bakerstreet | Created for Each Other

Created for Each Other

the created for each other meme
a dark shipping meme

tl;dr version — a meme that explores a shipping concept from a darker perspective. Characters, brainwashed by losing their memories and other scientific deviancies, are bonded with their "lifemate," who they're said to be created for. They must live together and grow co-dependently close, all while the machinations behind the scene are twirling like cogs in order to move them closer to the darkness.

Anyone can be manipulated. You just need to work at them through the right person.

You wake up, groggy and confused, in a white room that is expansive and furnished with all white furniture, yet pristine. The white is probably so bright that it hurts your eyes and you may have to blink for a moment. It doesn't help that your body is swathed in white, too; you're wearing what appears to be a modern day white cotton scrub top and and bottom. In fact, the only spot of black on you is on the palm of your hand: right in the center, there's a barcode. Under that, in neat, angular print, is a name. Your name.

It's a good thing it's there because otherwise, you wouldn't know it. Your memories are gone. You don't know how you got here, why you're here, or much of anything else. Soon, however, you'll know that you're not alone. The other person is not you're captor, that much is for sure. They're clothed like you are and look just as confused. They even have the exact same barcode as you, down to the last number. The only thing that differs is the name under it.

But the room is furnished for one alone. One bed, one couch, one bathroom. You two don't know much, yet you know you are two. The secret is soon made clear by a voice over a hidden loudspeaker. The voice claims to be a scientist and announces the purpose of you being here. This is the first day of your existence, they say, and you two were created together and for each other. Lifemates, the term is. You both are the perfect scientific experiment, and let man not tear asunder what science hath created.

And that's it.

Accept this or not, there seems to be little recourse. The room has no visible entrance or exit. The walls don't budge if you hit them. Nothing works. The only time anything changes is when food is brought in, but neither of you have ever seen that occasion. No matter how long you stay up, you always fall asleep when food or other necessities come in. Could that have something to do with the soft, soothing voices and pleasant feelings that sometimes come when you least except them?

You and your "lifemate" may be mutually scared, get along swimmingly from the start. It doesn't matter. Eventually, you'll become closer and closer. Lines will get crossed. Boundaries will get obliterated. Maybe it's because they're the only lifeline you have. Or maybe, maybe what the "scientist" said is right. You're created for each other, and this is your natural state. Whatever the case may be, as time goes on, you want to stay with them, even if you still want to leave this place. After all, how could you leave the side of the person you've spent your whole life with.

Yet there's something in your mind that tells you there's wrong here. Sometimes, at night, you'll get images of another life, and later, during the day, you'll feel hints of an existence you've never known. Luckily, you have your lifemate to get you through this.

HOW TO PLAY

Basically, your character has no memories and are power-nerfed...for some options.
Reply with your character and preferences. Also be sure to mention whether or not you'll play smut, since some options are smut-tinged.
Reply to others!

