom lips in a restrained tick, almost like a controlled form of madness. He leaned back slightly, his grip still firm on your hair, wobbling it around slightly. His body bent a little backwards from the hips, and he dramatically gesticulated his hand holding the knife into an open palm.

  “Very well, your dashing knight in ah, shining armour has given us a great suggestion.”

  Your body was pulled towards him and he faced it towards the center of the room, with that familiar careless grace you witnessed days ago. His arm was hooked suffocatingly around your neck, and you were face to face with the setting of an abandoned office room. The only furniture was the shabby office desk before you, and floorboards were uncovered, revealing nails sticking out of the ground. The wallpaper was partially torn, a pale beige staining at the edges with a rusted brown. A few slider windows were spruced along the walls surrounding the room.

  John Blake and Lau were pushed all the way to the windows, both of them still held captive by the two goons, edging dangerously close to the borders. Lau stood on the left, and Blake on the right.

  “Let’s extend this little… game between us,”

  The grisly clown tongued along the scars on his inner cheek.

  “To our guests here with us.”

  He reached around beneath his coat, into his back pocket.

  “You deranged fuck, what you’re doing here is sick-”

  Bones cracked. A fist connected with John Blake’s skull.

  Lau just stared on agitatedly, his tongue curling against his bottom lip as he inhaled deeply, his breathing rate increasing. His hands were still behind his head.

  “Between one life or the other,”

  The clown craned his head into your line of sight, to check if you were still listening. Your chest constricted, and your breathing picked up. The pain escalated.

  “You’ll get to choose…”

  Reaching around you, he presented a gun, glinting silver. You stared at it, horrified. He cackled scratchily, the sound of his voice grating to your ears like sandpaper. From behind, he wrapped his hands around yours as gingerly as he could at first, as if he were handling a delicate little child, teaching them a valuable life skill, such as tying their shoe laces. Soon he gave up on this idea and thrust it in your hand, then unceremoniously clasped his hands tightly around yours, fumbling slightly with the butt of the gun. He made a throaty noise. His varnished gloves rubbed mercilessly against the skin on your knuckles.

  No, no, no, no....

  You squeezed your eyes, an epileptic meditation amidst the prelude of a panic attack. He hunched over, jutting a sharp chin into the tender flesh between your neck and shoulder. You squirmed, and felt purple walls around you constricting further as his arms enclosed around you, your heart sinking further down and squished into a box. You did not like him pushing past your personal boundaries at all.

  “You can’t make me do this.”

  Your voice was barely a crack above a whisper, croaking silently.

  He lifted his chin and pushed back down on your shoulder to get a closer look at your face, making a nasally grunt as he did so.

  “You do know what’s gonna happen to you if ya don’t play along now, don’tcha?”

  He bobbed your hand around slightly, the gleaming danger of the pistol hypnotic. You stay rooted to the spot, coercing your hands into relaxation. You were being lured into its spell, it was like a siren that serenaded, and the barrel of the gun looked like that of a deformed pipe. His arms were caged around you, you were locked in place.

  You followed the sound of the pipe.

  Your eyes were steely.

  He turned his cheek a little, nudging the side of his cheek against yours to direct your attention to the left side. More wax was smeared on your face. You felt stifled.

  “Your… corrupt boss who cares about nothing but money,”

  Your gun was still pointed to the middle of Blake and Lau. But you were bewitched to keep your gaze on Lau, and he stared at you with the same flecks of red in his eyes as he did a couple days ago at the office.

  “You know, my car is worth more than both of your entire life savings combined-”

  “Or…”

  He jerked his head slightly to the right and made another nasal sound to redirect you, along with the disgusting lick of his lips. The walls were slowly caving in.

  “Your tall, dark and handsome squeeze over here.”

  He crooned suggestively.

  “Y’know, he is pretty gallant―Maybe he wouldn’t mind sacrificing his life so that little squealing rat could live.”

  You watched John Blake as he was being jostled roughly by the brown-haired man. You didn’t know how to react, and you couldn’t find the right words to say. For some reason, that statement made you feel somehow… sorrowful. Why?

  “He… We’re not attached.”

