It didn't happen as often anymore. His oldest was "all grown up" and didn't need him as much anymore. So it was strange when Dad started going to bed alone and waking up with his boy glued to his side.
He was always awake first, just laying there with his head over his Dad's heart to hear the beat. As soon as Dad was awake, his oldest would offer to make breakfast and leave the room before either of them could talk about what was going on.
Finally though, one day, Dad woke up with his arms wrapped around his boy. He tightened his grip before his oldest even had a chance. "What is going on?"
He spilled everything. How he was struggling to sleep alone after going through something at college. How he would sneak in here around 1 am to attempt at rest. How he actually didn't really sleep in here either, just he could relax and rest for a while.
Dad held him through his words and rubbed his arms sweetly. "Why don't we try some sleepy tea tonight? It's what I did when you were a kid, and it worked well. And you can start the night in here, okay? We can even pull out a book if you want a bedtime story."
He'd meant that last part as a joke mostly, but the look of desperation and relief in his boy's eyes told him that this wasn't a joking matter. "I'd like that." "Then we'll do it."
A/N : Thank you so much to everyone who supported me through writing this!! So excited to start it!! Constructive criticism is appreciated but please be kind <3
A/N2 : Gwuh sorry it's so short. Just wanted to get something out and finally start this!!! I want to make chapters from here on 1.5k+ words :3
Word count : 927
TW : mild description of nonfatal gunshot wounds, prescription drugs
“It was never personal,” Adler reassured as he reached down and gripped the 1911 at his hip. He raised it up and aimed expertly for Bell’s head, but with their own experience they drew their own weapon and attempted to aim. Bell wasn’t fast enough as Adler pulled the trigger when they were merely pointing towards his knee.
And time froze. Adler stood still for a moment before pressing his brows together in confusion and slowly lowering his weapon. Bell stood on the cliffside completely still, eyes focussed on Adler, gun aimed at his leg. The taller holstered his weapon and tilted his head to inspect Bell from afar. As he dared to take a couple steps forward he heard a ringing in his ears. No, not a ringing. A beeping. An incessant unrelenting beeping. Adler pressed his palm to his temple and rubbed to try and make the noise go away but it was to no avail. While he was distracted time resumed and Bell’s bullet connected with his knee as Adler’s connected with their head. Adler felt the splitting pain hit his kneecap for only a moment before he woke up in his bedroom, drenched in sweat and his watch alarm going off on the nightstand next to him. As his mind adjusted to being conscious he felt his knee ache once again.
Adler groaned as he propped himself up and with an uncoordinated hand began blindly searching for the source of the noise. He knocked something that sounded like a pill bottle over before finally locating the watch and clicking the buttons frantically until the thing restarted its timer and shut up. The newfound silence eased Adler’s annoyance but now there was nothing to distract from his damned knee.
Adler felt like he was on autopilot as he forced himself out of bed and turned the lamp on so he could locate the pills he dropped. The dream came back to him as he opened the pill bottle and tapped out a couple of the little Oxycodone tablets. He’d been reliving that moment every night for the past two weeks. Each time was always the same, yet each time he found himself confused before the bullet struck him. Adler chalked it up to dream logic as he tossed his head back and swallowed the pills dry.
With a heavy sigh he set the bottle down and actually looked at the clock. 6 AM wasn’t a bad time to start a day full of nothing, right? Surely not. Not when he’d be taking Penicillin in another two hours and more Oxy in four. Adler ignored the crutches the doctor provided for him as he hobbled across his room and headed for his closet to throw on some day clothes. As he got dressed in his usual slacks and quarter button up he couldn’t help but think that there wasn’t really a point in getting dressed if all he would do is sit around his house for the fourteenth day in a row. Maybe he would read a couple books or watch some television but other than that he had nothing he could do.
“Damn leg..” he muttered as he resumed hobbling, this time to the kitchen. The pain stung deep and spread from his upper shin up to his lower thigh but he grit his teeth and refused to acknowledge it despite no one being around to hear him grunt and groan in pain. It didn’t take him long to cook two sunny side up eggs for himself along with a bit of bacon. Adler sat at his kitchen island and ate in the dull dimness of his home.
