#I can't bear to watch it. it feels like I've left him somewhere far to die alone
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1000sunnygo · 18 days ago
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Hello, I hope you’re doing well
I am Shahed, I am 18 years old, I have been living in a tent for a whole year without any basic equipments.
I need your help in spreading my story. I am in dire need of your help to provide my basic needs to me and my elderly parents and complete my education until i leave Gaza, away from the bombing and death. Support me so that I can find safety as soon as possible. ‼️‼️‼️‼️
Any small donation even(5€) , make a big difference to me
Thank you and best wishes.
My campaign is vetted by @/90-ghost and @gazavetters #161
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tarnishedinquirer · 8 months ago
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The Snow Witch's Story
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She appeared before me, Renna the Snow Witch. All I could see were her folded hands, but who else has skin of cracked blue porcelain?
"It happened an age ago. But when I recall, I see it true."
I hadn't even recovered from my first vision yet, so I wanted to tell her "No thanks, I've had enough." But ti didn't seem like I had a choice in the matter. I don't even know if she was really here or not, or this was some preprogrammed message, possibly stored in Torrent's ring whistle.
I was thrust into a forest, watching cloaked figures on horseback. I could feel the chill on my skin.
"On a night of wintry fog, the rune of death was stolen."
Were these the Black Knives? I thought them the Night's Cavalry at first, but it was just similar steeds. What forest could they be riding through?
Everything went dark. A horrible, flesh-rending slice rang through the night. I now saw Godwyn the Golden lying dead on the ground, rune carved into his back. A shadow fell over him and his flesh began to writhe, like worms were crawling under his skin.
"And the demigods began to fall, starting with Godwyn the Golden."
I didn't think it happened that fast. Mere minutes after his death and he's already turning into something else?
A closeup of his closed eye. It writhes, and snaps open. Tears pour out, tainted black and filled with tiny worms.
"Queen Marika was driven to the brink."
Something is wrong with his pupil but I can't quite put my finger on it.
Everything goes dark. When I can see again, there's a large, gnarled, hairy hand, gently placing a crown on a throne.
"The Shattering ensued; a war that wrought only darkness."
I don't recognize the crown, but that was definitely the same sort of throne as used by Godfrey and the Two Fingers. This doesn't seem to be the same place, though. Far too brightly lit for Roundtable Hold or Stormveil.
As if to answer my observation, I now see a wider view. There are many thrones, all at the foot of a broken door. The golden light tells me this is in Leyndell, and this must be the very foot of the Erdtree. A large, robed figure is seen walking away from the central throne, bearing a weapon at his side.
"The Elden Ring was broken, but by whom? And why?
I recognize the outline of the giant, gnarled figure. That's Margit! What is Margit doing in the capital, with a throne and crown? Maybe there's more to the Fell Omen than I thought.
My perspective swept out from the great walls of Leyndell to a siege in progress. Soldiers by the thousands marching upon the walls. Trolls tower above and march with them. Siege towers lumber towards the whiles while catapults launch flaming projectiles. From the walls of the city come ballista bolts of titanic size with something like an incense censer at the back, spewing toxic fumes.
"What could the demigods hope to gain by warring?"
The Tree and Beast symbol is prominent among the soldiers. Their helmets match those I've seen on Godrick soldiers. I don't think Godrick would ever lead a siege on Leyndell, so perhaps this was his predecessor at Stormveil?
A ballista bolt landed so close to me I could feel the grit in the air. When the dust cleared, I was somewhere else. I was on a battlefield, surrounded by the corpses of the dead. Their weapons forming a forest around me. This seemed to pick up right where the other vision had left off, with the scarlet Valkyrie reattaching her arm. She's facing the burning giant, and from his back emerge a multitude of spears just like the one I saw the knight wielding. With his power, the giant man pulls two swords out of the ground, causing chunks of the earth to float up with them. His swords spark with the purple of gravity magic.
"The Conqueror of the Stars, General Radahn
In a completely incongruous detail, the giant man appears to be riding a tiny horse. Also, what does "Conqueror of the Stars" mean?
The Valkyrie readies her sword, the prosthetic so advanced she can almost use it like a regular arm. She rushes forward, meeting him blade for blade.
"And the Blade of Miquella, Malenia the Severed"
I find myself instinctively rooting for Malenia. She seems to be the clear underdog in this fight, even if I know she must be his equal for this battle to even occur.
He knocks off her arm again, but she grasps the blade with her other hand and continue her assault. With lightning agility, she jumps on his back, driving the blade into his shoulder and also into herself. She locks eyes with him as her blood runs down the blade...
"...these two were the mightiest to remain, and locked horns in combat."
It appears that Malenia is saying something to him, but I can't read her lips. Is this how the Scarlet Rot was spread throughout Caelid? Is she the source?
Glowing petals appear on her back, spreading and unfolding like a lotus flower. The petals burst wide, looking as much like hair as flower petals. Glowing pollen spreads from the flower, covering the land.
"But there would be no victor..."
This must've been fatal to them both, or near enough to it. But from what Gideon said, Radahn at least survived, far worse for wear. It's interesting that the sky over Caelid was already red.
Darkness again. Renna slowly fades into view. I can see her lovely doll's face clearly for the first time, as she looks me directly in my mind's eye, without the brim of her hat in the way. Her eyes are glittering blue, not unlike my own, and it seems a mark similar to Melina's anchors her ghost to the doll.
"And so, we inhabit a fractured world. Awaiting the arrival of the Elden Lord. Unless of course, thou shouldst take the crown?"
There is an almost seductive quality to her voice, but it can be hard to tell sometimes. Attractive women are often just nice to me for no reason, and I try not to read too much into it.
And with that I return to my senses. My consciousness is my own again.
Renna is gone, if she was ever actually here. For the first time, I feel like I have more answers than questions, though I have no shortage of those either. I'm going to have to think about these visions, and maybe write down more coherent thoughts later, in context of a Limgrave wrap-up.
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daddyslittlegirlofsammy · 8 months ago
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In defense of the older Gallagher's.
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Now that i finish the show i need to talk about these babies because in 2 months of watching the show i have seem a lot of criticism around especially Fiona and Lip so sit down and get comfy cause is a long post.
Let's start with the older Gallagher - Fiona being the oldest had to be the one to look after all the kids even if Frank and Monica weren't the way they were because now in my family was never like this but in all the american show's i've had watch it seems like the older kids take care of the youngers and i'm not saying is wrong but she literally raise the younger kids that includes Lip and Ian at one point, in the 3th season when she is trying to adopt the kids she said that Frank left her, Lip, and Ian alone in the cold at night and Ian was burning up with fever if it wasn't for her fast thinking of going to a hospital he could be dead, one thing that i read quite a lot when people say they don't like her is how careless she was and how she threw everything away and didn't care about anything like in this scene
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but what people seem's to forget is that she never had a happy childhood or play with dolls and such i mean c'mon her dolls were her brothers or got to be a teeneger that get to make mistakes and get away of it, she got out of school so she presumably didn't get to make friends aside from V who from what google say she is supposed to be mid-to-late 20s so not that close in age, one of the only times we see her having a bit of fun all by herself without the kids is in the 1th season when she goes with V to a club and even that gets interrupted because of something i don't really remember, yes she is not an angel, she made mistakes like leaving coke on the table, Liam finding it and almost dying from it my heart sank watching that scene, so in over all i know she is not an angel but i can't for the life of me judge Fiona for going crazy at the end of her run, she just want to have some of the fun she didn't get as a teeneger, i have read people saying that she should had take Liam with her when she got out of the house and honestly speaking she shouldn't, because she raised all those children, she shouldn't take not even one of them, she deserved them but they didn't deserve her (Carl deserve her, he was the only one that understood her sacrifices).
Now let's go to the reason why i start to watch the show (saw Jeremy on the bear and could't get enough of him) - Lip, when you first start to watch the show one of the first things you learn about him is that he is the smartest Gallagher out of the family in Frank's words: Lip, smart as a whip, straight A’s and the honor roll, boy’s definitely going somewhere, even his dad who is not the smartest in the show know's that Lip is a smart guy and want (in his own way) his son to go somewhere into the world and because the apple doesn't fall far from the tree he even though doesn't like to admit he just like Frank when it came to alcohol, i feel like he didn't drink as heavy as Frank but he did drink so and i don't like to say it so much so that he went to the AA, but i think his "downfall" was going university even tho he is smart, because there was no Fiona to "control" him in a way of like "don't drink, you know our genes", he was basically on his own to do whatever he wanted like in this scene
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he got to be the teeneger Fiona didn't got to be, to have a little bit of freedom from his family, when Liam almost died even though he had school, was working at shcool, he took Liam with him so Liam wouldn't be with Fiona because he didn't trust in her, you see him doing homework on the train with Liam in his lap sleeping, but he is not an angel oh no no my friends, he completely dropped out of college not just because of his family that needed him around the house but I blame a lot on that teacher of his, both wanted good things for each other but both were drunk but Lip wanted help, Youens on the other hand didn't even considered, he also treesome relationship with another teacher and her husband, in the show he is the one that get all the girls from the very first episode, Karen, Mandy and so on, having lots of pregnancy scares on the way and every one of those pregnancy you can see he is so ready to be a dad even tho the babies are usually not his but he is so ready to tackled the parenthood that he doesn't mind, once the girl says is his he is there from the start to finish, he love those babies, he want the babies because is he's, not Fiona's, not Ian's Debbie's Carl's or Liam's but his and his only, i feel like he wanted the stability of a "normal" family, like a mom and dad that work and don't drink they're faces off, a sister and maybe a brother but instead he is stuck with the Gallagher's which is not bad per se but just not what he really need's, i feel like if he had the right type of support both mentally but especially emotional he would have gone extremely far in life.
Now the youngest of the three - Ian, when you first met Ian he is what i like to call the forgotten child like my brother who is the middle child and it is usually forgotten because he is the quite one so quite that we forgot his birthday this year but that is because he is the quite one and so is Ian, he get the chance to keep the things that he dosen't want to share to himself, one of the things i found very astonishing is that in the first season alone you already knows that he is gay, having a case with the guy he works for, who is older than him and he has crush on Mickey, that is quite a lot for a 2011 show, when he goes to live the Milkovich's and i feel like is mostly duo of the situation in which they live (dark house, always dirty) his bipolarity breaks and Mickey not knowing what to do goes to the Gallagher house calling for Lip
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not getting Lip he take Debbie and Carl and as soon as they see Ian they know what it is because they have see the same behavior on Monica so much so that Debbie immediately go "Yeah he is bipolar", Mickey on the other hand and i feel this is largely because of the way he was brought up he is in shock like "how could Ian be like this when his family is so "normal"?" more normal than his family that is but he ultimately decide to just accept as part of the person he loves, Ian on the other hand doesn't because he want's to go to the militry and by a quick google search it reads - "Current mood disorders, such as major depression, bipolar disorder, or depressive disorder not otherwise specified, are disqualifying." so for him when he is hospitalized for his bipolar and because he stole Mickey's baby the army career is ruined, after his hospitalization when Monica pick's him up and he goes home, he finish's his relationship with Mickey going so far as to say "You can't change it, you can't fix me, 'cause I'm not broken, I don't need to be fixed, okay? I'm me!" i feel like is because he was is scare to be like Monica and "ruin" Mickey's life, but Mickey on the other hand say's "It means thick and thin, good times, bad, sickness, health, all that shit." which implies that Mickey doesn't care that Ian stole his baby or is bipolar he just want to be with his Ian and that what matter's to him, but he like his brothers is not an angel like c'mon he stole his brother's id to get into the army, stole a baby as previously stated, he almost went to mexico Mickey and at one point work at a club as a dancer but between all three of them i feel like he is most "normal" went to work at an ambulance station besides his bipolar diagnosis and was extremely happy, had longer relationships that Fiona and Lip, was gay Jesus at one point which i found funny and when to prison because of it, they all have they're faulds but that's what makes Shameless Shameless you know?
I don't really know how to finish this analysis(bc i never done one) but I loved show with all the love in my heart and its characters so much also if you read this until here i love you too<3<3
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ladysomething · 9 months ago
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atp I don't even know why I keep asking stuff as an anon. my identity has been revealed but fuck it.
one more time, let's do 5+1
1. Charles thinking he's the world's most clever person ever has me on the fucking floor. you go get them babe. yes, surely keeping the other idiot satisfied is only because you want to escape. of course sweetie. but question: are omegas more prone to their alpha, or that only goes so far and then they actually can control the feelings said alpha causes on them?
2. Max is an idiot, isn’t he? like, I actually want to open his brain to see how the fuck it works because I am amazed at its capacity (or lack of it/j)
3. I have a thing for the starved man comparision, and it's lovely to see such an accurate scenario for it. because Max actually short-circuited. he's just a man and Charles broke his brain in what? like, less than 5 minutes?
4. Carlos is a little rat, but I'm actually thankful that's he's not like. gross. (please, I'm begging you on my knees. don't make him or other drivers gross) I have this thing where I can kinda stand when oc are gross and little shits, but, even if some would consider said person a little shit (completely reasonable, people are allowed to not like drivers) I don't like it when on fics, they're outright assholes and disgusting craps, cause I don't know with certainity if they are like that irl. idiots and that I can do but over that is too much to bear for me. that's the point where I am reminded that they're real and that stuff. of course, is totally on you, and I don't expect anything, but picture me making puppy eyes at you on this one. and I was wondering, what is he? a beta or an alpha? it probably was said somewhere but I don't remember. because according to my reasoning, he's a beta because he was not in the auction. or was he?
5.I'm so fucking glad I chose wygig as this year's questionable fic. I love it and I have now developed a deep emotional dependence towards it. but haven't we all? (this is to say I love it)
+1. glad you're enjoying (I'm also trip anon btw) had I been in Italy, I would've loved to go to the bar to watch the race. even though I've never gone to watch a race at a bar in Rome, in Italy, depending on where you go, it can be really exciting and ehmmm... definetely an experience, may I call it that way. but sadly, first of all there's a four hour drive from Toscana to Rome and I would get my ass even flatter, and second I left months ago. maybe next time
and as you may have noticed, I gave up with trying to tell you how many points there will be in my ask. have a nice day Mads, enjoy your vacay hun!
look I'll honest. you say your identity has been revealed but you could be any of a handful of anons that have revealed their identity to me. so my terrible memory means that your secret is still safe!
wellllllll ... hm. omegas are definitely more SUSCEPTIBLE to their alphas e.g. with the alpha voice. but anything Charles feels is his real feelings.
haha Max IS an idiot, but so is Charles. they're two idiot peas in an idiot pea pod.
yeah no for real, Max's brain was completely broken. it was like Christmas morning for him haha
Carlos is a beta - basically everybody is a beta. there's only one person whose designation hasn't been revealed yet, but they're not a driver, so. you can pretty much just assume that everybody is a beta. as for making drivers assholes - I don't really do that in general, because usually it's too one dimensional for what I'm writing. it's fun in some scenarios (particularly shorter fics) but even the drivers who are currently 'villains' aren't outright bad people.
hahaha and at the rate it's going, it's length will mean it probably lasts half the year too haha
+1. yeah, I'm really excited!!!! I was kind of like ... if I can't go to Iola, then this is simply an experience I MUST have. cheering for ferrari while they're driving in Italy while I'M in Italy??? ahhhh.
thank you so much, you have a great day too!