  You silently blurted out. You felt a low rumble vibrating against your back, before the clown behind you burst into a fit of light, high-pitched giggles, incredulous. On top of his voice, even his nasal laughter sounded like a cynical, washed out clown who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, who put on a red nose and laughed derisively at childrens’ misery at their own birthday parties.

  This was something you felt the need to clarify? Right before all of your untimely deaths? Oh, how entertaining this was to him. You were beyond foolish to the clown.

  “Talk about ice cold, little girl.” 

  The clown scoffed in disbelief.

  “My brother over there, I’m so sorry. Trust me, I feel for ya-”

  He jeered, wiping a fake tear away from his eyes, letting the last waves of his laughter tide through. You frowned, puzzled and bewildered. You caught John Blake’s gaze, helplessly searching for answers from him. He tensed his jaw further, collecting his thoughts. Clearly, the clown’s antics were getting to him. You couldn’t blame him. You fared no better. He took a deep breath and calmed.

  “It’s fine, just relax. Don’t fall for his twisted mind games.”

  The clown pouted at him. He was pushed even further against the edge of the window, the brown-haired man pointing his gun underneath his chin and painstakingly shoved him further backward. His lower body was the only thing anchoring him to the floorboard. The corpse clown's hands clasped over yours tapped it impatiently a couple of times.

  “We don’t have all day, y’know.”

  He deadpanned. You inhaled slightly and closed your eyes. Your mind sifted through many memories, sharp and bright, of all your interactions with Lau. Of all the conversations you’ve had with John over Lau.

  That man is nothing but scum. He has contributed to the steady crumble of Gotham, peddling drugs, perpetuating murders, and ensuring that the mob ruled the city with an iron fist.

  It was scary how you were able to rationalise this. 

  No hard feelings Lau. An eye for an eye. That’s all it really is.

  You slowly felt anger and vengeance bubbling in your stomach. You were overwhelmed with the savagery of the beast. You sought retribution, reprisal and revenge. This… was you. And you had all the power in the world to take the law into your hands, to play your own judge. You slowly traced the line of the sight of the gun to your left. The music of the pipe resounded melodically. It’s dangerous. But it was so… incredibly sweet. You looked up from the barrel to the man its sight landed on. Your eyes were glazed over. The clown behind you hummed in assent, pleased with the results. Your fingers hooked at the trigger, hesitating.

  “Excellent choice, little girl.”

  He licked his lips. He toyed around with the gun, playing and fiddling with its hammer, flicking it and letting go absentmindedly.

  “If only it weren’t so, ah… pre-dictable.”

  He rested his fingers atop of yours. Your hands shook a little. 

  “Is it because it goes ‘according to plan’? I mean, he’s the obvious baddie over here, and all you… do-gooders. You clearly deserve to live. To bring him to justice.”

  He purred into your ear, his breath fanning you hotly. John Blake struggled further against the man holding him back. He had no hands to grip onto the frames of the window. His fall was imminent. He had to speak up now. There was no better time. Desperately, he wheezed.

  “You know kid,”

  He sputtered slightly.

  “I always told you that you were like a… like a siege engine. I’m only saying this now because it’s a matter of life or death,”

  His words were initially spat out at a fast pace, his voice was very strained from his extreme and awkward position, and his breath was laboured. Eventually, he slowed down to get his point across more clearly.

  “You’re a fine weapon. A valuable asset to my company, and your work is remarkable. I’ve always entrusted you to make the right decisions as my junior analyst… But I’ve come to realise you’re so much more. ”

  He tried to peer down at you from his obstructed view, toiling as his voice was weak from holding this position. For so long you worked so hard for him, and you barely got rewarded with words of confirmation. Your eyes went wide and you hastily looked at him, they were glossy and large like a puppy dog. Your heart squeezed gut wrenchingly, for months you pined for this truth. You yearned so deeply to now what he truly thought of you and everything you’ve done for him.

  “You’re always by my… my side. It’s two of us against the world. You’re the only person I want to do this job with. You’re a bright girl, with so much flair for what you do. And that’s not the only part,”

  You felt yourself drift higher and higher, and you were now a lightweight. Drunk on his words, you’ve never heard him speak so personally about you before. It was always sparse little words of affirmation sprinkled around sparingly. He was an incredibly stingy man. He was so ungenerous with praise. It was always snarky jabs at you. He always made you feel the need to prove yourself. But he was the first one who gave you the chance to.