He wasn’t sure why but ever since he’d been sent home he nearly never turned the lights on. All that lit his house was the natural light from the plentiful windows. The place was big but hardly lived in as he’d bought it for him and his ex-wife when they first married. Now the walls were barren of their past framed pictures and the furniture seemed oddly placed like there were only parts to a whole set left. Of course there was also the extra bedroom. The one which his son had been in. Now it was merely collecting dust with the blinds drawn shut and the curtains constantly closed. Adler didn’t even give it so much as a glance when he passed by it in the hallway nowadays.
The man shook his head as he pushed all of those thoughts away. The divorce, having to move everything out, the constant visual reminder that he had been missing something. Adler rinsed his plate and set it in the dishwasher. He was going to sit in the living room and watch VHS but the slowly rising sun through the window over the sink caught his eye. He did still go outside -the occasional sit in his backyard or the rare moments spent on his porch swing enjoying the light breeze- but he hadn’t gone to town. Adler’s brows furrowed as he stared out the window a little longer. Was this what he was going to amount to for the next few months? At this rate he was going to end up out of shape and floundering when he got back into the field. He had to do something with himself in the meantime.
Adler was glad the painkillers had settled in as he walked with a purpose into his bedroom to retrieve his sunglasses and wristwatch. He was going to walk around like a normal person whether the doctor liked it or not.
For the first time since their untethering, Vol’jin and Orla find time to stop and enjoy an old pastime. Turns out, hot springs feel better when you’re alive.
NSFW themes, no smut though
“Hn, the bath staff brought ma’ snack?”
“Snack? Is that what I’ve been reduced to?” Orla softly teased the large blue troll as she slipped into the steaming spring.
“Reduced? Said who?”
Without missing a beat the troll ensnared her waist with his much larger hand and pulled her into his lap. A rumble bubbled in his chest as she readjusted to her new seat.
Despite clearly feeling his exposed cock caught beneath her thighs she felt no need to address it. She was content to rest against his fuzzy chest and let herself relax. His tusk grazed her ear as he bowed his head to press his lips to her temple.
“Been awhile since we relaxed jus’ like this.”
“Yeah, you were dead last time.”
The troll guffawed, loud and unrestrained as if others weren’t around to hear. He gave her hip a firm squeeze.
“Ya, suppose a’ was, no? Inna’ manner of way.” With a mischievous grin the troll licked a thick, long wet stripe up Orla’s cheek. “Though, a’ seem ta remember other games.”
Orla shook her head to his advances, though grasped the hand he had on her breast and slid it towards her neck. “Not tonight, please.” She murmured against his chest, “my bones ache. I’m not used to feeling so much of the world anymore.”
“…havin’ yer soul tethered will do that.” Vol’jin hummed, the sound was low and concerned. Orla could feel gentle traces of magic in his fingers as he rolled her muscles beneath them.
She could feel no ulterior motive as her grasped her calve, adjusting her pose to straddle his lap. Her cheek pressed against the fur on his chest as the large troll dutifully set about working his fingers into her lower back. She had to catch herself from moaning in a public space.
“Ya carry so much tension.” Vol’jin muttered idly. He chuckled when Orla yelped as he worked against a tight spot near her spine.
“My back pain is laughable compared to hands and wrists.” Orla countered, her voice muffled by his chest. “Though such is common with mages, especially staff users.”
The troll pressed a kiss into her hair, continuing to pepper them down the side of her face to her shoulders. It tingled.
“Ah suppose wavin’ a fancy stick can’t be all fun and games.”
“And what about you?”
Vol’jin caught her inquisitive gaze and raised his brow. “Me?”
“You were dead for ages.” Orla muttered, “dead and wrapped with a body ravaged by poison.”
“They burned my body, little mage.”
Orla huffed dismissively, “please, that’s hardly an obstacle for a seraph mage. We’re not a bunch of savage necromancers.”