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slashingdisneypasta · 7 months ago
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(M.I.) Finally got a chance to update! (Also, only vaguely on topic...am I wrong or is Fay wearing Blackie's coat when she goes to meet Angela's ex-lover? The guy who gets run over? And speaking of, that woman played the film noir seemingly innocent femme fatale to the hilt. It was just *chef's kiss*)
1980
It's a slow, drifting through outerspace kind of day. The kind that makes you afraid to get near the exit doors in case you go tumbling out, but you can still enjoy the view from the window. Curled in your favorite spot in the center booth, knees drawn up and wedged against the table.
Nothing but stars laid out in every direction. And...oh! What planet was that? Jupiter? Looked a little bit like Jupiter. Cool.
Back on Earth, it's May. Or you think it is. A customer said it was a couple days -was it only that long?- ago without mentioning the actual date. It could already be June.
To be honest, you've gone from not noticing to not really caring about time. Since Tommy's departure, you've got one other marker: Valentine's Day. It's guaranteed that if you and Blackie don't agree to go out, the two of you will be locked up somewhere that's practically dripping in cheesy romance.
Your clothes change according to where The Cafe sends you rather than the season, the uniform a near-constant pink monotony, otherwise. Blackie has a more extensive daily wardrobe no matter how similar it all looks, and that's not very fair in your opinion. Maybe you should ask The Cafe to give you a closet of your own, let you pick something different to wear around the place on your days off?
(Not that The Cafe doesn't have good taste, you're just getting a little tired of having it decide for you. Especially when it's so clearly designed to catch a certain someone's eye. Would a pair of frumpy pajamas be too much to ask?)
Your body, on the other hand, will never change again. At least as far as aging is concerned. You've made an effort with your hair since following the trends seems to put people more at ease -probably makes you look less like a ghost- and keeps you feeling tethered to reality. You're slipping more and more these days, but...
But.
May's important for some reason. You know that. It's just gone when you try to grasp why.
"What am I forgetting," you ask, tracking a shooting star through the void.
A cupcake appears on the table in front of you, bearing a candle. And you remember: Tommy's birthday was in May.
You eat the cupcake because it's delicious. But you feel terrible. It's been so long since you even thought about his birthday. Or yours. Even longer since you've thought about your parents' birthdays. Or their anniversary. Christmas...all the dates that used to be so important are just...gone.
"Can I see mom and dad?"
The screen flashes to life, and there they are. So much older than when you left. It's odd to see them eating dinner and going about their lives as if you never existed. You watch for a few minutes, hoping, but your name doesn't even enter the conversation. Just random chitchat about upcoming plans with friends.
"Turn it off."
Your voice is thick with grief, but you don't feel you've a right to let the tears come. You forgot them. It's fair they did the same to you.
"What the he-"
Blackie's voice. He sounds startled, the words cutting off with a thud. You turn around, peering over the bench just in time to see him splayed against the jukebox with an unusual lack of grace. He spots you after recovering his balance and glares accusingly at the ceiling; brushing himself off with an air of wounded dignity that almost makes you smile.
He appears to be listening to something, then gives a distinctly martyred sigh. You wonder what's been said that you can't hear. Sitting down across from you, he folds his hands on the table. Primly inconvenienced.
"I've been ordered to cheer you up."
"No, thanks," you say, returning to your curled up position. "I'd rather wallow."
"I tried."
He shrugs, glancing upward as if asking permission to leave. Despite the careless words, you already know he's not leaving. Not when he's twirled a cigar out of thin air, lighting up and settling in to listen.
It makes you roll your eyes and smile just a little bit. A very short-lived bit.
"I can't remember what Tommy looked like," you admit. "His eyes were green...right?"
"Brown. And he had a chipped tooth on the-"
Blackie points to the location of said tooth in his own mouth, your voice joining his as you remember.
"-front left. From a baseball when he was twelve," you continue alone. "He'd also broken the living room window with the same ball just the week before. He never did learn to be careful. Drove his mom crazy."
But it's only a little piece of Tommy. A memory conjured up by someone else. You think his smile was crooked. Or maybe it was too wide? Or maybe that's you mixing his features up with Blackie's, filling in pieces of a face you'll never see again with one you see all the time.
"I don't wanna forget," you say. "Not just him. My family, my friends. He was the only piece of home I had left and now...I'm losing all of it."
Something sympathetic and honest flashes in Blackie's eyes. It's rare you see it directed at anyone, but especially at you. Not that he doesn't like you well enough by now, but you're in the category of friendly arch-rival. You get snarky teasing more often than you get sympathy.
"Memory's a curse." He inhales on the cigar, exhaling the next words on a cloud of smoke. "You'll hold onto people long after they've forgotten you."
"Feels like they already have."
"What did you expect? It's been twenty years since you left."
It startles you to hear. Two decades, and you've spent one of them in immortal limbo.
"That's such a long time," you say, mentally floundering to grasp the enormity of it.
"In human terms, maybe. But we had this one guy for an entire century and for us it was no time at all."
Blackie looks to the window as he speaks. Giving a hint the 'or something' who jokes about pulling the wings off pterodactyls may never have been human in the first place.
But something about his tone and inability to maintain eye contact says he's confessing so much more.
You know he's been here from the beginning and The Cafe wasn't always a cafe. It was a cave. A hut. A tavern. A speakeasy. Any place that looked welcoming to the ones who'd lost their way.
Reading between the lines, you suddenly understand he remembers millenia of loss. People who'd passed through and he'd maybe cared about, though he'll never admit it. They left him the way Tommy left you. And that higher authority, the light Blackie can't look at, keeps throwing people in here with no regard for how that must feel.
It strikes you as very cruel.
You can't resist voicing your thoughts out loud, wanting to know if you're right. If he'll eventually be the only person who can even recall you existed.
"You don't forget, do you?"
He takes another slow draw on the cigar, smoke drifting toward the window when he finally answers.
"Not a single one."
Ack-
Oh Blackie.
This chapter is just as good as the others- of course!!! I get so excited every time you update you don't even know XD
I especially love the Cafe forcing Blackie to do things 😅😅😂 Haha XDD
She's sad, go talk to her.
No, I don't like her. She's mean to me.
You're mean to her.
*Blackie doesn't say anything, crosses his arms and looks away like he suddenly 'can't hear' the cafe*
*Cafe shoves him (via otherworldly power) into the room. Who does he think she is???*
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kinkscholar · 2 years ago
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minors dni please!
I may dabble further than thoughts at some point in the future, but goodness, I just can't keep quiet!! I've had those Pomefiore vampire cards on my mind. The possibilities are endless 🥰
One trope I don't see often explored is vampires and stuffing... Maybe I'm looking in the wrong places, haha!!
vil schoenheit
In Vil's case, he takes up most care of his form and near immortal beauty. His reputation and elegance are something he cherieshes deeply. A cold, icy vampire with a lot of power. Of course, he obtains the blood he desires when he wants it! It's hard to deny the fairest vampire in all of the land a drink, after all. So when you, a traveling human, stumble across the land of Pyroxene and the vampires that lurk in the dark — Vil took to you immediately, curious to just what your blood will taste like within his mouth. It doesn't take long for him to get what he desires. His beauty and the sweet as honey tone he spoke in make it easy.
As he straddles you, you gripping the plush of his thighs, be begins to feed off of you. The entire ordeal leaves you hot and bothered from the start. You can't help but watch as his grace becomes unraveled from your blood alone. Vil can't help himself. Strands of his hair falling in front of his face as he inches his form closer to yours. Even through your gradually weakening state, you take note of the fact that his midsection begins to strain against the sash, tracing his flawless form.
With what strength you can muster, you remove it, bearing witness to the bloat in his stomach. Even like this, he is handsome, terribly so. If this is how you were meant to die? So be it. Your greedy hands fall upon his clothed middle, taking in the glory of you being the reason he's so swollen.
Inevitably, Vil cannot drink any further, for you would die. But the feeling of his tummy bulging out further beneath your hands only made your dick harder than it already was in this situation.
As the vampire pulled back to admire his hard work, wiping some blood that trailed down his face — eyes clouded with lust, he stared to you. Vil would most definitely scold you for what you did to him at a later date, but he was hungry in another sense, and you were too. "Human, my hunger has yet to satiate all because of you..." His tone was low, like a threat, but with amusement laced within. "As punishment, you must fill me further." This was going to be a long night, but one you wouldn't regret at all.
rook hunt
Rook is a different story entirely. He knew of you the moment you stepped into Pyroxene. Those green eyes piercing into the back of your skull without your knowledge. Fresh meat, handsome at that. Of course, the hunter took interest in his prey. Perhaps a day or two of this, him learning your mannerisms, trying to predict your next move as you navigated the foreign land.
You felt the all too familiar feeling of being watched, but hoped it was only due to how new you were. One day, you finally cross his path directly. Probably the worst opportunity at that. His stalking led to the neglect of his own form, a foolish mistake on his end, but his infatuation with you left his awareness at a low. Now he was starving, and you were all he wanted.
You would think twice about roaming this country at night after this. Despire the blatant hunger that burned through his gaze, you were coaxed with ease to somewhere more secluded — thanks to his smooth talk and French. You didn't seem to take much notice just how much he knew about you, that or you just didn't care too much.
As the coast was clear, your hands gripped his waist, expecting something along the lines of a night filled with sex with a handsome man, but as his fangs were bared before you, you quickly realized your situation. It only took a few extra words of sweet talk for your neck exposed and his teeth in the flesh. Your hands gripped his waist tighter as you kept your hips as far away as you could, trying to hide your arousal from the hunter.
Great Seven, were you amazing to him. The thrill of the hunt and the taste of your blood rivaled anything he'd ever experienced before. You were his prize, so he fully intended on taking all he desired from you. Rook moved himself closer to you as he continued to feed. Gradually, you felt expansion beneath your hands as your body grew weaker.
He was taking his fill from you, in turn filling out his previously toned form. This sparked a fire in you, seemingly him as well as he rutted against you, swollen stomach pressing against your own. You didn't seem to mind the possibility of this being your final moments, any rational thought slipping from your mind.
Thankfully, Rook had restraint, pulling back as he planted a kiss to the wounds on your neck, humming happily as he admired his prize. "Ma belle..." As usual, he spoke sweet and soft, his eyes trailing to his own form. "Look at what you've done. You've filled me right up~" The blonde was clearly amused, removing the sash that strained against his middle. Then, guiding your hands to feel better.
"Magnifique!" He mused, leaning in to your weakened state, whispering softly into your ear. "Shall I give you your reward, mon bébé?" Unsurprisingly, what little blood was left in your body rushed to your face and down south. You had no reason to decline a reward for your hard work. Maybe this place wasn't too bad.
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givemeyourcrunchbars · 4 years ago
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Sequestered
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Fern x f!reader
If there are any warnings I need to add, please let me know :)
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The weight of the crown on your head was too much to bear today. You gently set it down onto the grass, next to you in the shade of the giant oak trees above you.
If someone were to ask you what it's like to be a princess, you would say it's a curse. For the past 15 years you've been raised, your father was stern and barely paid any attention to you. Suffering from neglect, you slowly watched him become more and more corrupt with power, forcing the entire kingdom to stay within its walls. As far as the common people knew, the outside was a mysterious place not to be messed with.
That's what power does to people. To have all these abilities at your hands, is a great responsibility. But most rulers toss those away, like a bag of trash being disposed into the garbage can.
You sighed, gazing across to the opposite side of the clearing you were sitting in. You raised your head to look up at the sky. Oh, what I would do to have a different life...
The rustling of leaves caught your attention. You gasped, quickly backing away into the shelter of the trees. Dad can't catch me being here!
"Hey."
You froze as relief washed over you. It wasn't your father.
You weren't allowed to leave the kingdom. Finding loopholes wasn't easy, so you didn't know what you'd do if he found out.
Carefully, you stood up, squinting at the figure standing at the opposite end of the meadow. Slowly, they- or it- stepped into the sunlight. You recognized him from your past adventures. Fern the Human.
"Hi," you replied warily. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, you know," he said. "Just exploring." Fern wore the same expression he did normally, a blank set of eyes and his mouth set in a straight line.
You nodded, your eyes darting around the clearing, at anything but him. You rarely interacted with outsiders, especially since you weren't allowed outside of your kingdom. So you didn't know how to act. All your social skills started chipping away because you were forced to stay inside all the time. "Princess duties".
"I haven't seen you around here before," the grass boy remarked. "Who are you?"
"Who am I?" I repeated. That was a good question. Every single decision I've had to make and every emotion I've had was decided for me. So much so, that I wasn't sure there was any "me" left.
"I'm Y/N," you replied. Fern tilted his head.
"Where are you from?"
"Um." You struggled to find the words. He couldn't know about the kingdom, or else you would find yourself kicked out. What was even the purpose of telling him? It could only end badly. His curiosity would get the better of him, driving him him to see the kingdom for himself. Would Fern even try to save us?
Even though you wanted to rescue your people badly, the thought of them roaming around aimlessly in the Land of Ooo scared you. They barely knew anything about the outside, and the only information they did know altered their perspective to think of it in a bad light. Besides, what could Fern do to help? He's just one person.
"It's none of your business," you ended up blurting out. "I have to go." Your father wanted you home for the evening anyway. For what, he didn't say.
You turned away before you could hear Fern's reply, dashing off into the dense forest.
Taking a deep breath, you began to form an image of a raven inside your mind. Shapeshifting was still something you weren't good at. You were supposed to follow a certain set of rules as a princess, one of which being that you couldn't shapeshift into your raven form in the presence of other people. It was seen as impolite.
Focus on shapeshifting! You commanded yourself. Finally, you were able to fly, ruffling your wings a bit. You missed being able to soar.
"Wait!" Fern's voice yelled from behind you, his footsteps trodding through the layers of leaves on the forest floor. You sighed, flapping up to the tree tops and taking off. A feeling of dread gradually grew in your chest, facing the reality that you had to go back to your secluded life, with people that ignored and misunderstood you.
As the dark green leaves of the forest zoomed by beneath your feet, you began to wonder whether you should've listened to what Fern had to say. Eh, it probably wasn't important.
Directing your thoughts back to your destination, you vowed to come back to your happy place as soon as possible. It helped clear your head. Hopefully, Fern won't be there next time. The idea of talking to people made you uncomfortable. The people that you've trusted in the past have all either broken your trust, or just didn't care about you at all.
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There's a crown here in the bushes, Fern observed, lifting the heavy piece of gold. It was a big ring, with an arm extending upwards, holding a small, rugged black crystal. Interesting.
Turning it over in his hands, something strange caught his eye. A carving on the back of the crown. It was barely illegible, but Fern could make out one name. Y/N.
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"Where is your crown?" The Raven King hissed angrily. "The suitors are already here!"
"I don't know, Dad!" You frantically racked your mind, trying to remember where you had left it. A princess' crown was a part of her, as a role model and a symbol. But this time, it represented worth.
"Why are you making me marry someone I don't even know anyway?" You hurriedly glanced at your father, brows furrowed. Your father had invited a group of suitors to compete for your hand in marriage. They desired only the princess' heart, but it wasn't true love, like what you dreamed of as a child. They just wanted land, wealth, and power. Marrying you was their key to a happy life. Without your label as a princess, they would have no opportunity at all.