  “That’s not what makes you special. I want you to remember our vision-”

  He implored earnestly. 

  “Our vision… has been tainted. But that doesn’t make it any more invalid. Sometimes... we do have to get our hands dirty, for-for the greater good.”

  He breathed, in between jagged gasps. If this was what he truly thought of you...

  “I’ll trust you again. To do the right thing.”

  Intently, you listened to his words, your eyes watering slightly. You tried internalising the wealth of what he said to you. It was a lot to take in, it all happened so fast. This conversation was happening prematurely. You had no idea who was playing the pipe at this point. Where was the sound coming from…? The alluring music converged from all corners, all directing to the source of the instrument in your hand.

  The clown behind you went uncharacteristically silent. He licked his lips slowly, studying the exchange between the two of you. Siege engine, huh? What a funny word to describe you with. Siege engines were colossal battering rams, castle forged and an exalted war machine that delivered victories to the warring states for centuries. Monumental goliaths, they were the front lines, the fortress breakers, the castle crashers, leading the furious charge on battlefields when zero hour arrived. They were medieval trebuchets of acclaim, a necessity for triumph in war. As glorious as they were, they could only be as great as their role allowed them to be. At the end of the day, they were nothing but a mere pawn of war.

  You slowly looked at Lau, and he no longer looked at you with that malice from before. It was replaced by a look that was… strikingly familiar. He reminded you of the mob bank teller days prior. Pleading, frightened, like a cornered animal, desperate and fighting to survive. His gaze pierced right through to your heart. This struck a chord within you. You observed how his eyebrows knitted into the shape of a mountain, quivering lightly. His lips downturned and parted slightly. His eyes were large. The look of a man whose life flashed before his life.

  Yes, he did cause you a lot of trouble at the office. He did utterly degrade and humiliate you. He made your job hard. The moment he stepped in, he made you hate your job. No actually, that’s the understatement of the century. He made you loathe your job, detest it, abhor it. Pretty much anything to do with a severe hateful feeling you felt for this job, where you used to feel joy or any small amount of excitement, he had killed it for you. But did he really deserve to die for this?

  “I-”

  A croak filed through your dry throat. It felt like a type of flesh eating insect was festering within your insides. Starting at your heart, they feasted at the tissue down into your stomach, and they were coming up through your gullet. The moral conscience weighed inside of you like a heavy pendulum, one swing away from breaking off from its support and crashing through to your very center. You couldn’t bear the moral weight of such a decision. This was not a burden you could carry for the rest of your life.

  “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  John Blake looked at you while he sucked in a breath, unreadable. Lau fell to his knees, a wash of relief coming over him. He continued being kicked and kneed in the face by the goon wearing a clown mask.

  “Ah... you’ve already chosen unfortunate-ly. And you’re not backing out of this one, sweetheart.”

  You flinched hearing the voice that you had forgotten was there. This stirred something within you, and you refused to give into his demands. You would rather die than make a choice like this.

  “No, I am not giving into your stupid, twisted pseudo-social experiment-”

  You twisted the gun barrel to face yourself, and for once, you heard no more music.

  “It wouldn’t even matter who I chose anyway… would it?”

  Shakily, you looked into the head of the barrel, and you felt… grief. It was cold and empty looking. For the second time that night, it felt like you were looking death in the eye. A knot twisted in your stomach. Your tears spilled over your cheeks, flowing hotly. You wept silently. You were stubborn, you would go to this extent just to prove something. Your ego knew no bounds. Your hearing blanked out for a moment, and you vaguely heard Blake shouting at you. You suddenly plunged into purgatory, existing solely on the plane between life and death. You teetered on the edge. Lau looked on from the ground, body tense and deeply perturbed. This turn of events was greeted by silence from the clown.