PROMPTS

First Meeting — You've just woken up and are getting the news.
Learning about Each Other — Though you don't have memories, you still have personalities to navigate.
Distaste — You don't like each other. How are you created for each other at all?
Guard — While one sleeps, the other looks on. Why does their sleeping form bring up so much fondness?
Unwittingly — You didn't want to give in, yet you find yourself being pulled in by your companion and growing protective of them.
Closeness — Soft words grow into soft touches, embraces, tiny kisses, and a gentle (relatively) haven.
Initiating — The first time you're going to be intimate, or the five millionth time, it will be on your own terms.
Need You Now — You've grown reliant on your "lifemate" to keep you calm or even take care of you, whether you want to admit it or not. You may even need them beside you to sleep or
Physicality — Your relationship has a full-on carnal aspect. What else is there to do?
Twisted by Science — Your emotions have been tampered with to make you love your lifemate more because you weren't responding.
Pure Love — Despite the situation, what you feel for your companion is real. You truly love them, even if you haven't told them.
Connection — In some cases, lifemates have been known to have a mental connection, where they can share some thoughts and all pain.
Aphrodisiac — The sexual bonding between the two of you isn't progressing in a way it should, so one or both of you is injected with a potent aphrodisiac. That should do the trick.
Implanted Memories — You remember happy times with your lifemate. Surely those memories are real.
Flashbacks — You remember another life, and it doesn't match up with what you know.
Nightmares — Waking up in the middle of the night, sweating in fear is never a wonderful experience. Luckily, you have someone close by to cheer you up...if you want to worry them with your dreams.
No One but You — You've decided to ignore the scientists and make the best of what you have, carving out a little life together.
Scientist — You're not actually a lifemate, you're a scientist! However, you've developed pesky feelings for one of your subjects.
Breeding Stock — You're not humans, you're animals, and the scientists want you to breed as such.
Protect — You'll fight off anyone to protect your lifemate, scientists included.
Power Surge — What are these powers that have suddenly appeared? You've never had these! Your lifemate should stay back, lest you hurt them.
Training Together — New equipment has been put into your living quarters and you've been told to learn to work together perfectly. Whether you're both fighters or one is a fighter and the other their handler or healer, you must fit as well in battle as you do in life.
The Veil Falls — The curtain is raised, and you see that you're not an experiment. You had a life that's been stolen from you. Your mate had one, too. What will you do with this new knowledge?
Wish to Forget — Instead of being angry or glad about your past existence, you're horrified by what it was like and only want to live in the now with your lifemate.
To Garner a Response — The scientists want to see how you'd respond if your lifemate was hurt.
A Task Given — In order to guarantee the safety of your lifemate, you have to do a certain task. Maybe hurting someone else isn't a big deal as long as you get what's yours back.
A Taste of Freedom — You and your lifemate are allowed out, but you have a job to do.
Separated — You've been disobedient and as such, you two will be punished by separation.
Escape — There's a tiny window of opportunity to get out. Take it. But no one gets left behind, even if you would have before.
Separate Ways — Now that you're out, there's no reason to stay together, right? You're not really lifemates, right?
Can't Be Without You — ...only not, because now you're dependent on each other, and you can't live a life alone or with another.
Hard Time Adjusting — It's different living in the free world when you're used to being in a completely controlled habitat.
Living a Peaceful Life — You've managed to get past all the challenges and are now living a normal life together. But did the scientists ultimately win? After all, you are still "lifemates"...and there's still the trauma to deal with...
ANYTHING ELSE or WILDCARD OPTION!!!

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Clark doesn't answer this time. At first he thinks that Bruce is ignoring him, but as the symbols take shape, become something familiar, something hits him in the gut. He...he does know this symbol. It's something he's intimately familiar with, but as for the reason why...

Before he can really think on it, he starts becoming uneasy. There was something there. Something about hope, and a world beyond these rooms they were given. He knows there's more. Some nights, when he can really focus, he can hear in distinct noises. Things he knows come from beyond their small world, but is scared to bring it up. Not just of the doubt that Bruce may voice, but of the dull ache that turns into acute pain when he thinks of it for too long.

Even now, it's coming back. And before he knows it, he's reached over and grabbed the ink-stained tool from Bruce's hand. Is vaporizing it even as he tosses it away from the two. "No." He hears himself saying, even when he wants to affirm Bruce's query. "It's just a dream. They haven't let us out in some time. You're probably making things up."

Anger rises in Bruce. He's up on his feet and in Clark's face an instant later, too fast for how lethargically he usually moves in this place. His fingers coil around Clark's thick throat. He knows by now that strangulation is out of the question: if someone doesn't come in an sedate him, Clark will simply throw him aside if he's too irksome. And yet, he feels like he has to try. Something.

As weak as he feels, he still manages to slam Clark into the wall. It dents with the force of his shove. "You didn't need to do that," he snarls, chest heaving. "I was using that. Do you even know how long it took me to get one of those in my hands? Now I've lost that chance for God knows how long."

Clark never would, though. He knows how much stronger he is than Bruce, and had resolved ages ago not to cause harm to his mate unless absolutely necessary. If it meant that he wouldn't hurt others or jeopardize himself, he'd take whatever punishment Bruce would dish out to him. So he stands there patiently, waiting for him to finish his small tirade. When he does, Clark steps away from the wall and takes Bruce's hands into his own.

"You'd already broken it, Bruce. You were running out of ink as it was." He tugs lightly, bringing attention to both their hands, now covered with ink from their contact. When he feels like his point is driven home, he looks Bruce in the eye once more. "Besides which, if they see what you were doing here, what do you think they would do to you?"

He closes his eyes, trying to keep his own voice level. The idea that they might try and do something to reprogram him, to reprogram Bruce, over some images that may mean nothing...it's not something he's willing to entertain, pain or not. He leans in, as close as he possibly can, and whispers right against his ear, making it seem as if he's kissing him in consolation. "Those bats. That 'S'. I don't remember either, but it does mean something. I can feel it. We can't let them know we know."

"Right," Bruce murmurs, bowing his head to muffle the single word into Clark's broad shoulder. It was stupid to get so carried away by images he isn't even sure are real or not. But there was something there, and if Clark felt it too, they'd figure it out together. For some reason, that's the only thing that truly comforts Bruce lately - that they aren't alone when they're together.