"You know very well why!" Your father growled. "This is going to be beneficial for the kingdom! Don't you want me to prosper?"
You started walking down the spiraling staircase that lead to the main hallways, unable to stay calm any longer. "I want the people to prosper," you replied, sending a spine-chilling glare to your father behind you. Before he could respond, you stomped away, into the main hallway where a line of antsy suitors stood waiting.
You definitely have a thing for walking out on people.
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"Heya, Fern!" A boy wearing a worn, dual-toned green backpack greeted Fern, holding open the door that had separated the two just moments before. "Jake just made some meatloaf! Want some? It has your favorite- I mean our favorite garnishes." Finn grinned.
"No thanks," Fern replied, distracted. His eyes wandered all around the giant treehouse that stood over him, almost menacingly. Despite what Fern wanted to think, there was something about it that made him uneasy. When he thought of the treehouse, he thought of Finn, which in turn caused him to obsess over the fact that he wasn't Finn. Then who was he?
"No probs." Finn sounded a little disappointed, but cheered up when Jake called out that the meatloaf was ready from somewhere inside the house.
"By the way, can I ask you something?" Fern asked, taking something out of his backpack, which tumbled to the ground, causing him to groan in frustration. Finn turned back to his grassy friend while taking a plate of food from the unseen Jake. "What's up?"
He gasped when he saw the golden crown gleaming in the sunlight. "That belongs to one of the princesses!" He picked it up and handed it back to Fern.
Fern nodded, stowing it in his backpack. "I found it in the forest near Tree Trunks' house. I think this girl dropped it," he said.
"Whahf girl?" Finn said, trying to chew meatloaf at the same time. "PB? Fire Princess? Slime P?"
"No." Fern shook his head. "I've never seen her before, and honestly," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "She was scared of me." He sounded frustrated, his voice trailing off.
"Dude-"
"Why doesn't anything ever work out?!" Fern said in anguish. He curled his fingers in and out of his palm, trying to release the tension trapped in his mind.
"Calm down, dude," Finn exclaimed. "I can help you find her, don't worry! I've never seen this crown before either, so we can go together." He placed a hand on Fern's shoulder, trying to comfort him.
"No!" Fern protested. "I wanna do it myself," he said, softer. "Can you just tell me how to find her?"
Finn looked taken aback for a second at his grassy friend's outburst, but nodded regardless. "You can ask the Candy People and the other kingdoms, they probably know who owns that crown." He handed Fern a map of the Land of Ooo, sketched out on a yellowed piece of paper.
Saying their goodbyes, Finn left Fern on his solo quest to find the mysterious princess.
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The long and chaotic day was finally over. You sank down to the floor, your back against the door to your room. You stared at the king-sized bed. I hate this. I hate everything.
After you left your father standing on the stairs, you had awkwardly walked into the main hall. But that must have been the last straw for your father, because he still didn't join you, even after five minutes. He ended up sending a replacement to accompany you after a long time of waiting. You wished that the suitors didn't keep glancing at the spot where your crown was supposed to sit while you stood with your hands clasped in front of you, staring at the doorway your father was going to follow you through.
I still have to get the crown back, you thought. Where did I leave it? The only place I would've lost it would be... Then you realized. The clearing! Of course! Oh no, I have to go there right now!
You raced over to the small window in your bedroom, peeking your head out. Seeing practically no one outside, you transformed into your raven form and hopped on the windowsill. Suddenly, an object was hurled at you from below. Looking down, you saw a small child chucking pieces of corn at you.
"Get out of there, you stupid crow!" He yelled. Close enough.
You carefully flapped your wings, flying high above the kingdom. As soon as you were out of reach, the child gave up trying to knock you out of the sky and returned to his home, resuming the quiet atmosphere the kingdom always held during evenings.
Night had almost fallen over Ooo when you finally arrived at your meadow. Landing in the spot where you had sat earlier that day, you turned back into a human and rummaged through the bushes for your long lost crown. As the minutes ticked by, you began to grow more frustrated. Where is it?! If I lose it forever, I'm done for.
"Huh?" You said out loud. Prying apart the branches of a blueberry bush, you found a few grass blades attached to the rough leaves, reminding you of Fern. You stood up. Why not just see if Fern had it? He wasn't the scavenger type, but something as mysterious as an unknown princess' crown was sure to fascinate him.
Ugh, the sun is setting. You sighed in defeat, vowing to visit Fern the next day to take back the circlet. Another day that's ending, another gloomy morning to look forward to. But this time, you had a mission to accomplish.
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managedmischiefs · 3 years ago
Text
north//chapter nineteen
genre: fluff!! some angst
warnings: mentions of prison, ptsd and its symptoms (flashbacks, kinda)
word count: 6.1k
summary: spencer gets home and amelia helps him keep his head on straight.
pairing: season twelve/thirteen spencer reid x oc
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AMELIA
Stepping back into my apartment after being away for over twenty-four hours is such a relief. Spencer, for some reason, didn't want to go back to his own apartment, so I happily bring him right to mine.
He's half asleep in my passenger seat, his head resting against the window and his hand smushed against his cheek. Despite the challenging circumstances, at every red light, I gaze over to admire how adorable he looks with puffy cheeks and flushed skin. He's fighting sleep as we journey to my apartment, and even though I've told him that he doesn't have to, I still see him forcing his eyes open every few seconds.
When we're just a few minutes from my apartment, I finally speak up. "So," I murmur, and he lifts his head slightly, "do you wanna do anything when we get home, or do you wanna go right to sleep?"
Spencer shakes his head and adjusts his position so he's leaning more towards me, his head almost resting on my shoulder. "I'm really tired but I'm hungry. And I wanna shower too. Do you have my stuff at your apartment still?"
"Of course I do, doll," I smile, reaching my hand over to rest on his cheek, keeping my eyes on the road. "I have your go-bag too. So a shower, some food, and then sleep. We can do that," Spencer turns his head and kisses my palm, capturing my hand in his and bring them into his lap. I pull up in front of my apartment and park my car, smiling over at my hazy and sleepy boyfriend. "Here, Spence."
We climb out of my car and go trudging up to my apartment, and I push my keys into the lock. I twist it but it doesn't make the clicking sound to tell me it's unlocked, so I pull out the keys. I put them in again and twist one more time, and when the lock doesn't click, I pull the keys out for the second time. I figure that my friends might just be major idiots and have forgotten to lock the door after they left yesterday, so I tuck the keys in my pocket and twist the knob. It pops right open. Great. My door has been unlocked for over twenty-four hours.
Spencer isn't paying much mind to this though as we trudge in, kicking off our shoes. I hang up my jacket and turn to Spencer to ask for his jacket so I can put it in the washer, but his gaze is somewhere else. I follow where he's looking and find that the balcony doors are slightly open, and I roll my eyes. This keeps happening to me. These damn balcony doors. Between the balcony and front doors being open, I'm surprised that all of my belongings aren't completely gone.
"Don't worry about it, Spence," I tell him, dramatically flipping the lock on my front door so we can both hear the clicking noise and then padding across my apartment to flip the lock on the balcony door. Honestly though, my hands are trembling as I touch the knobs. Why are my door continuously unlocked? I try to brush it off for Spencer's sake. "My friends were here when I left to pick you up and I'm sure they forgot to close and lock everything. It's fine. It's not a big deal. Don't worry about it."
Spencer nods and rubs his eyes, then begins to speak through a loud yawn. "You should yell at your friends."
It's just another moment of the old Spencer shining through the armor that the new Spencer is wearing. This exhausted and bleary and witty version of my boyfriend is who I have embedded in my brain, not the version who yells at me and throws books at walls and jumps away from my touch. I wish I could frame this moment and hang it on the wall.
"Come on," I wave him towards the kitchen and he follows me blindly, falling into a barstool at the island, leaning his elbows against the granite. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up and his forearms are far too distracting for anyone's good, and I have to tear my eyes away from him before I get carried away. I'm just too deprived of sex and satisfaction that maybe any intimate sight of Spencer will get me going. Even if it's his hands, or his forearms, or his fingers-- oh god, look away.
"Is there anything specific you want?" I take a glance through my fridge at the ingredients I have before turning back to him. His hands are on his cheeks now, distorting his face in that same adorable way it was in the car. "I'll make you whatever you're feeling."
"Just something, um," he speaks quietly, "easy. Pancakes, or something."
"Sure, I can do that," I reach into the cupboard and pull out the pancake mix, retrieving a bowl and a skillet.
"I'm gonna go put a record on," Spencer drags himself out of his chair and into the living room and I can hear him rummaging through the mess in there.
He's utterly exhausted. I've seen him tired after cases, but never liked this. He can barely even speak a full sentence or walk in a straight line. So I combine ingredients quickly, hoping that the stove warms up at lightning speed so I can cook these pancakes as fast as possible. I want to get Spencer food, and then into a shower, and then into bed. I couldn't care less about my needs. I just can't bear seeing him dragging himself around like this anymore.
My ears perk up when the record scratches and then the music starts, and State of Grace by Taylor Swift starts playing. I watch Spencer come back in and sit down again, his eyes closed as he absorbs the music. I expected him to put on one of the many classical records I have, like Mozart or Beethoven or Brahms. But no, he put on Taylor Swift. I choose not to comment on the music choice and instead, I pour the batter on the hot skillet.
It's only five minutes before I have a stack of pancakes and I've run out of batter. I turn off the burner and divide up the pancakes onto two plates, grabbing two forks and the maple syrup from the fridge. Spencer gives me a tiny smile as he reaches for his plate, digging in without even waiting for the syrup.
I drizzle a fair amount of syrup on my own pancakes and then pick up my fork, about to eat my first meal in twenty-four hours, but then I look at Spencer. He's scarfing down his food like his life depends on it, and I wonder if he's even chewing it at all. His head is bowed all the way down, nose almost touching the pancake stack as he snakes his fork under his chin, and his free hand is on the table with his fingers spread, and before I can blink again, he's halfway through his plate.
"Hey, hey, Spence," I reach my hand out for him, but he doesn't react. This is what happened when he threw the book. He got in his head, then I touched him, and he freaked out. I can't let that happen again. So I sit up on my knees and lean toward him, placing my hands flat against the table so, again, he can see that I don't plan on touching him or using them against him. "Spencer, look at me," he digs his fork into the pancake but his hand falters, slowing down. "Eyes up here, dove."
Spencer's eyes slowly travel up until they lock with mine, and they hold the same panicked qualities that they did post-book-throwing. I offer him a smile, but he doesn't give one back, not that I expected him to.
"Spencer," I speak slowly and calmly, "nobody's here. It's just you and me. You can slow down. You have all the time in the world to eat," Spencer takes a labored breath through his nose and shakes his head, closing his eyes. "I promise, dove, and you know I don't break my promises. You can slow down, you can just be with me. You're with me, and that's it."
"It's just--" he hangs his head and then opens his eyes, staring at his half-empty plate, "sitting like this. It feels-- it feels like-- it just-- it's--"
For some reason, I understand what he can't say. From how he's sitting in such a defensive and protected position and now he's saying that there's a problem with how he's sitting, it makes sense to me. Somehow, sitting like his makes him think of sitting and eating in prison and having to, I don't know, protect his food, maybe. I don't know much of anything about prison but I didn't think that it would change the way he eats meals.
"Okay, okay," I cut off his stuttering, nodding softly so I can seem as understanding as possible. "Come on then," I pull back my hands and grab my plate, sliding off the barstool and pressing my back against the kitchen cabinets, slowly sliding down. "How about we sit on the floor? Would that be okay?"
Spencer stares at me sliding onto the floor and it takes him quite a while to grab onto his plate and join me. He slides down beside me and extends his legs in front of him, setting his plate on his lap. He takes a long, deep breath and starts slicing into his pancakes again, much slower this time.
"Is this better?" I ask softly. "You can tell me if it's not because we could move somewhere else," I start to cut into my own food again, keeping my eyes on him.
"Yeah," he murmurs, and then he slumps down a little bit more so he can rest his head on my shoulder. Spencer is eating like a snail now, moving his hand so slowly that I have to keep looking down to make sure he hasn't fallen asleep on my shoulder. We just eat in tense silence, and as badly as I want to touch him and comfort him and smother him in love like I imagined I would be by now, I get the feeling that he would hate that and it would overwhelm him.
Not surprisingly, Spencer finishes his pancakes before me and gently places his fork down on his plate, setting his trembling hands flat on his lap. I expect Spencer to get up and discard his plate in the sink or the dishwasher and then head upstairs and jump in a shower, but he doesn't move. He stays right beside me with his head on my shoulder so I start to pick up my eating pace so we can get going. If he's not going to move without me then I don't want to make him sit here forever.
"Can I take your plate for you?" I whisper once I've finally finished my pancakes. The sun has fully risen and is blaring through the windows, and it feels so twisted to be so exhausted, so early in the morning.
Spencer nods, but he doesn't offer the plate up to me. I pick it up off his lap gingerly and wait for Spencer to lift his head before standing, putting them in the sink to deal with later. I turn back to Spencer, who's still on the floor, and hold my hands out to him to help him up. He looks at my feet first, and then incredibly slowly drags his eyes up my body until his eyes lock with mine. He seems so distant. He seems so far away and so far gone. His eyes are glossed over and his movements are like that of a sloth, starkly contrasting his quick actions just a few minutes before.
I very gently thrust my hands forward again, wiggling my fingers in his direction to get his attention. "Let's go get you in a shower, okay? I bet it'll make you feel a lot better."
Spencer looks up at me with a heartbreaking gaze, as if he can't even see me. As if he's staring right through me. As if he can't even see me at all. But then he pushes himself up by his lonesome and runs his hands down his face.
"Um," he breathes, his voice so low that I barely hear it, "thank you for-- you know, for the food," He keeps his eyes down on the floor, his body turned slightly away from me as if he's cowering from my touch again.
"No need to thank me, love. But let's just head upstairs and get you into a shower, okay?" I wave him out of the kitchen and he slumps off towards the stairs.
I watch him go, and once he gets on the first step, I go into the living room to shut off the record that Spencer has put on. Taylor Swift, huh? I have to make a mental note to ask Spencer about that when we're better rested.
Once I've put the record away, I follow Spencer up the stairs and I find him rummaging through my closet, already having dumped out all the items from his go-bag on the bed. His back is turned to me, too focused on finding clothes in my closet. I go to the pile of clothes and separate the work clothes from his pajamas, making two separate sections for him and trying to smooth out wrinkles from the fabrics.
"Sweets," even when I speak, he doesn't acknowledge my presence, "what are you looking for in there? I know you've got some clothes in there but you've got two whole sets of pajamas right here. They're clean, I've cleaned these clothes."
"I need a white tee-shirt," Spencer tells me and his voice is sharper now. It's not quiet and timid like in the kitchen. It's the exact opposite of the man that was just in my apartment a moment ago.
"Why?" I look down at the pair of pajama pants and the crew neck on the bed in front of me, right next to a different pair of pajamas, a matching silk set that Spencer commonly wears to sleep. Why isn't this good enough for him? If anything, this will keep him more comfortable during bed than just a tee-shirt. "There's two pajama sets right here for you that--"
"I need a white tee shirt, okay?!" Spencer snaps, turning his head to me, but still never looking me in the eye. "I need to wear a white tee-shirt to bed!"