Vol’jin laughed again, softer this time, “noted.” He thoughtfully rubbed the back of his neck. “If ahm’ bein honest…ah don’t remember if this is how normal felt. But ahm’ not bothered yet.”
Orla mulled over his words. It wasn’t a very satisfying answer, but it was likely all she would get out of him. Water dripped from her arms as she stretched them outward, shivering as the large troll cradled her waist in his hands.
“Just…tell me. Please. If anything went wrong. If you notice anything.” Orla pleaded softly, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his shoulder, “I’d hate to think that your spiritual affinities might be…diminished because my patron decided to meddle.”
Vol’jin caught her jaw, tracing circles into her cheek with his thumb before bringing her close for a proper kiss.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
An infernal witch raises an infernal spawn.
A world where Nero is reared by an Umbran witch is a world no one is ready to live in, but you'll kill and die and eliminate to reshape the it into one he'll thrive in.
(That includes duking it out with his deadbeat dad.)
Nero gets in trouble on the playground.
You have to spell some hard truths about the world.
General brainvomit about Sully's history as a character;
As a kid, Sully was always clever when it came to working with his hands. He always did a pretty damn good job making anything he needed with bits and bobs he found laying about and friends turned to him for repairs and such on their toys / clothes they couldn't dare be caught with lest they were beaten for ruining perfectly good clothes / toys.
As a teenager he started to notice he was falling behind with aetherical attunement training and education that the other hellsguard excelled at; he couldn't cast even the most meager of spells while the others were already moving to adept spellcrafts. While his parents were proud of his resourcefulness, the fact that he couldn't stand with his brothers or the others his age on an aetherical front was their secret shame. It was enough for start building a resentment and anger in him because of arbitrary Hellsguard expectations he was being held to while his actual talents were slowly forgotten.
As soon as he was 17 and free from his obligations for schooling, he looked for any kind of work that didn't require spellcraft, but there was almost nothing in the village. Almost in defiance of his mother and brothers telling him he would be able to make a living in the mines working on machines and such, he left the village to make a better life for himself; he knew his crafting skills would appreciated in the larger cities
By the time he turned 20, he had ended up travelling out of Abalanthia's Spine and down a winding path through Eorzea, he dabbled in woodworking and goldsmithing along the way, augmenting his understanding of metal and clothwork, but when he reached Ul Dah, the prevalent mutterings of "Some Hellsguard sellsword couldn't craft anything of quality" discouraged his drive and pride in his work, and he ended up working in the mines just to make ends meet while vigorously working on his craftsmanship on his off-time.
Then the Calamity happened, along with much of eorzean civilization, his workplace and meager dwelling were destroyed.
On the brink of desperation he signed up at the Gladiator's Colosseum just to have food to stay alive. It was here that he started taking on odd jobs, the craftsmanship shining through on his gear, impressing those seeking a skilled swordsman, the quality of his gear giving the impression that he was a skilled sellsword with the gil to BUY such goods. While he shunned the title of "sellsword" he did take on the work as it offered /amazing/ pay for what it entailed. It was then that he used this income to attempt once more to sell his crafts now under a new name, shedding his Hellsguard name "Indelible Lion" and taking on the Hyuran "Sullivan Norwood" as his title, and suddenly the quality of his goods was actually being respected, of course repeat buyers were shocked when they asked to meet the craftsman only to learn that the Hellsguard merchant himself was the creator of said goods, his work finally outshining his physicality and the predisposition people had on Hellsguard goods.
Cue 2.0′s story, adventuring to learn more of how to properly outfit those he supplied, meeting the scions, luckily stumbling onto an elezen healer in gridania who saved his ass later when the two wound up in totorak, having drink-offs with a trickster lalafellin conjurer with a knack for heavy weapons the Hellsguard crafted, taking down Garleans with a redheaded monk that moved faster than he thought things through, excitedly sharing crafting tips with a punderful Auri and gun-obsessed Miqote.