  The clown stared, wide eyed. His face twitched. His lips quirked into a frown. Why… would you do something like that? His eyes narrowed a fraction. He couldn’t comprehend this. It wasn’t exactly easy to render him speechless. Why on earth would you throw your life away for another’s? This he could not understand. Humans are... selfish creatures. At the core of it, they were all rotten and purely motivated by self-interest. Then… then why?  Why hadn’t he been able to predict this? This ate at him. Got under his skin. It grinded his gears. His arms wrung around you tighter. He observed the pistol pointed at your forehead. This was pathetic. Absolutely ridiculous. Confusion quickly dissipated in his chest and boiled into a seething, frothy rage. His jaw jutted forth and tensed, trembling slightly, his lips pursing together. He cackled through his nostrils, sounding a little manic. If you really wanted death, he wasn’t going to just give it to you, no. Ah, ah, ah… I’m not letting you get your satisfaction out of this. He couldn’t let you off the hook this easy.

  “Well then, little girl. You can’t be a… a sore loser and quit playing our game now.”

  His lilt sounded crazed. He gripped your hands tighter, you felt the leather skirting against your skin.

  “I suppose-ah, I’ll have to finish your job for you.”

  He spat, his words practically dripping with pure spite and malice. He wrenched your wrist to aim the gun away from you. Alarmed, your senses were heightened and you let out a sharp bark. At a speed you’ve never seen yourself move at before, you bent forward and locked your jaw around his fingers, chomping down forcefully. Your teeth sunk into his leather glove, and clamped down straight into his last finger. Squawking, he was caught off-guard. You heaved your foot and aimed a kick at his crotch. He let out a muffled noise of pain, and you tried your damndest to take advantage of this and get out of this situation.

  You struggled in his grasp, elbowing around at the sides, hoping to worm your way out of it. Unfortunately, he was unrelenting. Your hands were still on the gun, your fingers idling at the trigger. He doubled over, sickling an arm around your neck and gripped tightly onto the pistol, a finger slotted between the gun hammer and the rear sight, pulling it back. While he was in his position bent over, he was looming over you, laughing slightly. You were choking, beyond freaked out at this point, not exactly getting the reaction you wanted from him, and now you were completely unsure as to what he would do. The feeling of confinement was too much and you were at your breaking point.

  “Y’know, forget being a siege engine,”

  He grabbed your jaw, forcefully burrowing his fingers into your cheek.

  “I think she’s more of a, uh, pinky bruiser.”

  He tore your head upwards, and latched his hands back onto yours. He yanked at them, and aimed the gun at Lau. Ready, aim... He fastened his index fingers around yours. You widen your eyes, panicked with alarm bells shrilling through your head. Fire!

  “No!”

  He pulled at the trigger. You jerked your arms violently to the left, frantic. Recoiling, you were sent careening further back into the clown. The sound of the gun shot pierced through the air like a firecracker. You saw the goon with the mask fallen to the ground, his denim jeans getting soaked through with a fresh, gurgling red dampness around his thigh.

  Before anything else could be registered in your mind, the brown-haired man on the right side of the room displaced John Blake’s leg, and grabbed his lower torso, flinging him over the ledge of the window sill. You tried to lunge forward, demented and crazed, you were quickly becoming hysterical.

  “Ohmygod John-”

  Completely out of control, a scream tore through with your whole body like a shard of glass, you took no notice of the pain in your lungs as you were rapidly turning unhinged. The man who flipped John over like he was a light, airy pancake, faced you and you heard the click of a gun.

  You saw the sight of a gun cocked in your direction. You felt tears well up in your eyes at this very fraction of time.

  Bang!

  You screwed your eyes shut, expecting the most intense agony you would ever feel in your life. But the pain never came. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, and you saw the goon drop unconscious like a fly zapped through an electric swatter, most likely dead.

  “Did I tell you to shoot her…”

  The clown behind you muttered to himself, the smell of gunpowder burning your nostrils and you saw streaks of smoke smouldering and rising from the gun barrel in his hands. You tensed your shoulders, mouth slightly agape in bewilderment. You mouthed something soundlessly, but words could not form. What are you doing-

  The crackle of wood being busted through splintered at your ears, the noise tearing through the room sickeningly. You didn’t even have time to decide whether you should feel relieved or not.

  “Drop the weapon, now!”

  Lieutenant Gordon came bursting through with a team of policemen, their pistols aiming at every figure present in the room. He looked at you and the clown, and kept his gun trained in your direction. He dared not edge closer, in case you got harmed.