I let out a shaky breath at the venom dripping from his mouth, reaching for the clothes in front of me and just grasping them in my hand, grasping for something to ground me. Although, maybe I'm not the one who needs the grounding right now.
I hear Spencer sigh behind me as he finds a white tee-shirt, and when he comes to the bed beside me, he takes a pair of pajama pants and boxers out of my hands. I move around him to put the other clothes back into his go bag, setting it in the corner of the room and then sifting through my closet for a crew neck and a pair of shorts. I do everything in my power to forgive and forget the moment that is making my hands tremble and my head dizzy. Spencer never yells. And he definitely never yells at me.
I hear the bathroom door open as I put my clothes onto the bed and pull off my tank top, but when I don't hear the water turn on, I turn to check on Spencer. He's still standing in the doorway, clutching his clothes in his hands and staring at the shower door.
"Spence?" He jumps when I speak his name as if he momentarily forgot that I was in the same room as him. And when he turns to me, he's back to the man he was in the kitchen. Quiet, timid, desperate. His eyes are pleading for me, and I feel helpless knowing I don't know exactly how to help him. I disregard my clothes and walk toward him, but don't make an effort to touch him. "Love, you can shower, it's okay. You'll feel much better when you wash off all the sweat and grossness of the--" I pause, wanting to say one certain word but knowing I shouldn't. I settle with a safer word, "day."
Spencer pouts his pretty lips and his hands tighten around the pile of clothes in his hands. "Could you-- um-- could you come with me? I don't wanna be alone right now," and perhaps it seems like a rude comparison, but he looks like a small child. He looks like a child who's woken up from a nightmare, clutching his pillow to his chest, asking his mom to come to his room to scare away the monster under his bed. But I'll never be able to scare away the monster under Spencer's bed. We both know that and we both seem to be ignoring it. For now, we'll pretend that I can remedy every issue in the world and continue on with our day.
I toss my tank top into the hamper across the room and then walk over to Spencer, leaning against the doorframe across from him. "Are you gonna be comfortable with that, dove?"
Spencer nods quickly, his hair falling in front of his eyes. "I'll be okay. I really don't wanna be alone. I want you."
I glance at the shower and then back at Spencer with his greasy hair and his half-lidded eyes and his hunched shoulders, and I nod. If he gets uncomfortable again, I'll just get out. He needs a shower more than me anyway, and if I need to get out of the shower because he doesn't want me touching him, then it's not the end of the world. Spencer breathes a sigh of relief and steps fully into the bathroom, setting his clothes on the sink counter. I grab two towels from the closet and start the shower, leaving the door open a crack so the steam can escape.
Spencer strips off his clothes before I do and, holy shit, I almost gasp. Now, for the millionth time, I have no idea what prison is like. I only know tiny bits of what Spencer went through, like getting beat up and eventually stabbing himself and getting thrown into solitary confinement. I don't know what he did during the time that he was stuck in his cell by himself, or what he did to pass the time when he wasn't in his cell. Honestly, I don't really know what he did at all in prison.
But holy shit. Spencer's arms are far more toned than I remember them to be and his stomach is too, and if Derek Morgan were here, I'd bet good money that he would be impressed. Even Spencer's calves and quads look more toned than before, and every time he moves, every one of his muscles flexes in the most delicious and sexy way. How much did he work out in prison? Did he work out every second of every day? I wasn't expecting this type of transformation from him, but he's been full of surprises. And after a moment of staring, I wonder if this is a good change or not.
"Why are you staring?" Spencer has just reached for the waistband of his boxers but paused when he saw me standing still and staring, then his hands stilled.
"Um," I have to physically jerk my head to the side to break my gaze and force my eye line up to his pupils, "sorry, I was just-- you--"
"I what?" Spencer retorts, and thankfully, he doesn't sound angry. He sounds genuinely curious.
"You just look different. More, you know, muscular," I try to choose my words carefully because I don't want to offend him. I don't want to make it seem like I hate his body now, or that I hated his body before prison because neither is the case. I could never hate his body. I'm not with him for his body. His body is beautiful regardless. This is just such a difference from what I'm used to seeing from my boyfriend. This is just another part of him that has been taken away from him. His soft body is gone as if he has morphed himself into an intimidating alpha male. I never wanted an alpha male. I've only ever wanted my Spencer.
"I worked out a lot," Spencer mumbles vaguely. He barely tells me any details about prison. The most he told me was while we were eating. And even still, he didn't give me specifics during dinner. He left me to guess exactly what was wrong. It's all been vague so far. I'm not sure if that's because he's protecting me or because he just can't bring himself to talk about it yet.
"Let's get in the shower so we can get some sleep," I want to nudge him towards the open shower curtain and the warm, streaming water. But Spencer moves on his own, shuffling towards the shower and quickly discarding his boxers.
He seems hesitant to get into the water at first, just standing at the edge of the tub and letting the water hit his toes first. Spencer stares at the stream of water, reaching his foot out a bit more to get his ankle and shin wet. I watch him carefully for a moment, just to make sure he doesn't freak out like he has a few times already today.
Spencer's head turns to me and he gives me a pleading look, his eyebrows scrunched up and his bottom lip between his teeth. He's clearly keeping tears at bay, trying to prevent his chin from quivering. "Lia," he stammers, but doesn't say anything else. A single tear falls down his cheek.
I quickly pull off my undergarments and move the shower door back a little bit more, stepping into the tub so I'm in the stream of water. I hold my hands out for him, and this time, he actually grabs onto them. I draw him closer to me. Not closer to the stream of water, but just closer to my body.
"It's just water, Spence," I tip my head back and wet my mane of curls, matting them down to my head. "It actually feels really good."
"It's just," Spencer shuffles just a little bit closer to me. The tips of his toes touch mine, his whole body flinching when a droplet of water ricochets off of me and hits his chest, "the showers were always cold."
"Oh," I turn and look at the knobs behind me that control the water temperature, "I can make it cold if you want. It's not a big deal if--"
"No, no, I don't want that," he shakes his head, clutching my hands tightly in his. "I don't wanna take another cold shower. It just feels weird. I'm not used to it."
I scrunch up my nose, unlacing our hands and tracing my fingertips up his forearms. I wonder if I should even let myself touch his biceps because if I do, I might completely lose my cool and want to jump his bones. Clearly, he's not ready for sex or any kind of physical intimacy. I didn't even expect us to be showering together any time soon. "I don't like cold showers, either. You know that. Do you wanna get under the water?"
Spencer nods and grabs my hands again, switching our spots so he's directly under the stream. I don't let go of him as he sighs of relief, the water falling over his face and making his hair stick to his forehead. He closes his eyes, dropping his shoulders down. This is, by far, the most relaxed I've seen him all day. He seemed to be relaxed in the car, but now, he has completely let his guard down for the first time. It's a beautiful sight, truly. It's beautiful to see him running his hands through his hair and reaching for his shampoo and fluttering his eyelids. He's always been so beautiful.
I shave my legs while Spencer washes his body, and he spends quite a lot of time doing so. I'm not surprised that he wants to wash every germ off his body, I'd expected that much. And we keep in silence, just washing away the stress and drama and hardships of the last few months. I wish that a simple shower could wash away all the pain that we've been cursed with, but I know that this pain may never go away. The pain of this time will always linger, no matter how hard we try to eradicate it.
"Are you gonna shave?" I ask, switching places one more time with Spencer so I could wash my face.
"You said you liked it so--"
"Yeah, but it's your face. If you wanna shave, then shave. Don't let me stop you," I wipe away the soap from my eyes and smile at Spencer, gesturing to where his razor still sits along the wall.
Spencer runs his hands over his face, feeling his mustache and beard on his fingertips. "I'll keep it for now. Maybe tomorrow I'll clean it up a little but I don't wanna deal with it today."
"Well let's go get some sleep, okay?" I turn around and shut off the water, wringing out my hair so it doesn't drip onto the floor. Spencer gets out and quickly wraps himself in a towel, and when I step out a moment after him, he hands my towel to me. "Thanks."
I head out of the bathroom and reach for my clothes, pulling on a pair of underwear and one of Spencer's old tee-shirts. I dry off my hair a little bit and sit on the edge of the bed, putting lotion on my legs and keeping my eyes on the bathroom door for when Spencer eventually comes out.
He takes forever to get dressed, but when he does, he's wearing a pair of sweatpants and a white tee-shirt, his hair soaked and hanging over his forehead. He drops his towel in the hamper and then he turns on his heel to join me in bed, but freezes in his spot when he sees my towel on the floor. He quickly picks it up off the floor and puts it into the hamper, then he scans the floor of the room for anything else that could be out of place.
"Babe?" I close off the lid on my bottle of lotion and put it away, watching him put a pair of my shoes into the closet and then jam the door closed. "Spencer, if you really wanna clean, do it when you can actually keep your eyes open. Come get some sleep, please."
Spencer lets out an exasperated sigh as his hands drop from the closet handle, and then they smooth through his hair. He nods silently, and his toes drag against the carpet as he brings himself towards the bed.
He falls onto his side, pulling back the duvet and slipping under, letting out a sound close to a moan as his body sinks into the bed. His head falls onto the pillow and he moans louder, his body wiggling under the covers. I smile at his pure and unfiltered ecstasy and pleasure, doing the same and slipping under the duvet with him.
I keep a bit of distance between us though. Usually, I'd slide my leg through his and wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest and get as close to him as I possibly can. But he's so caught up in the familiarity and comfortability of my bed that I don't want to overwhelm him by touching him. I want him to enjoy his first time in a proper bed in months and not worry about my hands on his skin.
I let out a roaring yawn, rolling onto my side to face Spencer. Now that I'm laying in bed, my exhaustion is setting in yet again. I pull the duvet up to my chin and close my eyes, trying to let myself drift off to sleep.
I'm just about to dip into dreamland when I feel Spencer shift beside me, facing me. I try to ignore it, try to bring myself closer to sleep, try to let us both get the rest that we so desperately need. But I can sense Spencer's gaze on me, and as hard as I try to, I can't ignore it. I just want him to go to sleep. I want him to sleep so he can regenerate and hopefully feel better whenever it is that we wake up. But my forehead is burning with his stare and I can't stop feeling it. Clearly, something is affecting him and that's why he hasn't tried to sleep yet.
To my surprise, Spencer's voice is the one to break through the silence. "Baby?" He's shaky. He's trembling. He's unsure.
I open my eyes, seeing tears pouring down his cheeks and his hand in midair, just a few inches in front of my face. "Spencer," I breathe, watching his hand drops onto the bed between us. "What's wrong?" Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, and his hand clutches the bed sheet until his knuckles turn white. He breathes in harshly through his nose and he draws his knees up to his chest, curling into a tiny ball. "Dove, talk to me."
Spencer's other hand comes down to the bed to join his other, squeezing so tightly that I fear he might rip a hole in the fabric. I see his arms start to shake with the force he's using to hold the bedsheet, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and staining the pillow. He hiccups, but not too loud. Barely loud enough for me to hear. "Lia," he sobs, completely breaking down right before my eyes, "please hold me."
I want to jump his bones. I want to get on top of him and smother him in love and affection and kisses. I want to give him everything I know we've both been craving for months. I want to give him exactly what he's asking for. But I've spent most of my day doing what I can to not overwhelm him and that's not going to change now.
I debate for a moment on how I should touch him first. Should I wipe his tears? Should I hold his hand? Should I wrap my arm around his waist? Should I drag my fingers along his arm? What could I do that won't freak him out?
But then I notice, again, that his eyes are closed. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's not looking at me. I remember how he reacted in the round table room when I touched him when he couldn't see it coming. He jumped and cowered away from me. He didn't take well to getting touched without seeing it.
"Spencer," I whisper, "open your eyes." His eyebrows scrunch up at my request but he doesn't follow it. "Come on, baby, I wanna see your pretty eyes. I haven't been able to see them in so long. Open your eyes for me," I watch Spencer carefully as he holds his breath, forcing his eyelids open, releasing more tears. "There you go, Spence. Thank you, lovey. So pretty. Your eyes are so pretty."
I raise my hand and let it linger in the air for a moment before reaching towards Spencer's face. I drag my fingers along his jawline then lay my hand flat against his cheek. Spencer's lips part when he lets out a shaky sigh, nuzzling his cheek against the palm of my hand. I give him a moment to revel in this type of contact, just staring into his eyes and gauging his reaction. He isn't cowering away and he hasn't screamed at me yet, so I take that as a good sign.
I bring my other hand forward and press my fingers against the back of his hand, feeling him already start to ease his grip. I can't attest for his other hand, but he flattens his hand against the bed, allowing me to lock our fingers together in an awkward, backwards handhold.
"I've got you," I whisper, swiping my thumb across his cheeks to rid his skin of stinging tears. His eyes are locked on mine and he doesn't dare to avert his gaze from my blue eyes that I know he loves so much.
Spencer sucks in a breath and tugs on my hand, wanting me even closer. So I wiggle my hips to diminish the gap between us, leaving some space still. I move my head so we're sharing a pillow, the same pillow that I used to clutch when I was missing Spencer so intensely that I needed to smell his cologne and remember that he would come home to me soon.
"It hurts," he slurs, and his eyelids are so heavy that he can barely keep them open. But he fights with all his strength against the sleep that wants to suck him in, sticking his eyes to me. His eyes plead for help, a type of help that I don't know if I can provide.
"Oh, my baby," I coo, bringing my face right in front of him, "you're safe. You're home. You don't have to go back to that horrible place again. You're right here and you can rest, okay? It's okay to rest now."
I feel him moving under the sheets and it takes everything in me to not look at what he's doing. But I feel his legs touching mine, and then one of his slips between mine a moment later. Even though he initiated this contact, I wait, yet again, for his reaction. His face doesn't change.
"Can I touch you some more?" Spencer nods quickly, his facial hair scratching my palm. "Can I hug you?" He nods again, and with this obvious consent, I almost sigh of relief.
I slide my hand down Spencer's neck, then down his arm, and to his stomach. I wrap my arm around his waist, pulling my body forward so I'm flush against him. With this, he finally lets his eyelids flutter closed, lips parted as he breathes heavily. His skin feels so warm against mine and I can already feel beads of sweat collecting at my hairline, but I ignore their presence.
"Go to sleep," I murmur, bringing our entwined hands up to the pillow between our faces. "I'm here right now, I'm gonna be here when you wake up, I'm gonna be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the next day, and every day after that. I'm not going anywhere. And if you need me then don't hesitate to wake me up. But I need you to get some sleep, okay? Can you do that for me?" Spencer nods yet again, and he flips his hand around so we can properly hold hands. I smile at his responsiveness. "Let me hear you say it, doll."
Spencer nuzzles his cheek against the pillow, scooting a bit closer to me. "I'm gonna try to get some sleep."
"Good," I slip my hand under his tee shirt and rest it flat against his hot skin, earning a small gasp from him, but I don't do any more than that. "I'm right here, baby boy. I'm not gonna let go of your hand and I'm not gonna get out of bed before you. I'll be right here the whole time. I promise, I'm not going anywhere."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"I love you," Spencer whispers but his words are barely coherent as his exhaustion becomes too much to handle. His lips are barely moving and his grip on my hand, and on the sheets, are loosening.