Come the fall of Baelsar and the true end of Bahamut, Sully had now been away from home for almost a decade when he finally decided to make the journey back, clad in silks and pride, finally able to show he was able to make something of himself without Hellsguard tradition in his way.
The village had been decimated by the calamity years ago. Nothing but scavenged ruins and a graveyard remained, enough unmarked graves scattering the ruins for at least 3/4 of the populace.
This was the moment that changed Sully. Or rather, would change him, after several weeks of self loathing and heavy drinking.
He was always focused on making himself better, on proving people wrong about his "lack of skill" and always pushing himself FOR himself. He'd lost his family and never even thought on them in years. He couldn't let that happen again, losing focus on those around him for his own growth.
And thus, with those lifelong friends he'd made along the way, they formed a company of likeminded adventurers.
A/N2 : Believe it or not this chapter had around four different names before I settled.
Word count : 2,528
TW : Prescription drugs
The meal proved to be a pretty decent distraction from the knee pain. Even having already had breakfast Adler ate it all. Each and every flavor he encountered reminded him of his past there. The rest of the town had changed but it seemed Squirmy’s Diner was some relic, meant to remain untouched by the passage of time. Once Adler was satisfied he called for the check, but he noted how instead of the other teen server, a young man with the name tag “Jeremy” came by to deliver the check, run the transaction, then give Adler his receipt. Adler didn’t bother asking, assuming that the other teen had decided to shift responsibility to their coworker. He took up his crutches and left, awkwardly hobbling on the unfamiliar aid.
The autumn air bit his face as he stood outside, finding himself not knowing what to do. A few sparse cars passed by and the sidewalks were empty except for a single stray cat wandering near the edge of the gas station across the street. Adler sighed and made his way to the sidewalk, deciding to simply see where the nearest bus stop was, when it would pick up, and head back home.
Then he heard a slam like something hitting metal. Instinctually his head snapped towards the noise and his right hand reached for his gun; the one that wasn’t there.
Adler’s tense shoulders eased as he saw the teen from only minutes ago standing to the side of Squirmy’s, half hidden by the large dumpster. He could see them moving before once again he heard the slamming noise. They repeated the action, seeming to be kicking the side of the garbage container in anger. Once they tired themself out they took a couple steps back, revealing that their cheery work hat was missing and the bottom half of their apron was soaked in fresh oil. Their eyes were glued to the apron, fists balling at their sides, before they crudely ripped the fabric off of them, snapping the neck strap. When the waist strap didn’t come undone so easily they struggled a few times, tugging at the fabric to no avail. Finally they roughly pulled the string, releasing the knot, and balled the apron up so they could throw it at the brick wall beside them. The teen was reeling back to throw when they caught sight of Adler and froze.
The two held each other’s gaze silently. No words. No shifting. No silent communication. It looked more like a standoff than anything.
Adler could only assume they were barely holding it together. He could see the anger boiling in their eyes and the way their muscles remained tense, but he could see the glint in their eyes like there was a misty wall of tears just barely held back from breaking and letting the flood gates open. He knew that feeling. Knew how it felt to have it all threaten to boil over yet to keep the lid on as if it would stop the anger from exploding.
The teen’s expression remained hard until, after what felt like an eternity, their face melted into something that seemed like consideration. Adler’s face stayed unreadable until he saw Squirmy come through the back door of the diner and walk up to his worker, putting a hand on their shoulder. They whipped their head around to look at him but he didn’t even flinch. Their expression softened the moment they realized who had grabbed their attention. Adler could not hear but Squirmy said something to them and they nodded the tiniest of nods. Both looked back at Adler and the man merely stood there, unsure of what to do.
