#nublo

He whimpers in distress as he knocks it over yet again. He needs to finish it. All six blocks. He doesn't know why, but it hurts that he can't. So he starts over again.

Cuando te marchaste tu, ya no hubo más primaveras, se apagaron las estrellas, el cielo se nublo y para mí el sol ya no salió.

Dijiste adiós y mis labios se sellaron, mis oídos ya no escucharon, mis ojos se cegaron y mis manos se agrietaron al no sentir más la calidez de tus manos.

Huiste de mi amor, te fugaste de mi cariño, huiste de mi ternura, te alejaste de mi pasión, tu lejanía eclipso todo aquello que en algún momento fui cuando estabas a mi lado.

Todo eso paso, cuando te marchaste tu.

Cw: Drugs, Violince, general evilness

Waking up in a warehouse is never a good thing, especially not in Gotham, but waking up tied to a chair was the point where one is supposed to shout for help and really hope batman hears you. That's what the muffle was for. Keeping them quiet..

Sitting in a chair in the middle of a dimly lit warehouse, they can feel the ropes digging into their arms and legs. A rope is drawn across their throat, not tight enough to effect their breathing, but enough that one couldn't bend forward very far.

The young man, presumably the one who had drugged and dragged them here, comes around the chair and crouches down to make eye contact.

"Look who woke up," he says.

Standing, he sets a small black box on a crate in front of them.

"How do we want to do this, hmm? Do you want to start talking first, or shall I have my fun and then ask questions?"

Things had been going so smoothly recently. Nublo had been hanging out with his friends, learning more about his boyfriend, and figuring out which building had the best view of the sunset. He had taken a fairly well paying job that just involved hunting some people down and dropping them off for other people to deal with. It was easy and he didn't have to get his hands dirty.

Until he knew those people. What's more, they were expecting him. They knew his weaknesses. What happened after that, he couldn't remember clearly. He remembered being handcuffed to something and that it was bright. So very bright. He knew that he was bleeding and he needed to get out of there. Not all the blood was his though. There was too much of it. The floor was slick with the crimson liquid. The last choice Nublo truely made, was to go home. He had promised Voss he wouldn't leave. He needed help.

Nublo staggers out of the shadows and into the appartment, moving like a puppet controlled by an amature. One hand clutches his side. Even the black goo trying to seal the wound closed cannot hide the blood staining his skin or the bruises surrounding the area. His eyes are pits of darkness. There are no stars in these eyes. Nothing but terror and confusion.

He comes to a stop, wanting to sit down, to rest, but somehow incapable of doing so.

Possible tw for panic and (possible) self-harm.

Bright. It was bright. Nublo could tell even with his eyes closed- and he didn't dare open them. The light hurt through his eyelids. In the moment, he wished for the blindfold. Anything to block the lights out.

He was trapped. There were no shadows to hide in. If he could just open his eyes and find his way out- he knew he wasn't locked up. Right? He wasn't there anymore. Was he? Nublo didn't even know anymore. He knew he should get help, find someone, call a friend; but he didn't, he just curled up and wished the sun would go away.

While at the grocery store the other day he had seen a small gift basket, the kind with random fruit and chocolate that you get for like new neighbors or a coworkers birthday, something for someone you dont know. Not really sure why, he bought it.

Now, standing outside the warehouse he had been tied up in with the basket, he's thinking his curiosity is definitely going to get him killed.

- Henchman Voss 🐧 @variousvossivixens

The warehouse stood empty and silent in the late afternoon sunlight. It wasn't the prettiest part of the city, but it wasn't quite dark enough for the under-city to come to life.

"Looking for someone?"

Voss was startled by a sudden voice behind him. Perhaps he had forgotten how silently the young man had moved the night before, or perhaps the quiet streets had lulled his reflexes. Either way, he had no warning until Nublo spoke.

"Wakey-wakey!"

You weren't asleep, though gods above did you wish you were. You were tied to a wooden chair in the middle of some empty warehouse on the outskirts of Gotham. The villian had struck you across the back of the head when first kidnapping you, but it turns out movies tend to exagerate that. It didn't knock you out, but it hurt like nothing else.

He leans down in front of you now with a crooked smile, his hands clasped behind his back as if he was making a business deal.