"I love you too, dove."
I watch him closely until I know, for sure, that he's fallen asleep. I wouldn't want his eyes to pop open again and for him to panic. But I keep my promise and I don't let go of his hand, or move my hand from in his shirt, or get out of bed. I just close my eyes and drift off into the most restless sleep I've had yet.
TAGLIST
@babybloodstonebones @bxnnywriting @blameitonthenight21 @feralreid @anepiphany @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @4x24 @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @yasminwashere @shrimpyblog @anamelessfacelessnerd @wonderlandhatter @whxt-to-write @just-call-me-non @imagining-in-the-margins @boldlyvoid @homoose @gubler-me-up @thundergunexpresss @eideticmemory @andiebeaword
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jinmukangwrites · 4 years ago
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Nightwing BTHB: Slowly Running Out Of Air
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Star / Done // Moon / Requested // Eye / Next
Ao3
Summary: Dick wakes up chained to the bottom of a pit. Then, it starts filling up.
Warnings: Kidnapping, Hopeless Situations, Permanent Injury, Amputation, Blood, Drowning
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To nobody's surprise, waking up is absolutely a bitch. 
He groans and shifts, trying to find his bearings, and the first thing he notices is that there's a rattling of clinking metal as his foot moves. Morbidly curious, Dick peeks his eyes open; all he sees is his own hand and a metal wall. 
Dick's head pounds like one of the seven dwarfs got stuck in his skull and is trying to mine themself out through his eye sockets. Dick wouldn't be surprised if that dwarf was named Grumpy. 
One thing this is helpful for is that he can immediately tell that he's Nightwing. There's no other time in his daily life he would wear black gloves with blue stripes going down his middle fingers. 
His causon immediately rises with this new information. Nightwing waking up somewhere like this—with a headache, on the ground, with the sound of what's most likely chains, is never good. 
He risks shifting again, making it seem like he's groggily beginning to wake up from whatever drug he's been hit with just in case someone is watching. There's definitely chains clinking down by his feet, specifically his left ankle. 
He peeks his eyes open to better survey his location, however all that he discovers is more rusted metal walls and floor of the same material. The wall is rounded and about a foot and a half from his face. When he stretches his leg that's not connected to the chains, he hits the wall behind him. He glances up, and sure enough the walls around him expand upwards what must be a little less than fifteen feet. There's a grate laying over the mouth of the walls, showing more ceiling higher up and shrouded in shadows. 
He's chained to the bottom of a metal pit. 
This doesn't sound good at all. 
He closes his eyes and stills, trying to figure out where he is and what he was doing to end up here. He was obviously doing something on patrol… perhaps a mission? He's not sure, the drugs in his system, while milder than most he's woken up with before, is making it really hard to recall much of anything. Honestly, the last thing he remembers is getting a phone call from Jason. 
He slows his breathing, stilling so that he looks asleep to anyone watching. 
Come on Dick. Just retrace your steps. You got a phone call from Jason... You answered… there was a hole in your sock. He wanted… what did Jason want…
"Big bird?" A voice calls, the tones becoming distorted as it echoes down the metal pit. "You up?"
"… Hood?" Dick tries, opening his eyes and looking up. Jason doesn't sound hurt or particularly startled, but Dick can't see anything above him other than the grating and the ceiling. 
"I've been up for the past half hour," Jason's explains, "m'not hurt. But no one's come yet."
Dick nods to himself. So they've been captured together, but their captors might not be watching. "You in a pit too?" Dick asks, slowly working himself up so he's sitting. 
He grabs onto the wall for balance when he gets to his feet. There's a heavy shackle definitely around his ankle, one that's not coming off without the key or very specific tools. It's tight too, he can feel it squeezing awkwardly against his tendons and bone. The chain connecting the shackle to an eye-hook in the floor looks several feet long, wound up in a neat pile on the floor to his side.
"No, tied to a chair up here," Jason answers as Dick begins to take stock of himself. He's been close to completely disarmed of anything useful. The only things he can find stock of is a few wingdings, some smoke pallets, his escrima sticks…
The things that are missing include his stash of small explosives, his rebreather, and his lockpicking set. Three things he's usually good at remembering to pack. 
"Do you know what happened?" Dick asks as he bends down to inspect the chains and the eye-hook. The chains are almost a half inch in diameter and expertly wielded. The chains have bits of rust here and there, but none that would suggest breakage any time soon. The eye-hook is probably his best bet, as it's thick and heavy-duty, but clearly just screwed into the floor. 
"You don't remember?" Jason scoffs, amusement in his tone. Dick grins, Jason either doesn't know or he, himself, needed some time to recall. "We were going through the Narrows before we got sniped by tranqes."
Dick brings his hand up to the bit of skin that's exposed to his neck where he immediately feels a sharp pinch of pain from what's definitely irritated skin thanks to a barbed dart being yanked out from it's target. 
That's right. They were sniped. It was just a simple patrol together, just for the heck of it, and next thing Dick knew he was collapsing to the ground with his body feeling floaty and far away. 
He huffs. "Why can't Gotham criminals ever be normal?" 
Jason snorts in response. 
Dick kneels down by the eye-hook and wraps his hands around it, looking for the best grasp despite the awkward shape and angle. Once he feels like he has an okay enough grasp, he begins to turn. 
It doesn't budge. 
"How stuck are you?" Dick calls before trying again at the hook. 
It still doesn't move as Jason answers—it must be glued in somehow. "Pretty stuck. Chair's bolted to the ground, used way too much duct-tape, took everything useful."
Dick opens his mouth to ask how likely Jason thinks he'd be able to escape on his own, but then something groans within the walls of the pit. 
"The hell?" Jason murmurs. 
"Uh, Hood?" Dick calls anxiously, walking over to where the noise came from. He places his hands on the wall and frowns at the distant rumblings under his fingertips.
Jason answers with a frustrated and cautious voice. "There's a TV on the wall in front of me, it just turned on."
Dick hums and looks down at the seam where the wall meets the floor. He frowns when he notices small sections of grating; thin but strong graphs of wire cover small little holes in the wall, barely three inches in diameter. 
However, when he turns around, he counts about 8 of these holes. 
"The quality is really bad," Jason continues, "but I think it's of you."
"What's going on?" Dick looks up and sure enough, what looks to be a small and cheap looking knockoff of a GoPro sits taped to the grating above him. 
Before either he or Jason can say anything more, the almost mechanical groaning in the walls becomes louder and then Dick finds out what those little holes near his feet are for. 
Water pours through each hole, immediately sloshing around his shoes. Panic and understanding shoots adrenalin through his veins, he kneels down in the water that's already around his ankles and forces one of his wingdings into the middle of the eye-hook, using it as a handle for him to better turn. 
At least the water isn't cold. 
"Wing?" Jason calls, and Dick grunts as the hook stays stubbornly in place. "What's going on? I can't see anything."
One of Dick's hands slips in the water and he curses, bringing his hand up to see the fabric of his gloves cut through. "They're filling it with water."
"You for real?!" 
Instead of answering, Dick tries again to break the eye-hook. Nothing works, all he does is cut the skin of his palms. 
He swears colorfully as he stands back up, glaring down through the water that's now to the middle of his shins and contemplates kicking the hook, however he has a feeling that all he's going to accomplish is gaining an aching foot. He looks up at the grating. 
"Let's say, hypothetically, that I managed to throw a wingding at you, would you have any chances of catching it and getting out?" 
Jason's silent for a beat. "Maybe. If you throw it right at me. Also I hate that you call those that."
Dick rolls his eyes and adjusts his footing, looking at the chain and trying to calculate how heavy it's going to be. He should be fine. He just needs to rise with the water to a point where he can reach the grating. Once Jason's free, he should be able to help get Dick out of this literal death trap.
He explains his plan to Jason, and while it doesn't sound as thought out as it should be, it's still all that they've got. 
That water slips over his knees, up his hips, to his chest, and eventually above his shoulders. 
Once it became impossible to stand any longer, Dick forced himself to begin a steady tread despite the chain around his ankle. He knows the higher the water rises, the more heavy the chain will become...
But he's strong. He's good at swimming. With the amount of times he's been tossed into various harbors, he has to be. 
"Wing?" Jason calls around when Dick has risen with the water to about the halfway point. Dick's left leg already burns from the strain of the chain, but he's been doing alright so far. 
"Just focus on escaping, little wing," Dick calls, kicking his unshackled leg furiously as the weight on the other drags him under for just a moment. 
The water continues to rise, and soon it becomes almost unbearable to continue swimming like this. But he has to. If he doesn't, he'll sink and drown. 
Eventually, just as his legs are beginning to go numb with strain, he manages to hook the tips of his fingers around the grating above him. With a shot of adrenalin, he realizes that this is it. This is his last shot. It all amounts to these last moments whether he'll manage to escape, or if this is where he dies. 
It's moments like these where he never feels more alive. 
He forces his hands to get a better grasp as he already holds one of his meager stash of wingdings in his grasp. He works to lift himself up into the small few feet of air above the water, but he only goes up a couple inches before he's violently stopped by a tugging on his left leg. 
Dick's stomach sinks. 
"Uh, Hood?" He calls, forcing the coming panic out of his voice as the water steadily rises higher. The ripples tickle his Adam's apple.  "I can't- I can't get higher. You're going to have to help me aim."
"Alright," Jason says, his voice calm, which must mean Dick's unsuccessfully managed to keep his cool. "Follow my voice, I think I'm to your left."
Dick nods slightly to himself, but not too much because his chin would dip in the water that way. Working the grate like it's a set of monkey bars, Dick turns step by step until Jason tells him to stop. He keeps one hand white knuckled on the bars and then brings his other hand up as far as it can go, the wingding resting in his dripping fingers. 
The shackle digs into his ankle as he tries to tug himself more upwards. 
"Okay, a little to your right," Jason instructs, and Dick does as he's told. "Kay, aim up, alright?"
"Yeah," Dick gasps, his chin slapping the water. "Right."
He throws the wingding to the best of his limited abilities. He knows he misses when Jason makes a small growling noise. 
"Put more power into it."
Dick can't help it. He lets out a burst of hysterical laughter. Power? He can barely move as it is, the only power that he's going to get with his hand just over the bars of the grate is going to come from his wrist. 
Regardless, Dick brings his hand down and grabs another one of his weapons. He counts in a blink of an eye that he only has five. 
He tries again, following Jason's instructions, and this time he gets closer to his younger brother, but it curves to the left and lands itself, apparently, into the screen of the TV. Breaking it.
"You're fine, big bird," Jason says, "you're gonna be fine. Let's just try again."
Dick can't respond. The water is brushing against his upper lip. If he could respond, he's sure he might laugh again at how hopeless this all is. 
He tries again, and all he can hear is Jason saying it slid under his chair before the water completely rises above his ears. Dick's just managing to strain and keep his nose above the surface, but already if he breathes too loudly droplets will try to suck into his lungs. 
He has two wingdings left. He can barely properly aim, and he can't even hear Jason all too well either. 
He sucks in a breath and holds it just as the water rises over his nose. 
He tries. He really tries to keep his calm and aim at Jason once again with muscle memory. He's been in deathtraps before. 
Yet, the second he lifts his second to last wingding, the water stops rising right near his elbows. Just above his head. 
And how cruel is that? 
He doesn't know if he can risk this. If he aims and fires his last two wingdings completely blind like this and misses, then it's over. 
He can hold his breath longer than most. But it doesn't matter how long he can hold his breath if he's chained down just below the surface. 
Dick looks down at the shackle around his ankle, then feels the sharp wingding in his hand. 
He needs to buy time. For himself… for Jason. He needs the shackle off so he can rise above the water and aim. 
Before he can let fear talk him out of it, he lets go of the grating above him and allows himself to sink further into the water with the weight of the chain. 
His ears are ringing and he can practically feel his pulse trying to burst from his neck, but he keeps his breath locked in his lungs and he keeps his eyes trained on his ankle. 
Before he can talk himself out of it, he lets the adrenaline drive him as he plunges his own weapon into his ankle, right below the shackle. 
Blood bursts from his leg like a cloud. Agony hits like a truck. But he keeps cutting, he keeps cutting because he has to. The adrenaline helps numb it a little. But it's all he can do to keep from screaming and sucking in the blood stained water as he hits the bone. 
It takes a good few tugs and a few more desperate slices for him to finally feel the weight of the shackle and chain drop. Before he can allow what just happened—what he's just done—to hit him, he kicks up and forces himself to swim until he reaches the surface. 
When he reaches air, he's not sure if he's coughing, sobbing, or screaming. 
It hurts. It hurts. And soon enough, the water will drain him out of every single drop of his blood.
With shaking hands, he lifts himself so he's as close to the grating as possible. He has just a second to process how scared Jason looks on that chair, like he's trying to understand or process what just happened. Dick wonders if he knows what it means for Dick to be above the water. Dick wonders if Jason thought he drowned. Dick wonders if Jason saw the whole thing on the screen of a shattered TV.
Dick allows himself just a moment to mentally apologize to Jason before he gets his whole arm out of the grating and aims with perfect precision straight into the tape holding Jason's arm to the chair. 
Right then, it feels like all the strength seeps out of him. He almost falls back into the water, wheezing, but he keeps his grasp strong and closes his eyes. 
He's okay. He's okay. He's-
Water laps into his mouth and he can taste blood.
Now he knows it's sobs escaping through his teeth. 
He holds on and forces himself to ignore the blood tasting water, ignore how weak and nauseated he's becoming. He holds on until there's a sound of a gun firing on the padlock keeping the grate down. He shifts to grab the lip of the pit as Jason lifts the grate. For a second, he slips and almost falls back into the water, but then strong hands grasp under his arms and heft him out.
Next thing he knows he's on his back in a puddle of water and blood and just trying to catch his breath. 
"Holy shit, fucking- Wing? Can you hear me?" 
Jason's panicking. Dick's coughing water. He's screaming water when Jason begins to wrap a torn piece of cloth from his leather jacket around his leg. 
A tourniquet. 
Dick writes as the agony in his left leg becomes blinding with each twist Jason makes in the cloth. 
"Jason- Jason I couldn't-" Dick tries to explain, but his brain is woozy and his chest really hurts. "I didn't-"
I couldn't breathe. I didn't think. I couldn't get out. I didn't want to die. 
"My leg- my leg, Jay- I can't-"
I can't breathe. 
"Just hold on, you're going into shock-" Jason says, his voice so much weaker than what it normally is. "All of our stuff is in here- I already pinged B."
No. No, not B. Dick doesn't need Bruce. Dick doesn't need Alfred. Or the Batcave. Or the medbay. A few pills of advil. A pat on a shoulder. 
He needs- 
"Hospital," he gasps through clenched teeth as Jason bundles up his jacket and puts it under Dick's feet to elevate them. 
Foot. Foot and mangled remains of his left leg. 
"Jay-" 
"Okay," Jason agrees, standing up and running to the other side of the room where—sure enough—all of their missing items lay. 
Dick stares up at the ceiling while Jason calls for an ambulance. He listens to the shakiness to his tone and how he seems to stumble over answers he must be being asked. If Jason's this startled… it must be really bad. 