Bruce had resisted this whole thing at first, but now he's come to rely heavily on Clark. Much more than he feels he should. But Clark is much stronger. If it came down to it.... He might get free, even if Bruce couldn't.

Bringing his mouth to Clark's ear, he chuckles, a warm, inviting sound. His expression could fool the most trained psychiatrist, almost sociopathic in these moments. "I'm sorry," he says, loud enough for anyone listening to hear, to see that he means it. And then, under the laughed breath: "You do recognize it too. I'm not crazy." It's almost a question. Bruce needs that confirmation. "I'm afraid if I don't write these things down, draw them out, they'll disappear in my head again." Another kiss, lingering, at Clark's jaw. "Although you do look good in my fingerprints," he says louder, pressing one purposely to Clark's cheek, staining his skin with a black print.

"They won't," he promises quietly, though it's something he can't guarantee entirely. He's seen what's happened to Bruce when he does something they disapprove of. And he may be just as easy to alter. He can never say for sure when the disconnect he experiences is because of the quiet obsessions Bruce goes through, or if they'd actually tampered with his mind. "If you need it, tell me. I won't forget. Ever."

He lets the man mark him with content and pulls him closer into his embrace. Even if it's an act, Clark won't take one of Bruce's intimate gestures for granted. Especially since most are initiated by Clark himself. The lack of comfort bothered him at first, but after a time, he realized the caution was ingrained into his very being. It sometimes makes Clark wonder exactly what purpose they were created for. Why Bruce, while the epitome of peak human conditioning, is so insecure at times. So violent, while Clark himself doesn't shy from it, would rather keep peace before instilling fear.

With a lingering kiss to Bruce's lips, he smiles. "I'll always be here for you. Even if they take us away from each other, I'll always find my way back to you. As long as you want me."

Right then, Bruce isn't sure if that's an act, something that Clark's saying to reassure their teachers and onlookers that they're fine now, or if he's just being honest again. Bruce has found that he can be confused by Clark more often than not. He just seems...manufactured. Bruce doesn't think anyone has a right to be as good as Clark is. But then, as far as he knows, Clark is the only other person in the world besides the people they occasionally see for classes or medical tests.

Slowly, Bruce pulls away and sits in the loveseat he'd been crouched on when Clark had woken. He looks down at his ink-stained hands, then aside to the pad of paper he'd smeared his thoughts onto.

Right now, it just looks like gibberish. Whatever it was he remembered, it's gone now. Fleeting.

Many might not pick up on the cues that Bruce puts out, but Clark knows him well. He wakes and sleeps with the other man's constant presence. Knows what to listen for in the changes of his pulse. And that may be cheating on some level, but it's how he has to work with the other sometimes. With a small exhalation, he follows him back to the loveseat, letting his legs dangle over an armrest while his head comes to rest on Bruce's lap.

Those papers...he doesn't look away from them, this time. The headache is there, but this...may be more important than what he originally imagined. Especially if Bruce is still so transfixed on it. So instead of shoving the ink-stained mass under the sofa like he'd originally intended to dispose of when Bruce is asleep, he takes them up in hand and studies them in more detail. Perhaps he can make sense of the words and images that were so hard for his mate.

Bruce doesn't shift or even move when Clark's head comes to rest in his lap. He's become used to his lifemate's obsession with touching him, being near him at all times. Bruce still resists, at times, but he can't deny the comfort of that connection. Right now, Clark is all he has in the world, the only person who will believe what he wrote and drew isn't gibberish but some long-buried truth.

Slowly, he cards his fingers through Clark's hair. It's soft. Softer than should be allowed. It tugs Bruce's heart, makes him question his insanity. Clark seems happy enough here, after all.

"Nightmares," he says, clearing his throat. "Probably just nightmares." Again. They'll probably drug him once more to keep him docile. He's prepared though; the drugs are always worse when he resists.

On the pages, smeared in ink, are names: Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Barbara Gordon, Timothy Drake, Jason Todd, Lois Lane. The page is full of variations on these names, as if Bruce's mind can't connect them properly all the time. So if there is a Jason Lane and a Grayson Drake, it's just his mind's way of trying to connect the dots. Struggling. There are other words too: Gotham. Metropolis. Central City. Justice League. Kryptonite.

Clark takes a long hard look at the names on the pages. Some are nothing more than gibberish to him. But others garner the opposite reaction. A flash of familiarity. Hinted words that he tries desperately to Hold onto. And ever so carefully, he begins scarring in annotations of his own as he focuses over the discomfort of the headaches.