Squirmy gave him a look he’d never seen before. Adler tried to read the expression but all he could gather were the flat observations of the face. Brows pressed together only slightly, corners of the mouth downturned into a frown, eyes darkened and pleading. Adler knew Squirmy was asking him for something but what was unclear. He merely tore his eyes away from the old man only to find himself magnetized to the teen beside him. Their own expression was that walled, defensive stare, but Adler could still see that hint of consideration deep inside. Adler suddenly understood what may have been going on. At least, he thought he did. The scarred man looked at each of them and shook his head before continuing down the sidewalk, ambling with his crutches awkwardly. He wasn’t going to meddle in this, in the teen and whatever problems of theirs that Squirmy thought he could fix. It wasn’t his business and he wasn’t going to let it be his business. Though he couldn’t see the reactions to his rejection Adler could practically feel the stares on his back. They didn’t burn like jealousy or anger but rested heavy as if some weighted blanket of guilt was being cast on him. He merely shrugged it off as he walked, eventually out of sight.
The tense moment plagued his thoughts as he waited for the bus at the bus stop and as he rode home. Once on the corner of his street he made his way home only to find the image, the kid’s intense eyes, burned into his retinas like an old bubble-screened TV run too long. He’d seen those eyes before. In his own mirror staring back at him in his childhood home, in the barracks mirror staring back at him on the final day of boot camp, in the dingy mirror of the safehouse staring back at him in West Berlin, and in the mirror staring back at him in his current home.Those fiery eyes were that of nine hells and they were barely contained like some rabid creature hardly held back by the feeble bars of a crude cage. Adler only finally snapped from the image as he arrived at his front porch steps. With some focus he made his way to the front door and dug around for his house keys in his pocket.
Inside felt like a safe haven from the chilly outside and Adler was quick to shut the door behind him and lock it. He didn’ even bother putting his crushes up nicely, instead leaning them against the countertop as he passed through the kitchen to get to his room. Though he limped slightly he forced himself to walk without them as he was sick of the way they made his palms ache and shoulders tense. Adler passed by his office on his way to his bedroom only to notice that his answering machine light was on. He paused and turned around to make a detour. Adler entered his office, a neat minimal space with a simple window, desk, and bookshelf, and leaned down to click the play button on whatever message had been left for him.
The voice of Sims split the air immediately, “Hey, Doc, heard ya got it bad. Wanted to wish you some good luck or somethin’. Heard you went back to Cali. Sunshine and girls, huh? Doesn’t seem your style..”
There was a long pause before Sims spoke again, “I’m kinda stalling, here, I’ll be honest. I overheard Hudson having a conversation with some other agents. Said he didn’t think you’d make it back to working again.”
Adler felt his fists clench at each side. Hudson had always been a roadblock. Keeping secrets during the mission, doubting Adler’s methods, giving poor direction, Hudson seemed to always find a way to ruin things.
“I’m giving you a heads up,” Sims continued, “because I think there’s a chance if you do come back, Hudson is finding a reason to make you leave again. We both know he doesn’t like you. And, honestly, you’re one of the few I trust here. Keep your head on a swivel, man. Heal up and get back in the game.”
The machine beeped, signalling the end of the message. Adler would have clicked the stop button so the tape wouldn’t run but it wasn’t like there was anything else saved on it. Not until he heard the new voice ringing through the room. This one sent a practically paralyzing wave through him, jolting his insides and tightening his chest.
“Russ, I’m sorry for calling, I just wanted to let you know that… Well I wanted you to know that I really do hope you get better. I hope something in you changes. I know you’re abl-” Adler clicked the stop button. He couldn’t take hearing his ex wife's voice any longer. When he first got that message, years ago, he had listened to it on repeat until finally he forbade himself, taking pity on himself for how pathetic it was to fall asleep at a bare wooden desk with his hand resting heavily on the rewind button. Since then he preserved the tape, changing it out for a blank one whenever he left home for a long time just in case he got calls and the messages overwrote the one from his ex. Why he saved a tape he would never listen to he did not know. This past mission he must have forgotten to change it.
Adler stared at the answering machine, tempted to simply defile the tape and rip its film out, but he remained motionless as two halves of him fought for dominance. A part of him whispered to leave it be and another thought that perhaps destroying it would give him some kind of respite from the torment of the memories. For once he found himself indecisive. Adler was a man who knew how to make the hard choices. He knew who to kill and who to torture, where to go and what to do. Adler always called the shots yet right at this moment he felt helpless against himself. The two sides fighting left him frozen staring at the machine.