Dick wants to look, but at the same time he knows he'll throw up the second he sees. 
He takes a deep breath and tries to fight the armada of problems trying to assault him. The drowsiness. The confusion. The nausea. The pain. The shock. 
But eventually, Jason's voice becomes a drone, and soon Dick's eyes are slipping closed.
He hears his name shouted before he falls unconscious.
When the black settles, the pain doesn't go away. 
-o-o-o-o-
When Dick wakes up the first time, it's chaos. Shouting voices, a mask pressing against his face. He tries to open his eyes and figure out what's going on, but then something nudges his leg and he sees stars. He tries to crawl back to himself, but it's like he's pinned with sharp needles through butterfly wings. Before he can even try to open his eyes again through the tears, something pinches the inside of his elbow, and Dick loses himself again.
-o-o-o-o-
The second time he wakes, it's quiet. He feels like he's eaten so much honey that it has replaced his blood. His arms are heavy as he brings them to his face to rub at his blurry eyes. 
As he rubs at them, he can feel the tugging of tubes running up his nose. The pull of a needle within the crook of his elbow. As he looks around, slowly realizing where he is—slowly remembering why he's here—the heart monitor picks up speed. 
Of course, that's when a body he didn't notice until now shoots up like they have been trying and failing to catch some shut eye. 
"Bruce," Dick calls weakly as Bruce zeros in on him. Dick's throat hurts. Everything hurts. He can't feel anything below his knee.
Thankfully, as he weakly holds his arms out, Bruce gets the message. Before Dick knows it, he's being gathered into Bruce's arms so he's sitting up and clutching to Bruce like his wrinkled suit jacket is his lifeline. 
"How bad is it?" Dick asks with wobbling lips and a wobbling voice. 
Bruce stills, then his arms tighten around Dick, and that's when Dick knows it's bad. A sob tears through his throat and he closes his eyes, pressing against Bruce. He wants to crawl away and not exist. He wants Bruce to make everything okay again. 
He doesn't want to open his eyes to look. So he keeps them closed and allows his tears to stain Bruce's tie. 
"They…" Bruce starts, sounding terribly unsure, "you were in bad shape. Shock. Infection already setting in. You lost a lot of blood... They couldn't save anything below the knee."
Dick wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He knows he was panicking back there, but he also purposely cut at his ankle to… to save his leg. 
He lost it anyway. He wants to laugh. Instead he sobs harder. 
Bruce tries to reassure him with the hopes the doctors have for a prosthetic, tries to explain he already has Lucius Fox on making one fit for Nightwing, but Dick can only cry and weep and mourn until eventually, he's practically boneless. He can barely keep his eyes open as Bruce lays him back down and tells him to get some more rest. 
"Sleep, Chum, everything will get better."
Dick can't find it in himself to believe him. He sleeps anyway, if not to just pretend his entire life isn't over. 
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nikki-romero · 3 years ago
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The Wild Flower (Tomoki Matsuba x OC) Prologue
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It was finally the long-awaited moving day. I was moving into an apartment by myself. My dad helped me get the perfect apartment. The negotiations had gone smoothly and it was time to move in. I decided to walk to the new apartment to learn the new neighbourhood better.
My cousin and I had stopped and checked the map we had.
"Hmm, it looks like it's this way." My cousin, Ayame, pointed ahead of us. The pedestrian light turned green. "Come on!" She rushed across the street. With how excited she was getting, you'd think she was the one starting a new chapter of her life, so to speak.
"Wha-! Ayame!" I called after her. I quickly shoved the map into my bag before running after her. She turned around to wait for me, and her eyes widened.
"Hotaru! Watch out!!"
I looked to the side and saw a white limo heading towards me. I gasped but managed to leap out of the way before it could hit me, right into a puddle of ice-cold water.
"Hotaru! Are you alright?!" Ayame came running up to me, panicked.
"Peachy." I looked at my soaked clothing in utter dismay. Just as I was about to get up from the ground, a gentlemanly man dressed in black stepped out of the limo. A butler? I stared dubiously at him as he reached out his hand.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm great," I replied sarcastically. I had the right of way. I should not have had to escape death so narrowly. And I wasn't about to take his hand either. I shot him a nasty glare as I got up by myself.
"Your clothing... This is my fault. Allow me to make it up to you."
"What the hell was that? Don't you know how to read a road sign? Jesus Christ, you could have killed me!" I scolded him.
"You're right, I am so sorry." He bowed to me. "I'll get you a change of clothes," the man said gently.
"I don't need it," I snapped.
"Please, I insist. I can't leave a beautiful young girl looking like this. For one thing, my employer would be angry with me."
"Hotaru," Ayame whispered, "Maybe you should accept his offer. He looks like he feels really bad."
"You're too nice," I whispered back before turning back towards the butler. "Fine, whatever."
He smiled as he opened the door of the spacious limo and ushered us inside.
"My apologies. I should have stated earlier. My name is Aoi Shirafuji. I'm a butler to the Ichijo family," the butler introduced himself.
I stilled. "Ichijo?" I repeated.
"Oh, you know Mr Ichijo?" Aoi asked, looking somewhat concerned.
"No, I've just heard a lot about the Ichijo Group," I managed to force out. "The amusement parks the company has built is really quite impressive." I forced a smile. Somehow I felt like I just stepped on a landmine.
We arrived at a large and impressive mansion and Aoi took me to a room with a large full-length mirror and closets full of a wide range of clothing. "This way. Choose whichever you like."
The clothes were both my style and my size. It sent unpleasant shivers down my spine; I felt sick.
"Does a girl our age live here?" Ayame mused. I didn't answer. "Hotaru? Hey, are you okay? You seem a little tense." She furrowed her brow.
"Mm," I choked out. I didn't feel particularly eager to talk about it. "I'm... going to get dressed. Would you mind waiting outside?"
"Uh, yes, sure." Ayame knew me too well. She knew I wasn't being myself.
I took a shaky breath. Then another. Another. I took several deep breaths until I felt slightly calmer. I really didn't want to be here. Feeling like I wouldn't explode, I grabbed the first dress I saw off its hanger, not bothering to even look at it.
There was a knock on the door as I finished getting dressed.
"Yes?" I replied though I hadn't finished fastening the hook of the dress yet. It wasn't Aoi who entered the room.
"I'm Tomoki Matsuba. I'm one of the butlers here. I'm here to pick up the garments that require cleaning," the butler said. Bow-tied, black-suited and bespectacled, he exuded a rigidness befitting of a butler.
"Right. My cousin; did she...?"
"She went ahead to the garden," Tomoki responded.
"Oh." I bit my lip. Now what? I couldn't reach the clip on the back of my dress. I took yet another deep breath." Would you mind helping me fasten the hook on my dress? I can't quite reach it," I said.
"Please turn around." I did as he said and turned my back to him. He swiftly fastened the hook at the back of the dress before speaking again. "I'm going to do your laundry. Would you like some tea while you wait?"
"That would be lovely, thank you," I answered.
"This way." I followed Tomoki to the garden where Ayame was already waiting for me. She was sitting at a table, drinking from an elegant tea set.
"Kyo Aizawa. I'm a butler. Would you like anything else to drink?" Yet another butler introduced himself to me.
"The tea will be just fine, thank you," I replied formally as I sat down. Kyo promptly poured tea into the beautiful cup. "Thank you," I smiled up at Kyo once he was done.
"It's an original black tea blend using roses from this garden," he informed me.
"It smells wonderful."
"I recommend first tasting it black." A delicate pattern covered the teacup.
"This is Queen Rose, is it not?" I inquired, inspecting the cup. It suited the garden, but I was too on edge to enjoy it. Kyo didn't look the least bit surprised that I knew that.
"That's correct. It was produced in the early 18th century at the Raines factory." I nodded as I delicately held the cup and took a sip.
"How do you even know that stuff?" Ayame asked me. My only response was a small smile. Ayame cocked an eyebrow at me, inspecting my lips, and then my eyes. She gently placed the cup in its saucer and leaned over the table. "Hotaru?" she lowered her voice so only I can hear.
I shook my head. "Don't."
Ayame frowned but left it at that.
"It's delicious," I said after having tasted the tea, but the truth was I could barely taste anything. Silence fell upon the garden. Kyo didn't seem to be the talkative type as he watched over us. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another butler approaching, a charming smile on his face. This family certainly had a lot of butlers...
"What's the matter? You look so serious," he commented.
"I always look like this," I replied calmly.
"Itsuka Matsuba at your service. You met Tomoki earlier. Last name's the same," he said cheerfully.
"Brothers, I take it?"
"That's right. Now, how would you two like some freshly baked scones?"
"Scones sound nice, don't you think so, Hotaru?" she asked, a little too cheerfully.
"Thank you," I replied. We were stuck here until my clothes got cleaned so we might as well.
"The strawberry jam is made with organic strawberries from our farm, and the clotted cream from milk from our cows." Was that supposed to impress me? Without responding, I cut open the scone and took a small bite.
"It's very delicious," I said before taking another bite. After eating, I elegantly wiped my mouth with a napkin and glanced at my surroundings. The garden was well taken care of. It was filled with gorgeous flowers and the landscape was really quite breathtaking. "You have a lot of pink flowers and roses here," I noted.
"We're growing them for a celebration," Itsuki replied.
"A celebration?"
"It will be our employer's birthday in a month. And his daughter will be introduced to society on the same day," he explained. It took everything I had not to tremble. Not to react in any negative way. I swallowed.
"Is that so? I'm sure she must be wonderful," I said, keeping the bite I was feeling out of my voice.
"She is. A bit of a diamond in the rough. But that'll make training her all the more worth it." I had to keep myself from barking a laugh, and almost faltered.
"Oh? In my experience, I've found that the rough diamonds are far more valuable than refined ones." I flashed him one of my most dazzling smiles. His eyes widened.
"Oh, how do you figure?" he asked.
"I apologise for not being able to put this more delicately, but in this society, I find these 'refined'," I air quoted the word, "diamonds to be little more than sheep." Itsuki didn't hide his shock at my words, and I smirked ever so slightly. "Of course, I don't blame them. They were raised that way. You know, to follow someone else's orders; someone else's plan for their lives. It's been imprinted on them since the moment they were born and it's all they know. Whereas a diamond in the rough, as you put it, is quite rare in high society, but personally, I find it invigorating. It's like a breath of fresh air in an otherwise suffocating world to meet someone who is willing to against the status quo to do what they believe in. You could even say it's like defying gravity, which, in and of itself is already a very impressive feat." I chuckled. "But, what do I know? I'm just a teenager." I didn't fail to notice Ayame's dubious expression directed at me.
Yet another butler walked up to us, holding my freshly cleaned clothes.
"Sorry I kept you waiting," he said. I had to admit, I was taken aback by how attractive he was. But he had a certain vibe that reminded me of my brother, Eisuke, and that usually only spelt bad things. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Yuma Akagi, and I'm the Ichijo family's head butler." Yuma bowed to me.
I smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"I would like to apologize for the actions of one of our butlers today," Yuma said.
The corner of my mouth twitched. "I appreciate it. I'm just glad no one was hurt," I added. Yuma nodded.
"Meeting like this was, I think, fate. I hope... that you and I will meet again somewhere." I forced a chuckle as I looked away. If we did, I'd choke all of them. Yuma smiled significantly as he took my hand, then he gently kissed the back of it. The gesture was familiar, but it never got any easier to bear. "You were in the midst of moving. I'll have the limousine take you," he said.
"Thank you," I replied. I quietly watched Yuma give instructions to the other butlers.
After changing my clothes, Ayame and I got into the limo together with Yuma.
Ayame gave me another worried look as she was dropped off. "Hey, um, call me. Okay?"
"Sure." I nodded.
"Again, I am very sorry about today," Yuma said. It seemed like his attention was focused solely on me.
"It's alright."
"How did you find the house?"
"It was gorgeous. Absolutely breath-taking," I replied.
Yuma smiled, brimming with elegance and grace, but I could tell he wasn't actually buying a word I said.
We weren't far from the new apartment when the limousine came to a sudden stop.
"Are you alright?" Yuma's arms were around me, steadying me after the abrupt braking. I felt myself stiffen; my blood ran cold. In a panic, I pushed away from him. "Miss?"
"Sorry, I just don't handle physical contact very well." I shifted uncomfortably.
"I... apologize," Yuma said as he moved away from me. I shook my head.
"It's fine. But is there a problem?" I asked, looking away from him and out the window in an attempt to get rid of the tension in the atmosphere.
"It appears the road narrows up ahead. The car can't continue. This is as far as we can take you," Yuma explained.
"Here is fine. Thanks for bringing me this far."
"Before you go, might I ask how you found our service?" Yuma asked. An odd thing for a butler to ask.
"Oh, your service was superb." I got a sudden idea. "You're definitely on Geo's level."
"Geo?" Yuma asked. The corner of my lips tugged upwards. I got him. Hook, line, and sinker.
"My dad's butler," I replied innocently.
"Your... Dad?"
"Oh! I just realised I never introduced myself. Apologies. I'm just so used to people knowing I am. I'm Hotaru Ichinomiya."
"A pleasure, Miss Ichinomiya." Yuma smiled, but it was forced.
"I know this is probably common knowledge, but my dad, Akira, adopted both me and my brother, Eisuke. You see, my biological father abandoned me and my mother a long time ago."
Yuma's façade almost faltered, and I saw that. I was right; he knew!
"Abandoned?" Yuma asked, almost hesitantly.
"Yep. He didn't even show up for my mother's funeral after she died."
Yuma looked away. "I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps there was a reason he couldn't take care of you?"
I leaned back in my seat. "I don't care."
"You... Don't care?" God, how many more times was he going to feel inclined to make me repeat what I said?
"I don't. No excuse he could have would ever be good enough."
"I'm sure he must love you." I could tell Yuma was choosing his words very carefully without divulging too much information.
"You can't love someone you don't know. I've never even met him. Or talked to him. You see, the way I see it, blood doesn't mean anything. Genetic doesn't mean anything. I'll tell you what does mean something though: When I needed a dad, Akira was there. Akira is my dad. And my so-called father was little more than a sperm donor." Yuma almost choked on his words, and I chuckled. "Not the most delicate choice of words, but it's the truth. The thing is, you don't get to be a dad just because you share DNA. He wasn't there when I needed him the most, and he has no right to take up that role now." Yuma was speechless. "But I'm sorry to dump all of that on you like that. That was really silly and unfair of me. Please, forget I said anything." I made a show of giving a nervous laugh.
"Not at all." Yuma knew I was full of it. And I knew he knew that, but he didn't say anything more.
"Well, it's getting dark. I really should be going."
"Of course." He got out of the car before I did and held the door open for me. I bowed politely to him and turned to leave. I was happy to see the moving truck in front of the building when I finally got there.
"Excuse me. I'm sorry I'm so late. I'm Hotaru Ichinomiya."
"We've brought everything inside. Have a great day, Miss." With that, the movers left. I stood still for a moment and frowned. They brought everything inside? I didn't have to guess how they did that. I had a really bad feeling about this. I just hoped to god I was wrong. I inserted my key and unlocked the door.
"Welcome home, Miss Ichinomiya."
I wasn't wrong...