  The clown, with his hold still vice-like on you, stumbled backwards pulling you along ungracefully. He still kept you imprisoned under his reign for one final moment in time. You were at his mercy.

  “Drop it now!”

  A pair of lips pressed intimately into your ear. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

  “You know pinky bruiser, you were a lot of fun today. Sorry for, uh, calling you a party pooper.”

  He rasped. A chuckle rumbled lowly in his chest.

  “I think... you and I both know―Fate wouldn’t have it if this was our last time together.”

  He murmured and you were about to pass out from this lightheadedness and claustrophobia. You were constricted for far too long. You were way past your breaking point. A huge force tipped you backwards. You grabbed onto the ledge of the window sills, your veins popping from exerting such a strong force on your arms. 

  All of a sudden, the clown’s hold on you was relinquished.

  Your lungs overflowed with air, and your body was dramatically jerked forward, pain flooding your systems as you dry-heaved. Gordon hurried over by your side, extending a tender hand to rest on your arm. Realisation dawned upon you, and you swiftly spun around, bending over the ledge, looking out the window. You craned your neck as far down as you could see, hunting down and examining the perimeter.

  Gone.

  Gordon was pulling you back, preventing you from falling out the window. He was trying to talk some sense into you, but quickly gave up when he realised your current, panicked state of mind. Your strength was fading, and you allowed Gordon to reel you back into safety. Why didn’t you just… kill me? You thumped, falling to your knees, grabbing your hands to your head, sobbing and whimpering your sorrows away. You finally allowed all the pent up emotions to crash, not that you could control it now, anyway. It felt like a mallet crashing through from behind your eyes and nose, the twinging sensation unbearable as you wailed. It should have been me, goddamn it.

  Gordon knelt down, sighing and furrowing his brows in sympathy. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, then closed his mouth. He felt useless in this situation, clearly unable to help clear your head of any type of trauma that resulted from this unfortunate event. He was aware of this. He hated feeling this powerless, he hated not being able to help. He had perhaps felt this way his entire career, with a town like Gotham so rotten, the GCPD was basically made a mockery at this point.

  Lau was about to be taken by the other cops back into custody. He ambled past you, and looked over you and your pathetic form. For once, his expression was not one of scorn. It wasn’t one of anything really, he just looked a shell of the person he was just moments ago. You were pushing it if you said he looked like he felt bad for you, and that he held a thankful expression at the same time. You weren’t sure if you believed him to be capable of that.

  You were escorted out the abandoned office building, swaying and staggering around. You went to pick up the devices strewn all over the soil, with some help from Gordon. When you saw a glowing cop car with shattered windows and John Blake being supported by two cops, relieving pressure off his shoulders, you quickly rubbed at your tear stained face and hobbled over as quick as you could, relief pumping through your chest as you were hopeful that he survived the fall.

  The paramedics were on their way, and from the looks of it, John had a mildly serious shoulder injury and got extremely lucky. He had fallen from a height of 1 story from the ground, but as luck would have it, his fall was broken by the cop car stationed coincidentally below the window. He also fell on his side, which allowed for the best chance of survival and led to the least immobilising injuries.

  You couldn’t help yourself and gave John a quick hug and squeezed him lightly, after hearing him speak about what you were to him, and after experiencing the fright and grief of losing him. You were met with an involuntary wince. That probably felt soul-crushing to him, taking into account that he just fell out of a building. The ambulance finally arrived and they proceeded to bring down a stretcher. You were glad it was over. But something told you this was not the last of the clown you’d see. You thought, I mean… he practically promised you that you’d be seeing him again soon enough.

  “I’ll be fine. Just go get some rest.”

  He assured you, idling around, not really wanting to leave. He tried prolonging his stay with you before they eventually persuaded him to get onto the stretcher.

  “Heh. This time you’re the one sending me off.”

  You smiled, wanting to follow but he refused. You weren’t really sure why he wouldn’t allow that, feeling a pang of hurt in your chest. He quickly convinced you that it was too late and you had your own injuries to recover from, not wanting to disrupt the healing process. You were doubtful, but you shrugged away this nagging feeling and tried to take his word for it, mustering a final warm smile on your wary face. Your eyelids were starting to droop. You bid him farewell for the time being and watched as he was whisked away. 