Diana. Lex Luthor. Conner Kent. Damian Wayne. Linda Lang. Jimmy Olsen. Wally West. Along with the list comes other places. Places he's never heard of but needs to be placed here, since they incite the same feeling of wrongness. Watchtower. Krypton. Star City. Titans. With these new words, some he begins connecting together in ways that seem important. Alfred Pennyworth has a large line scored to Damian Wayne, while Tim Drake, Conner Kent, and Linda Lang get the same treatment to one another. Lois, Luthor, and Metropolis don't have lines, but instead simply state "connected, but how?" The others are left alone out of fear of loss of concentration. He stops his annotations and grabs onto Bruce's hand, kissing it gently, uncaring about causing any further staining to himself.

Bruce distances himself from the situation for a time. He hears Clark shifting, hears the sizzle against the paper, and he knows without looking that Clark is connecting the dots. It's hard to focus though. Bruce spent a lot of his energy on those pages this morning, and now, he feels drained. He doesn't have the stamina that Clark has in all things, especially not now it seems.

But when Clark takes his hand, kisses it, Bruce lifts his gaze, lets his blue eyes scan what Clark has added.

Certain things stand out more than others, especially with Clark outlining them so neatly. Tim Drake, Conner Kent, Linda Lang - all of them together. And new things, like Star City and Titans. He feels those things in his bones once more. Reaching up, he gestures to Wally West.

"Lightning bolt," he says, softly. And then, more firmly. "Flash." It's a realization he can't hold onto for long.

At Bruce's words, he nods, and with some effort burns the word onto the paper, right next to Wally West. After that, he studies the paper long and hard for a few moments longer, committing them to memory. When needed, he could call it up again with no difficulty, as long as no one figured out what's going on. It's one of the few things he keeps from everyone except Bruce. Once that's done, he sits up, pulling himself together before rising and heading for the bathroom they share, papers in hand.

Maybe that's enough of a tell for whoever may be watching, but Clark doesn't care. They give him more rope than Bruce since he tends to cooperate more, but the risk is always there. If they see him do this, maybe they'll know he's willing to cooperate on this as well. He places all the papers he has in the marble tub, large enough for the both of them before his eyes glow a brilliant red. In an instant, the papers catch flame, and he watches studiously as all evidence of Bruce's revelations burn away. When it's done he runs water, flushing away the ashes before returning to their room, quiet.

He wants that yo be the end of it, but knows it won't be. Bruce will eventually have another episode, and with them, more revelations on both sides. Not only does it concern him, but he made a promise to Bruce. The thought of breaking it causes dread to fill him, moreso than anything he feels when trying to work through the haze of before. He can't be another source of misery. Not for his lifemate. He continues forward, silent and intent. And when he makes it back to Bruce, he doesn't rest his head on his lap. Instead, he goes directly to him, creeping over to him until his own considerable weight is straddling Bruce's thighs.

With a small smile, he leans forward and kisses his jaw, licking a line there until he meets his lips, biting softly. "You're not crazy, Bruce. Don't let them make you think that, ever." Clark's words are soft, meant only for his ears. "We'll figure this out. You and me. Just like always."

The sound of the fire isn't unnatural to Bruce's ears. It's familiar by now. Clark has destroyed a few things for him, and yet he somehow manages to hold onto things that Bruce can't. Maybe it has something to do with the powers he possesses, the ones that Bruce can't match on his best days.

When Clark returns, Bruce's hands slide easily onto familiar, strong hips. Bruce shifts under the weight until it's comfortable to hold Clark like that, and then he laughs, one short, breathless sort of sound, and leans up to find Clark's mouth, one hand raking large fingers through his hair.

"You and me," he agrees, and then kisses Clark again, his tongue prying his lifemate's mouth open.

The attention is enough to make Clark moan into Bruce's mouth. It always amazes him how taciturn he usually is, even when being affectionate. But somehow this new person shows up when Bruce is more comfortable, and it's almost a thrill ride for him. How willing he is to return affection, to say things that Clark would otherwise have to needle at him to make him admit. It's...something else. And he loves it when he gets these peeks of what Bruce is beneath. What he might be if they weren't the subject of experimentation.

He kisses back greedily, submitting to the strength behind the man. With one hand he braces himself against Bruce's shoulder, and with the other he begins running a hand between the small space between them, mapping the scars that have no explanation, enjoying both their too-smooth feel and the play of solid muscle beneath flesh. If he could, he'd spend entire days like this, just lost in the feeling of his lifemate. This, though. This can be enough for now, as he sinks down and lets Bruce take control.