I was unable to hide my disdain as the butlers bowed their heads gracefully. I slammed the door shut behind me. The composure I put so much effort into keeping all day crumbled in an instant. I stared at them, not saying anything.
"We're here to serve you. Starting today." Aoi said. The butlers brought me slippers. I glared at the slippers, then at them, and crossed my arms.
"Well. I wish I could say I'm surprised," I snapped scornfully. I slipped my shoes off, not bothering with the slippers as I walked into the living room and sat down on my sofa. Resting my elbow on the armrest, I pressed my forefinger against my temple and my thumb beneath my chin. "Well go ahead. Give me the whole speech about why you're here."
Itsuki cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Do you remember when I mentioned our employer's daughter?" he asked.
"Uh-huh."
"That girl..." Itsuki started, only to have his sentence finished by Tomoki.
"... is you." I didn't respond. "But... you already knew that."
"And that surprises you, how? I have the power, money and resources to do just about anything. You really think I'd go through life being oblivious and naïve without looking into who my father is?"
"You're going to be a sophisticated woman by the time of our employer's birthday," Kyo said. Sophisticated. I could socialise quite well in and I knew how to conduct myself, but there were many in high society who would argue that I wasn't quite "sophisticated" or "traditional" enough. Men in high society liked controlling everything, and I had a reputation for going against the tide. But I've never been bothered by that before and I wasn't about to start now.
"Right. Your employer, Kazuma Ichijo. My so-called father."
"Yes." Aoi smiled. I bet women were putty in his hands with that smile. The stupid ones anyway.
I didn't say anything, and the tension in the air grew ever more palpable. I didn't take my eyes off the butlers either.
As the glaring continued, the front door opened and Mr Head Butler walked in.
"Why, hello there, Miss Ichinomiya," Yuma grinned as he unceremoniously locked the door.
"Oh, great. The cavalry's here," I said sarcastically.
"Yuma, she knows," Aoi said.
Yuma grinned. It was a sinister grin; the same one Eisuke got whenever he was plotting something. "I figured as much. Everything you said in the limo... You knew all along who Mr Ichijo is."
"What did she say in the limo?" Itsuki asked, curiously.
I snorted. "Believe me, if I'd known you were Ichijo butlers before I got in that limo, I never would have accepted your half-assed offer. But then again, something tells me whether I accepted it or not, we'd still all be here right now."
"Enough. I cannot allow and Ichijo to utter such vulgar words," Tomoki said with a scowl.
I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Oh yes? Try and stop me, four-eyes."
His scowl turned into an expression of both shock and offence.
"Well as fun as this has been, everybody out. Before I report you for break in and entering."
"I didn't expect you'd treat us like crooks. Not when you're the one violating your lease." Yuma held out a piece of paper.
I snatched the paper from his hand and skimmed through the contract until my eyes stopped at a particular 'special feature'. "Personal butler?" I read out loud. And right at the bottom was Akira's signature. My dad wasn't stupid. No way would he have signed this without checking every detail and have the family lawyer go over it for emphasis. Which could only mean he knew about this and didn't tell me.
"We had you come to the house to make the idea more palatable," Aoi said.
"Yes, yes. You set me up. I figured that out hours ago." I got up. "I don't believe this," I mumbled as I grabbed my phone and went into my room. I slammed the door shut and furiously dialled my dad's number.
"Yes?" He didn't look at the caller ID before answering.
"Hi, Dad. It's me," I said in a voice so sweet it sounded sickening even to me.
"Hotaru! I was going to call you in the morning. Have you settled in?" he asked.
"Yes, about that... Did the lease for my new apartment perhaps come with a tiny detail you forgot to mention?" I spoke through clenched teeth.
"The lease?" Akira remained silent for a few moments as he thought. "Oh! You must be talking about the butler service. It was a special they had just for your apartment. I figured having a butler would make your life a little easier."
My eyebrow twitched as I closed my eyes in exasperation. "So you did know about it."
"Of course. You think I'd sign something like that without thoroughly checking every word on it?"
"And you didn't think to warn me about it?" I breathed.
Akira paused. "You're upset..."
"Damn right I'm upset! Dad, you've been duped!"
"What are you talking about?"
"Those butlers! I wouldn't be surprised if they disguised themselves as real estate agents. They probably played on your worry as my dad, too."
"Hotaru, you're not making any sense."
"They're Ichijo butlers! They orchestrated this whole thing! The apartment, the lease, the butler service. All of it! All so they could, and I quote, 'turn me into a sophisticated woman' for his birthday party."
I heard Akira breathe hard over the receiver in an attempt to maintain his composure. "I'm calling Yuzuru."
"What's he going to do? They're practically untouchable, and not because they work for Ichijo. They planned everything to the finest detail and slipped through all the right loopholes. Everything on the lease is legal and you knew about the butler service when you signed it, so we can't even sue them for not explaining certain details on the contract. There's nothing we can do."
Akira paused. "You're right. But there's nothing on the lease about you following their rules. No conditions about you taking any kind of lessons from them. I doubt I need to tell you this, but you don't dance to the sound of their pipes. You dance to yours."
I smirked, relaxing a bit. "You know it, Daddy."
"Good. I'll call you tomorrow. Love you." I could hear the smile in his voice.
"Love you, too."
I took a deep breath before opening my door. Of course they were still there, and they likely heard every word I said to my dad, too. I took one annoyed look at them and moved to the kitchen.
"All sorted out?" Yuma asked sarcastically as he followed me into the kitchen.
"Why bother asking when you heard my entire conversation," I retorted.
There was a moment of silence before Yuma doubled over with laughter.
"I think this will be very interesting indeed," he said as he looked at me with amusement.
I didn't bother responding as I put the kettle on; nothing good could possibly come from interacting with him. I turned around and leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing my arms over my chest.
Yuma's sinister smile returned. I raised my eyebrows in a motion for him to get to the point.
"All you have to do is accept our training on behalf of our dear employer. It's only a month," Itsuki said.
My eyes flitted to him. "No," I said flatly before turning my back to them.
"You had etiquette lessons, but we need to make doubly sure you didn't miss anything. Not to mention kick that flighty nature of yours. Otherwise, you'd just be an embarrassment," Yuma replied with a broad smile.
I barked a laugh. "Wow. That is just hilarious." I turned back to him. "I already told you how I feel about him. And I know you know I meant every word. But just in case you're still processing, allow me to break it down for you. I can barely stomach the thought of breathing the same air as your oh-so-wonderful employer. He can go fuck himself for all I care. And you would be damn lucky if I decided not to embarrass him and his company on purpose, which, by the way, I'm still undecided on." Tomoki opened his mouth to say something. I pointed my finger at him without looking at him. "You say one word about my language, I swear to god I will punch you."
Yuma sighed, exasperated. "How you feel about him doesn't matter. We made a promise to him and we intend to keep it."
I snorted. "Good luck with that." I turned back to the now boiled kettle and prepared some camomile tea. God knows I needed it.
"Alright, it's time you choose," Yuma said. I could hear the amused smirk in his voice.
"Oh, I get a choice, do I?" I retorted.
"Who would you like to be your butler?" Aoi asked.
Next Chapter
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angelsswirl · 4 years ago
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Vellichor
The One With Very Chaotic Pool Party
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"Sugar, we're going down swinging."
Peyton knocked on the door harshly, "Ryland! Hurry the fuck up! Everyone's already here and I haven't even gotten to shower!"
A huff came from behind the locked door, "Go use the one in moms' room!"
"Oh! I can't believe I hadn't thought of that!" Peyton rolled her eyes, even though her older sister wouldn't see it.
"See, there you go."
"That was sarcasm, dipshit. Mom is in there."
"Peyton! Don't call your sister a dipshit!" Jisoo yelled from somewhere in the house.
"How did she even hear that?"
Ryland finally exited the bathroom a few seconds later. Her hair was tied back in a immaculate ponytail with a baby blue scrunchie that corresponded with the rest of her hot weather outfit.
Peyton glared at the young woman, "What were you even doing in there? You look exactly the same?"
Ryland gasped, terrified, she quickly backed into the bathroom again and slammed the door shut.
"Sleep with your eyes open." Peyton muttered at the locked door.
"Peyton! Stop threatening your sister!" Jisoo yelled again.
"What the hell?!" Peyton yelped.
You frowned as you left your bedroom, Kaleb sat on your hip, his swim trunks and rashgaurd coincidentally matching Ryland's baby blue outfit.
"Your mom's right. You need to stop threatening your sister with bodily harm when she does something you don't like."
Peyton's frown deepened, "It wasn't a threat. It was a suggestion. I'd hate for it to be an unfair fight."
You just stared at your youngest daughter, "You know, when Lia dropped you on your head as a baby I didn't really think it would manifest itself into this."
Peyton pouted, "Lia dropped me?!"
"Well, technically it was Jisoo and you landed on the bed. Just..head first. In your mother's defense, she didn't know Lia was going to jump onto her stomach. You were on her chest. It was like those big air blob things you see at summer camp on a lake. It was actually kind of funny. You thought it was too while you were in the air. After you landed, not so much."
"And somehow I still love you." Peyton deadpanned. In all honesty, that story made a whole lot of sense.
"I love you too!"
Kaleb tugged on the collar of your shirt lightly, "Build?"
You smiled at your youngest, "Yeah, we can build. I think mama moved your legos outside, is that okay?"
Kaleb thought about it for a second then nodded. He didn't care where his legos were as long as he got to use them.
You urged Peyton along one more time, before setting off to the backyard.
~���~
"You're going to burn a whole through the poor kid's head if you don't stop staring." Sana said as she pushed the meat around the grill some more. She didn't know what she was doing really. But she was precariously watching a YouTube video with instructions. YouTube University to the rescue once again.
"She wants to defile my child. I know this as fact. That's all I was thinking about at that age." Jisoo said without breaking her gaze.
"And yet, you remained a virgin until 27. Funny how stuff like that works itself out." Irene spoke up, she shooed Sana out of the way of the grill and set about fixing things.
"If I lost my virginity at 27, how would I have had Lia? Oh, you were joking." Jisoo pouted.
"Got it in one." Irene's words dripped sarcasm, "I thought you got over that. Seulgi and I met at 19 and 18, you didn't seem to have a problem about that then."
"I was also 19 and neither you or Seulgi are my fucking daughter. How would you feel if Maya just suddenly walked into your house claiming your sworn enemy's kid was her mate?"
"I killed all my enemies back in the late 90's."
"Could you give me two seconds of sincerity, Irene? Please." Jisoo's shoulders slumped.
Irene rolled her eyes, "Is Maya happy in this scenario?"
Jisoo looked as though she didn't want to answer that question, "Well...yeah."
"Then I'd be happy for her. Like you should be with Ryland."
Sana nodded along with Irene's statement, "As far as I can tell, neither Rosè or Taylor are bad people. Ryalnd is happy. Shouldn't that be all that matters?"
Jisoo huffed defeatedly, "Fine. You're right. I'm going to go talk to the kid."
Jisoo practically stomped off in the direction of the teenager.
Irene looked on with a proud smile, "You know, Sana? I think our little girl is finally growing up." She wiped a fake tear from her eye.
"The ribs are burning." A voice stated from the side of them.
"Shit!"
"Oh hey, Jennie. When did you get here?"
~•~
"Ryland, do you mind if I scare the shit out of your girlfriend? Thank you." Before Ryland could respond, Jisoo dragged Taylor away by the arm.
Taylor stood up straighter and puffed out her chest, "Hello, Mrs. Kim. My name is Taylor Bae-Park and I-"
"Look, kid. I don't need all of that. I just need to know a few things. Do you love my daughter?"
"With every single breath I take."
Jisoo tried to keep her scowl to a minimum.
"Are you treating her right?"
"I like to think so."
"Are you pressuring her into anything she doesn't want to do?"
"Of course not."
Jisoo sighed, "That's...good to hear. Alright, if you end up going all the way with this thing then so be it. Just promise me this, if she ever starts acting like...well, herself and you can't take it anymore, just bring her back. Her mom and I are use to it."
Taylor nodded stiffly then saluted, "You have my word!"
"Did you just sal-you didn't-I'm not..whatever." Jisoo took a sip of the beer she had completely forgotten was in her hand.
Taylor began to walk away, but Jisoo stopped her, "Hey, Taylor? Tell Chaeyoung I said 'Hi'." Taylor nodded with a smile, then jogged back to the edge of the pool.
Jisoo stayed rooted to the spot, almost jumping out of her skin when arms encircled themselves around her waist.
"That was very hot." You practically purred into Jisoo's ear, "You being all protective mama bear. It's a shame we're hosting this little get together, because if we weren't I'd get down on my knees for you and-"
"Okay! Why don't you put a pin in that thought for now, while I go completely submerged myself in the pool for about 10 minutes, yeah?" Jisoo shuffled out of your arms frantically.
You only laughed hysterically as Jisoo awkwardly hobbled to the pool edge then jumped straight in.
"20 years later. Still got it." You gave yourself a mental pat on the back.
~•~
"Jesse Kim! You are way too old for me to have to tell you to stop standing on tables." Lisa shouted up at her son. He had always been a climber. He had given her and Jennie multiple heart attacks as a baby.
Jesse only smiled charmingly at his mother, then set about continuing to do what he was doing, "Friends, Family! I have an announcement to make!"
He had managed to catch everyone's attention, though most of them probably wanted to see if Lisa would throw a shoe at him to get him down.
"As you all know, I was going to go into my second year of college at Julliard, but what you don't know is that last week I got a signed a record deal with Columbia records!" He smiled brightly.
The rest of the partygoers clapped enthusiastically.
"But they suck."
"Peyton!"
"Not only that, but after talking with my 'rents, I've decided to say fuck college and I'm going to perform full time."
"You just couldn't keep it PG, could you?" Lisa took a long sip of her chilled wine. Jesse shook his head with a happy smile.
There's a scraping of a lawn chair against pavement and a dissatisfied huff. No one really notices accept for the people closest.
Jisoo moved to go talk to her oldest daughter, but stopped when a hand is placed on her shoulder.
Jennie shook her head subtly, "I think I have some aunting to do on this one."
Jisoo looked a bit skeptical, but let Jennie walk off in Lia's direction nonetheless, "Alright, but come get me if you need me."
"I got this, Chu."
Lia had stormed around the house to the front stoop. She sat on the step with a huff. An angry tear hit her cheek just before being forcibly wiped away.
"What's up, Li?" Jennie sat on the step next to her. She had a feeling she already knew what the problem was, but it wouldn't do her any good to assume and be wrong.
"...I was supposed to be like you and Aunt Seulgi. But no, I just had to get that stupid disease and it just had to ruin my fucking voice." Lia squeezed her eyes shut to prevent the oncoming spillage of tears. There's an idle throb in her throat as if to taunt her.
Jennie rubbed her back softly, "I know that this is hard for you, Kid. If I knew Jess had planned on doing that, I would have talked him out of it. You know how he gets."
Lia only shrugged and shook her head, "It's whatever. What's done is done. Peyton commited to SUNY. I should be used to it."
"I don't think you should have to get used to your life passing you by. You're not a failure. So, what? You can't sing anymore, but that's not all you are. You're a successful youth soccer coach. You just graduated college. You're completely independent of your parents. Those are all things to celebrate."