Finally, like some kind of compromise was found, he opened up the machine, took the tape out, and made his way to his kitchen. As his foot pressed down on the lever of the trash can and he held the tape over the gaping abyss of the top he hesitated. The action made him want to do nothing less than vomit but he dropped the tape inside and walked away as soon as he could muster, just to avoid dunking his hand inside to retrieve the tape. Adler didn’t even care about taking his leather jacket off anymore. He quickly located a clear tape in his desk drawer and put it inside the machine. He then went to his living room, plopping down in an armchair a little heavier than he’d have liked. The man removed his glasses, haphazardly tossing them on the coffee table, and ran his hands down his face as if rubbing at the flesh would take away all the wear and age; like the scars would wipe away like dry erase marker on a white board, the wrinkles of time would simply melt back into their past youthfulness, and the dullness in his eyes would polish into something brighter.
Just as he leaned back and attempted a calming deep breath his watch began to beep. Adler groaned and didn’t bother to look as he fumbled with the buttons to shut the alarm off. He knew it was his alarm for his antibiotics but he couldn’t be bothered. Not when they didn’t help with the pain like Oxycodone did and he knew his body was strong enough to fight off just about anything. Of course, just to keep the suspicion off, he would likely throw the pills out later just so he would refill his prescription at the proper time.
All through life Adler hadn’t cared for medication. He was consistently certain his immune system was just fine and consistently his body proved him right. No coat in winter? No cold. Hung around his sick friends? Perfectly fine.Slight rise in body temperature? Nothing came of it. Why would he need to start worrying now? He sure didn’t have this kind of luxury medication in ‘Nam and he had survived.
‘Nam.
Vietnam.
The Vietnam War.
Adler hadn’t been some expendable cannon fodder soldier in those times. He was special. His services were extraordinary and the results of said services had endless worth to the CIA. Back in those days Adler was much younger than he was now. In his early thirties he had been at least a little lively. Thinking back to those times only served to remind Adler of the memories implanted into Bell’s mind.
His little lab experiment.
That memory he planted, where he led them to the helicopter to dispatch for that day’s mission, he had been smiling. The detail was no accident, either. Of all the lies in the entire situation surrounding Bell, that smile hadn’t been one of them. Sure, he didn’t lead Bell to the helicopter, but he led someone to the helicopter and he smiled at them.
What was so worth smiling back then?
Adler had been in the midst of a war that didn’t seem to end. One that was fed by rich men with no other fun except to watch little working class ants go off to die overseas. The only smiles that ever went around Camp Haskins were that of drunk men playing poker, betting MREs like they were anything more than flavorless packets meant to sustain. The other soldiers had no goal but to survive in the brutal fields and forests. The jungle was the only thing half of them knew at that point and it was a dangerous place. Unlike them, Adler had more than that. He was an important asset, a team leader, a man worth being revered. He had something to gain and something to lose, though.
Something to lose.
What did he have to lose now?
Adler had a house and truck he could easily replace. Beyond that he had money and a knee injury but nothing more. What did he have then that he doesn’t have now? Over time all he ever did was gain more control, more money, more connections. He was even less expendable than before and, almost a greater point of satisfaction, he was a nuisance that the CIA couldn’t rid themselves of. The CIA needed him.
If he was so needed then why was he so alone in this moment of darkness?
What was missing?
Adler’s eyes slowly drifted towards the archway into the kitchen. He couldn’t see it but he knew what he was looking for. The trash can. The tape. His ex wife. She had given him someone to come home to, someone to care for, someone to live for. She was his purpose.
Now she was missing. Not even that, no. Adler knew she was somewhere. In fact, if anything, she was somewhere here in San Diego. He was here too.
Or was he?
The man surely was here in the flesh, but without his purpose, that thing which sustained him and seemed to justify every misdeed he’d ever committed, he wasn’t truly there in his head.