"I love you," he whispers affectionately after breaking the kiss temporarily, to focus on slotting his dick against Bruce's own beneath his briefs to start a slow grind as he started to become hard.

It's a thing he tried to fight but learned he couldn't. If he resisted, as he had for a long time, those on the outside of this place would simply pump the room full of aphrodisiacs and pheromones anyway. Bruce would get into it, either coerced or by his own volition, and he can't deny that it's always better when he gives himself over to the desire that swells inside whenever Clark does something good for them. And Clark's always doing good things for him. Helping him. If Bruce knew for sure that there was a world outside of all this, he'd think he couldn't have gotten luckier for being put with someone like Clark.

A chuckle, slow and hot, right against Clark's mouth. Love. Bruce still isn't comfortable with that word. He's been prodded on several occasions to say it in return, but he has yet to do that willingly. There's a line somewhere inside him that makes it difficult to admit things that he feels. Even when he knows he's feeling them.

"Always so wound up," he hums, breath hitching as Clark grinds down against him. He reaches quickly between their bodies and cups Clark. "So ready for me. Bet you're still wet from last time." The words slip free, the only easy thing between them.

"Only for you," he mutters, pressing into that hand with just a hint of desperation as his own physiology begins to kick in. Clark's pulse begins to race in earnest, excited for what he knows is coming soon. It makes all of this, the uncertainty, the observation, the having to walk on eggshells for reasons he can't quite understand worth it. "If only you knew just what you do to me..." He trails off as his arousal flushes him with heat and he presses into Bruce's hand as his dick goes fully hard.

"I want you," he admits heavily while he slips further into his desire. His muscles relax, and he becomes pliant in Bruce's grip. "Fuck me however you want." It seems to be another strange quirk of his physiology, one he can't ignore when he becomes aroused. The doctors called it a heat. Told him how it could only be satisfied by actually having sex, and encouraged the two to mate whenever such urges came up. It seemed strange at the time, but after one experiment where his heat lasted for days, and lack of satisfaction physically painful, the two complied.

As it is, Clark's mind is already starting to go into a haze, driven crazy by the scent he can pick up off the man in front of him.

Bruce groans. The heat. It does things to Clark, and that, in turn, does things to him. Neither of them have been able to stop it, and Bruce can't say he wants to now either. Clark becomes so damn pliable like this. Like a cat in heat, yowling to be knotted.

"However I want?" he repeats, purposely going slow, gripping Clark so tight he knows his dick would snap off if he were a normal man. But they both know he's anything but normal. And in this heat of his, he can take whatever Bruce dishes out. "You'd let me pry you apart if I wanted. Wouldn't you? Let me put both my fists in, then my dick, just to open your sweet hole up for me."

There's no question about it, really. Bruce reaches up, grabs Clark's hair and yanks his head to bend his spine into a beautiful arch backwards. "This time, I'm gonna do it, Clark. I'm going to fuck you so deep..." He leans in, nipping at Clark's throat. His Adam's apple. "...that I put a baby in you." He growls, yanking at Clark's pants. "Now get these off. Before I rip them off."

Clark responds with a long and low moan, moving with Bruce's instruction eagerly as his temperature rises to levels he can barely stand. The feel of his hand on his dick is amazing and not enough at the same time. His thoughts are racing beneath the haze, and the only thing that makes sense are Bruce's commands. Not that they're any help, really. All he can think about is the imagery Bruce summons up, and how much he wants it. All of it.

It's a wonder how he manages to lean back far enough to work his pants open, but it happens. In a scramble he takes them off, ripping them some anyway, but he doesn't care. They'll replace what he wrecks anyway. He doesn't even bother with fumbling with the undergarments, instead opting to tear them off without hesitation, revealing a dick already starting to leak precome heavily. He shudders appreciatively as cool air hits him, a nice contrast to the otherwise overwhelming feeling of his skin on fire, both from his body heat and the urge to be claimed by his mate.

He's clenching his fists into the fabric of the loveseat now, tearing it open unintentionally when he hears a snap and the hum of electricity. In the next moment, his senses dull some, and his strength leaves him like a flood. Meanwhile, sensation on his skin increases and he moans loudly. Opening his eyes some, mixed among the fluorescent bulbs is now a dull orange glow, and Clark knows deep down what it is. Red sun lamps. So either they want the room preserved or are trying something new. It's all hearsay, but maybe, just maybe this will allow for what Bruce wants.

...that I put a baby in you. The idea fills him with want as another wave of desire hits him, and now he's grinding his ass against Bruce's lap. "Please," he half-whispers.

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Created for Each Other

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