Lia nodded softly. Jennie did have a couple of points, "It's just...hard."
"I know, Li, but you're not alone. You've got me, your parents, your siblings, and all of your other family and friends to help."
"Yeah, okay." Lia nodded.
"Now, you want to get back to this party?"
Lia nodded resolutely, "Yeah. Mama said I have to beat Taylor in a game of Chicken Fight to assert my dominance."
Jennie only sighed, "Yeah, that sounds about Jisoo."
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texasthegreatdestroyer · 8 years ago
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One Heart, Two Souls: FFX Fan fic
Chapter 1: Part 1.
Cold… That was just one of the things I felt. It was certainly an improvement from five minutes ago.
Then, my lungs had filled with salt water. I remember vomiting it up with what I presumed to be blood, as it left an iron flavor in my mouth.
What a fabulous combination. Blood and seawater. At some point, I must have hit my stomach really hard, that would probably explain the mix of blood and bile.
But what did I have in me to care? My feelings had been washed with a majority of my blood in the sea. The same blood that poured out of my wounds.
The wounds that reminded me of my poor decisions, my failures, and of course, my death. Dying came to me fast, but ended so slowly. I can still feel the sick irony, as the god of the corrupt religion laughs in my face. Waiting, regenerating, plotting which of it's followers to kill next. I felt bitter, but that bitterness turned to sweet salvation and sugar coated numbness, well mentally that was.
The right side of me hurt like hell. Something around the wounds made me hurt. Seawater maybe? No, this felt grainy. My wounds stung and my body ached.
It seemed like every time I tried to move a muscle, it felt like the limb attached to it was being severed from the rest of my body.
I wasn't sure what was worse, my increasing body aches? My inability to open my eyes? Or the the slight but selfish contempt I had for two people I called my best friends?
My eyes, I need to open them. I can hate myself later. I did eventually tried to open my eyes, but when I did, my right one wouldn't open.
The blood on my eye started to clot and eventually scabbed up enough to keep me from forcing it open.
I did manage to get my left eye open though. What I saw was… sort of dark. My good eye and bad eye stung. Using what I knew so far, it was sand that was irritating my eye and wounds.
Somehow, I had face planted into sand. When I figured this out, I lifted my head up quickly. I had finally made it to shore.
I wasn't sure how I ended up here, or in the middle of the ocean for that matter.
I found myself on the beach of a coastal city. It was a big city, but it couldn't have been Bevelle.
I had been all over that city, and knew every landmark, but none of the knees around me looked familiar.
It didn't take me long to figure out where I was, as I noticed that it was busy with machina.
Could this be what I think this could be? Is this Jecht's Zanarkand?
This meant I was able to fulfill my promise to Jecht, but worth how I was feeling, I spat at the idea of fulfilling the promise, as I still felt contempt him and Braska leaving me behind.  Leaving me alone.
As I looked around, I noticed somehow staring at me. It was a child. He looked to be six or seven, but that was not the key thing that stood out about him. He looked like Jecht.
The only thing I could mutter out to him was, “Who… are you?”
The boy looked at me horrified before he ran screaming. “Maaaaa!”. Instinctively, I got up quickly and grabbed his wrist, but that just made him scream more.
“LET GO OF ME!”
“Wait! I think I know your father!”
At hearing this, the boy kept quiet.
“Is your name Tidus?”
The boy was about to answer, but someone came out of their home. An elder looking woman she was. She shouted at us from afar.
The whole beach was made up from boat houses, and she lived in one.
“What's going on over there!?”
We made the mistake of looking over there, it just her yell at us.
“Are you alright young boy?”
She stared at me, then decided it was fit to yell at me next. I didn't really appreciate the attention.
“You! You leave that poor little boy alone! I'll call the police!”
I had no idea what she was talking about. What was a police, or the police? I didn't stay to find out. With the little energy I had, I got up and ran.
To my surprise, the boy followed. We eventually made it somewhere where we'd be safe to talk in private.
“You're Jecht's son, are you not?”
The boy flinched at my question. I could tell that just his father's name made him sick.
“Everyone knows my stupid old man, what makes you special?”
“I knew him on a personal level. I spent three months traveling with him. We were friends. He asked me to find you and your mother.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I'm only here to bear news off your father to you and your mother, and to help out with you as needed.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“Look, it's hard to explain. I just need you to trust me.”
There was silence among us. The boy did finally reply after a couple minutes. All though it was monotone, out was the answer I hoped for.
“Fine.”
I followed him as he guided me to his home. He lived in a fancy little boat house, perfect for a small family of three.
Despite it being a nice, sunny day, there seemed to be something dark and unbecoming of the bright, little house.
The sound of the child's voice snapped me out of my daze.
“I'm going to go get my mom, wait here.”
He opened the door, the inside looked unwelcoming. The boy continued into the dark pit of despair called a doorway. I had to advert my attention to something else to keep myself from running in after him, as I was terrified of what may have been lurking in abyss.
I caught the eyes of the neighbors next door. They were a young, attractive couple. Looks of terror formed on their faces, so like Tidus.
Was my condition really that revolting? As I continued to think about it, the smell of rotten flesh wafted from my body.
I looked down at my decomposing wounds to see that I was squirting blood everywhere as that people next door were watching and reacting. It had occurred to me that my condition was that bad.
My focus was interrupted with Tidus’s return. He walked over to me, but I kept my eyes glued to the dark corridor, waiting, expecting a beautiful woman to illuminate the dark vibes I was getting from interior. Besides, Jecht was supposedly the best blitzer in Zanarkand, and maybe even the world, he would have to have a wife prettier than any of the gorgeous women who flocked to him at the end of the game, or anywhere he was seen.
Finally, a wisp appeared in the doorway. What I saw left me in shock and aww. It was a woman, she would have been beautiful if it wasn't for a couple issues.
Unlike a normal person who emerges in order of a silhouette to a full human body. She starred as a wisp and came out a silhouette.
She was freakishly skinny, her skin stretched across her body like tight clothing. From a literal standpoint, she looked like flesh and bones.
You could see every curve of her skeletal system. The woman was as pale as a ghost. She looked very sickly, almost as if you even slightly touched her, she would shatter.
However, what stood out about her the most was her eyes. They were a shiny, bright, blue, yet appeared to be incredibly dull.
She had darkly outlined bags under her eyes as if she never slept. She looked like the creation made by a depressed artist who felt like spilling their feelings onto the paper.
Her eyes were glazed over like freshly cut glass. She looked like someone who would smile a lot, but not as of now. The one thing the glimmer in her eyes and her smile had in common other than being beautiful. Gone.
Disappeared with Jecht himself, kept in the pocket of his chaos torn pants, as he walked to his demise in the hands of the culprit himself, as he would turn a small family of three into a smaller family of two, leaving it in shambles.
It was very clear she herself was lying on a deathbed, created by her husband's absence and her inability to go on. Her death would be by her own weak, trembling hands. The woman in her frail state spoke.
“I'm sorry, I can't help you. We don't have any medical supplies to take care of you with.”
“That's not why I'm here ma’am.”
“Oh? My son said differently.”
We both stared at the boy. He replied to his unwanted attention.
“Hey, someone had to say it. You look like a walking corpse.”
His mother of course didn't approve of his comment.
“Tidus! That's impolite, apologize.”
He hung his head low in reaction to the unwanted reaction before he spoke again.
“... Sorry.”
“It's not a problem.”
His mother's focus shifted back towards me now.
“Why are you here then?”
My heart dropped. I wasn't  ready to make things worse, but I made a promise.
“I've come bearing unfortunate news… I'm here to inform you that your husband's death has been confirmed… I'm sorry for your
loss.”
She fell to the ground shrieking.
“I knew he was gone, but no one ever found his body! Knowing this, I believed he wasn't dead, that he'd come back to us, my sweet, sweet Jecht! That's been my only hope for months!”
I wanted to comfort her, but I wasn't sure what I could do for her. She had just lost her husband. Although I was also grieving his death, I didn't have it in me to cry.
Looking down at Jecht's wife, I could tell deep down, her heart bleed sorrow, rage, and love. Love that was clearly not reserved for her son.
He tried to go comfort his mother, but when bee did, she just about snapped his head off clean.
“Mommy, it'll be alright-”
“DON'T TOUCH ME!”
She harshly ripped her hands from her son's gentle grasp. I was stunned to see how she treated him. Tidus began to cry, but it only managed to make matters worse for him. She replied with venomous words.
“Grow up and stop crying! You're being pathetic! You HATE him! You said son yourself, so why are you crying!?”
She clearly had a short fuse. The boy cowered. He wiped his tears at his mother's command. He stayed long enough to glare at me, then stomped into the house and slammed the door behind him.
I wanted to tell her the way she was treating her son was wrong, but I couldn't risk her taking offence to what I would say and not let me see him again, so I kept quiet.
Yet again, I kept my eyes attached to the door, while recognizing the so called fruits of my labor.
They were rotten and stunk of failure. A sad and emotionally abused son and a distant mother, that's what was gained.
His mother whispered random words, they sounded of suicide. I looked to find het skin even more tightly stretched across her skull as her eyes got big.
Suddenly the air begun to fill with a bad smell, something other than rotten flesh. It was urine.
I looked below the woman to find a dark yellow puddle under her feet, and a wet spot on her jeans. You could tell she didn't drink much by the discoloration of her… nevermind, too much detail.
I was shocked at the site, and also disgusted. I've had to bear news of fallen comrades to their families numerous times in the past, but I've never gotten this kind of reaction before.
I didn't think grief pissing one's self was anything more than a tale the higher ups told the cadets to disturb them in the warrior monks, but she did so.
I find it funny that this had to happen with the wife of my goner of a best friend. I guess life decided since it was a special occasion, that the reaction had to be equally special. Simply put, a godly, almighty, “Fuck you” from the world to me.
I'm horrible with emotions, I always have been. I watched as wet comps of years ran down her face powerless.
Not too long afterwards, she had passed out. I hadn't noticed, but when I looked away earlier, Tidus had pulled up a stool and watched us from the window of the door.
It took him awhile to move the stool and come outside, but he finally did. He came at me, pushing, hitting, and screaming.
“GET AWAY FROM MOMMY!”
Hee growled at me as I restrained him. I got him inside and locked him in his room long enough to get his mother inside.
I couldn't just leave her to lay in a puddle of her own filth, so I picked her up and took her to the bathroom.
I let Tidus out, asked him if he could help me get his mother cleaned up. After enough fussing, he agreed to help.
There were many weird contraption in the bathroom, but I got her unclothed, and put her in the one that looked closer to a bath.
I wasn't surprised to see that she loomed entirely like a skeleton. However, I couldn't help but stare at her bony structure.
Of course, when Tidus came in, he took my intentions to be impure.
“Stop staring at mommies chest, you creep.”
“That wasn't what I was looking at, I swear!”
“Uh Huh… sure.”
“I promise! She's just… really skinny.”
“Mommy doesn't eat like she used to. She doesn't really eat at all. The doctor told her she needed to start eating more, or she would get sicker, but she never listened. I try to get her to eat, but she won't eat for me!”
He sounds like a mother himself, complaining about trying to get the children to eat right. He stared at me quietly as if he was waiting for something. I wasn't sure what he wanted from me.
“Aren't you going to turn the water on?” He said snarkily.
I wasn't sure how this thing worked, I turned the left knob hesitantly. His mother began to shiver uncontrollably. The boy put his hand in the water.
“It's cold genius! No wonder she's freezing!”
I turn the left knob back to its starting point, turning the water off, then I turn the right knob. I saw steam coming up, so I automatically thought a win for me, but then she flinched in discomfort.
He sticks his hand in a second time, but pulls back immediately.
“Ow!”
He looked up at me and scowled.
“Are you trying to cook her?! You're hurting Mommy!”
“I'm really sorry!”
“No! Just get out!”
I fulfill his wishes and go out to look around for a fresh towel and a set of clothing. It doesn't take Tidus long to call me back in there. He has me watch over her long enough to go grab some things. Tidus comes back with some rubbing alcohol, duct tape and some napkins.
“Stay still!”
“Why?”
“Well, I have to patch you up! I can't just have you bleeding everywhere! You're cleaning the blood up by the way, especially on the carpet, if you don't, mom will be maaaad!”
“That's noted, but are you sure using duct tape and napkins is a good idea?”
“Are you being ungrateful?”
I kept quiet. Duct tape and napkins were at least something. That and probably a better alternative than the local hospitals. Them trying to get my medical records would have been one giant headache all together.
I watch him and cringe at the sting of him stumping a lot of rubbing alcohol on my wounds. I had to bite my lip to keep myself from cursing up a storm. Seriously? Did this kid have no restraint? No idea how painful rubbing alcohol is?
He eventually moved on to putting the fanfic napkins on me and tapping the wounds up.
“You're very lucky mom was talking about throwing these out, or else I would have used paper napkins... But still, keep those hidden just in case.”
“Duly noted.”
He finally did finish, and to my surprise, his method wasn't all that shabby. The bleeding stopped, and the wounds were cleaned. My only issue is that he taped my bread entirely to keep the napkin concealed, this is going to hurt to pull off later.
I continued looking around for what I needed. I didn't take me long, I found her clothes in her dresser, I avoided the panty and bra drawer entirely, I already had taken her out of her clothes and had to put her back in them, I wasn't about to be the guy to look through her potentially sexually arousing undergarments.
I was making my way down the hall to the bathroom when Tidus comes running my direction. I knew something had to be wrong.
“Quick! Help me! Mommies head went under the water and I can't get het up!”
I run into the bathroom quickly and pull her up from the water. If I'd waited any longer, she would have drown. I sit her up long enough to put the towel and clothes down, then hold onto her and kept her head above the water long enough for Tidus to finish cleaning her up.
Afterwards, Tidus grabbed her forty clothes and stuck them in one of the two matching machina. I would later find out that they were a clothe washer and dryer.
I drained the automatic bath and took my time drying her off properly, then put her clothes back on her and carried her to her bed, then I tucked her in.
By the end of this, I stunk of not only rancid flesh and body odor, but a touch of urine. I considered using the bath, but it wasn't my place to do so without permission, so I just left it alone.
Tidus and I sat on the deck quietly. It was an hour before he went in to check on his mother. I could tell he was worried.
When he came back out, we spoke briefly, but the awkwardness turned to silence after the following conversation.
“Is your mother alright?”
“Why do you care?”
His words were cold and untrustworthy. What I said next probably didn't help matters any.
“I wouldn't know what to do if she dies.”
“Don't say she's going to die!”
After a while, we went back inside. There, he spoke to me for a second time. I wasn't off the hook just yet. I was to be thoroughly investigated by a seven-year old. First a doctor, next a detective. This kid has quite the future ahead of him.
“Why were you sent here by my father?”
“I was sent here to bear news off your father's passing, also to help out with you if necessary, in other words, your father's will.”
“... How did he die?”
“He died a hero's death-”
“Don't call my father a hero! He's not!”
There was a pause of silence between us. A few seconds later, I heard shuffling coming down the hallway. I watched as the thin lining of his mother appeared from within the shadows. Instantly, I got up, my first instinct being to guide her back to her room.
When we got back to her room, she said she wanted to talk to me in private, so I shut the door. That was a big mistake.
- To be continued.
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