  You hated to admit it, but your mind was still plagued by that sadistic clown. Your mind raced with questions, and you wanted answers. What did he mean by his parting speech?

  You were disturbed from your thoughts as Gordon offered to send you home, but you couldn’t reject his sincere offer. You didn’t want to disappoint him any further. As much as you didn’t like to leech off his kindness, it was the least you could do to repay him with the validation of being able to do something right. You sat in the front seat of the car, preparing to be saddled with desultory conversations on the ride home. However, you realised perhaps things would be different with Lieutenant Gordon. He had a type of heartfelt presence within, and was incredibly perceptive. You rested assured in your car seat. Yeah, he was different.

  You heard the revving of the engine after Gordon slammed his front door shut. You stared out the window. The moon cast a buttery glow over the town, dancing in the velvety black-blue sky. The thought of the clown flashed through your mind once again. You closed your eyes, dispelling the cursed imagery. The blast of the air conditioner was adjusted to a pleasant breeze brushing lightly against your neck. Gordon placed his hand on the gear and recalibrated it. He breathed in, turned his head and landed his gaze uncomfortably on you.

  “So, you uh, from this town?”

  You felt something pleasant blossoming inside of you, being humoured by this awkward attempt at starting a conversation from Gordon. You chuckled lightly. You appreciated the effort.

  “Yes, yes I am. What about you?”

  You looked back and smiled politely. He stepped on the pedal and accelerated the vehicle.

  “Well, no. I moved here some decades ago with my wife…”

  You guessed it would do well to get to know more about your partners in crime fighting. You hummed, patiently listening. 

  Yeah, this wasn’t too bad, you supposed.

  Now, if only you could stop yourself from feeling like passing out in the front seat. 

  That would be great.

###

[missambrose16]

Dare

Word Count: 2,363

Pairings: Braun Strowman x Reader

Warnings: Smut, swearing, some violence

Plot: Nia and Ronda make a dare with you to sneak into Braun’s locker room. It all goes well until you’re caught.

“You want me to do what?!”

“You heard us, Y/N.” Nia spoke wither her arms crossed over he chest. “If you lose your match tonight against Mickie James. You have to sneak into Braun Strowman’s locker room.” The rest of the girls struggled to hold in their laughter when they saw the terrified look on my face.

I’ve only been on the main roster for a few years. In the short amount of time, I’ve made a name for myself in becoming Raw Women’s Champion my first year being on the main roster. I’ve made friends with most of the superstars here. Everyone except the Monster Among Men, Braun Strowman. We haven’t been able to get along very well. The instant I came onto the main roster I wanted to accomplish two things. Make a name for myself, which I have and make friends with everybody, which I have not.

I shook my head at the lot of them. ”First off you’re insane for even making up a dare like that. Secondly, I’m gonna win against Mickie tonight so don’t get your hopes up because there is no way that she’s going to beat me.”

“Oh alright, Y/N,” Ronda said, rolling her eyes. Just then something came over me. I felt so confident in beating Mickie James that I decided to raise the stakes a bit. “What you don’t believe that I can beat her?” They shook their heads while giggling at me. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. If I don’t win my match tonight against Mickie, I’ll go to Braun’s locker room, strip naked, and take a shower in his bathroom.” I spoke sternly.

Oh, I’ve done it now. They screamed with laughter, turning red in the face. “It’s fine, I know it won’t happen you know why? It’s because I won’t lose.” I said shouting over their hollering. I looked off to my right as someone called my name. One of the backstage crew members came up and informed me that my match was next. I nodded and headed to the entrance. I stood at there stretching and trying to focus on my easy win. My music hit and I walked out not bothering to greet the fans like I normally would. I was determined to win and I can’t afford to be distracted by some little kid that wants my autograph or the occasional pervert that wants my panties.

I hopped into the ring and stared at the ramp as I continued to do my stretches. The seriousness etched into my face as I waited for my opponent. A second later Mickie’s theme music filled the arena and she appeared onto the ramp with Alexa Bliss in tow. I rolled my eyes knowing the sneaky things Alexa will do for her “best friend” to win.

Mickie entered the ring flaunting for her fans. She threw a few petty insults my way as her little cheerleader backed her up from outside the ring. I laughed along with her until I spat in her face and slapped her, knocking her back into the turnbuckle. I ran up and kicked her in the gut over and over before the ref backed me off of her. I backed away from her with my hands up.

I watched as she struggled to get up, her friend coming up to encourage her from outside the ring. I grabbed Mickie, pulling her up and spinning her around to knock into the other turnbuckle. I walked back before rushing off to tackle her but, she moved out of the way making me slam my shoulder into the ring post. Mickie grabbed me by my hair and slammed me down on my back. I held onto my head trying to get the pain under control. Mickie held her arms out, showing off even when the crowd groaned at her.

Alexa jumped and cheered for her. I looked over to see Mickie and Alexa celebrating. I jumped up and hit Mickie in the back, she fell onto the second rope. I placed my foot on the back of her head making the rope collide with her neck and choke her. Her arms flailed around trying to grab hold of my foot to release the pressure. I backed off and smiled at her while she struggled to breathe. I backed off going to the opposite side of the ring to bloat, the crowd erupted with cheers.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a small figure come up by my feet. Alexa tried to grab my ankle but I backed away before she could touch me. I tried to grab her from the ring but backed up. “What are you doing?! What are you trying to play at huh?!” I yelled.

That twisted smirk of hers crept up on her face. Before I could turn around I was grabbed from behind and before I knew it, Mickie had rolled me over on my back and I was down for the count. Her music played again and she got off of me before running out of the ring. I sat up and looked up in defeat. Not only have I been beaten by the lowest of lows but, I have to take a naked shower in a not so friendly monster’s bathroom.

I sat on the back of my heels and held my head in my hands. I felt defeated. When suddenly that familiar roar filled the arena. I looked up shocked to see Braun Strowman walk out onto the ramp. I stood up and walked out of the ring. I went to walk past him but he blocked me. I didn’t dare look up into his eyes. I moved to the side and so did he. I looked up at him, he looked down at me staring into my soul. He huffed before walking past me to get ready for his match.

When I got backstage I saw Ronda and Nia standing there waiting for me. “What the hell?!” I shouted. “Did you tell him?!” They both looked at each other, confused. “The who what?” Ronda spoke. “Braun! Did you tell him about the bet?” I yelled. “Whoa, Y/N, keep your voice down,” Nia said looking around to see a few stares pointed our way. “Let’s go somewhere so we can talk.”

We arrived outside of Braun’s room and I looked at the both of them. “We promise we didn’t say a word.” They both said. “Oh, really so how do you explain what happened out there? It’s like he knew about it somehow.” I said looking down. “Well, I don’t know how he knew-- if he knew but, you don’t have much time to do the dare. Get to it!” Ronda said pushing me into his dressing room. I looked around to see a regular WWE dressing room but there was a smell of leather mixed with cologne.

I hurried and stripped off my clothes so I could get this stupid bet over with. I went to the bathroom, turning the shower on. I stood under the warm water, washing the sweat away from my match. I couldn’t believe that I was actually doing this. I’m in my crush’s shower. Yes, I’ve had some sort of feelings for Braun ever since I came to the WWE. I tell Nia and Ronda all the time that I don’t like him but they can tell. There’s no way he would like me, up until tonight I’m pretty sure he’s never even looked at me before. I was so caught up in my thoughts I didn’t hear to door creek open.  

“Hey.” I jumped looking over to see Braun standing there through the glass shower door. I grabbed a towel to cover myself. “I’m assuming these belong to you.” He said as he swinging my black lace panties. I gasped reaching out to snatch them from him. He pulled them away from me. I stared at him. “You wanna explain to me why yer in my shower, in my dressing room?”

“I...um, w-well you see...I,” I tried to speak, he looked at me waiting for a comprehensive answer. “I l-like you.” I cursed at myself for saying that. He raised his eyebrows at me. “I mean I lost a bet.”

“I know,” he spoke. I looked up at him. “You do?” He nodded. “I heard your little conversation with Ronda and Nia. I also know about that crush you have on me.” He said stepping closer. “I guess we’re both the same. I’ve had feelings for you the second you came onto the main roster but I figured you didn’t like me.” I shook my head. “That’s not true.”

“If you like me as much as you say. Then show me.” He whispered down to me. Suddenly a burst of confidence rushed over me. I dropped my towel, he looked down at me taking me in. Before I could act he placed his lips on mine. The noise from the crowd drowned out. He picked me up and by instinct, I wrapped my legs around his waist. He moved from the bathroom to the somewhat small leather couch in the middle of the room.

He sat down with me on his lap, his hands had a firm grip on my waist as I moved my hips onto his now fully hard bulge. A low growl crawled out from his throat. I leaned forward to kiss his neck, his thumb massaged over my nipple making a moan come out of me. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he huffed, ”going out there every week in that new ring gear of yours.” A few months ago I changed my ring attire to look more similar to Ronda’s, just a sports bra and shorts.

“I knew I felt someone staring at me.” I smiled into his neck. He lightly grabbed me by my neck making me look at him. “You’re so beautiful.” I smiled once more and kissed him before crawling off of his lap keeping, eye contact. He took off his shirt as I unzipped his pants, the bulge much more visible from the material of his boxers. I kissed along the imprint pressed against his underwear. “You’ve been teasing me long enough, Y/N.” He rumbled. I smiled up at him before biting my lip. I slid the top of his underwear down to expose his hard cock. I wrapped my hand around it, enjoy the pleasant weight it had.

I wrapped my mouth around the head of his cock. He hissed when I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock as my lips engulfed him. I moaned around him making his cock throb in my mouth from the vibrations. I licked along the head of his cock not fully wrapping my mouth around it. I felt a sharp pain on my ass and heard a loud slap echo throughout the room. I yelped out loudly. “I said enough teasing,” Braun spoke lowly. “Come up here.” He said grabbing me and laying me down on the couch. He spread my legs apart, before letting out another a growl. He planted kisses along my thighs making me giggle because of his beard. He kissed further up into my inner thigh before passing right over to continue the same pleat of kisses on my other thigh. I groaned impatiently wanting him to stop teasing.

He got the sense of what I wanted but all he did was chuckle at me. “It’s not fun to be on the other end of the stick is it little one?” He spoke. “Please.” I moaned. “Please what,” he said kissing right over my pussy, I moaned louder this time. My hand traveling down to grab his hair to push him closer to my core. He pinned my arms down by my side. I moaned in disagreement and squirmed. He smiled down at me. “Your ears work just fine, sweetheart. I said what do you want?”

“M-my pussy. I need your mouth on my pussy.” I choked out. Without a second’s thought his hot tongue worked its way through my folds and flicked pleasantly against my sensitive bud. I cried out wanting to grab onto his hair but he continued to hold my arms down. I lifted my hips up wanting him to devour more of me. He moaned causing me to shake from the vibrations.

“Don’t stop I’m going to come.” I moaned out. “Say please.” Braun stopped momentarily to speak. “Please! Make me come, please! I need it!” I screamed. “Come.” Just like that I came undone on his command, my body shaking in pure bliss as I screamed out his name. Before I could come down from my orgasm. I felt him push into me and fill me completely. I moaned and grabbed onto his shoulders. “You okay?” He spoke with genuine concern on his face. I nodded and with no hesitation at all he drilled into at a destroying pace.

The sound of loud moans and slapping skin filled the room. I was sure that if someone were to pass by they would hear us for sure. Or at least hear me from down the hallway. Using his thumb he massaged it over my clit making me jolt as I my pussy clenched around him. “Fuck, Y/N! You’re so damn tight.” He growled, slamming into me at a faster rate. I clenched around him once more making him let out a howl. “Shit, little girl you need to come. Now.” He said staring me down. My mouth stayed open for a second before a loud cry escaped it as my second orgasm came rushing over me like a tidal wave. With a few more rough thrusts he pulled out exploding onto my stomach with a series of deep growls.

I stared up at him with tired eyes. A layer of sweat taking over the both of us. “Looks like you need to take another shower.” He said with a tired smirk on his face. “So do you.” I smiled back up at him.