#Run It Back

[fishwikipedia]

[wejustvibing]

[moppynoko]

[meowsalah]

[asthedeathoflight]

Run It Back pt 2

Posting this to put pressure on myself to finish chapter 4. Usually you shouldn't pester authors for updates but in this case you guys should bully me into writing more actually.

---

Rembrandt considers trying to stop the Orphan girl from joining up with them, but she can’t very well convince the Warriors to get on another subway car without explaining, and she’s not sure how she would even begin explaining. She watches Mercy slip on behind them and linger on the other side of the car, but that’s not really worth her time. She’s on a mission. She’s got a night to save. 

The Hurricanes burst into their car, just like last time, and usher them out into the street, just like last time. Cowgirl and Fox try to wheedle Swan into letting them get hotdogs. Rembrandt isn’t hungry. 

She elbows Ajax. “Company.”

The Furies aren’t any less eerie the second time. She caught them early. They weren’t expecting to be spotted this soon. One of them lunges, and then it’s time to run again. 

Rembrandt stays level with Fox this time, yanks her sleeve to guide her away from the alleyway where a Fury leaped out at her before. Swan and Mercy split off again, three cheers for their fearless leader, but it doesn’t matter. If they can just outrun them - 

Cowgirl trips. Rembrandt looks over her shoulder. Ajax caught her, that’s good, but, fuck , Ajax isn’t running. Ajax is staring back at the trio of Furies that are tailing them. Rembrandt watches her shift her weight, judging the distance. 

Rembrandt reaches out for Fox, slowing to a walk. It’s better for them to stick together, if this goes sideways. But Ajax won the first time. And Rembrandt hadn’t actually been looking back to see it happen. 

The Furies are slowing too, confused, exchanging silent glances as Ajax starts towards them. When she gets within range, the one on the left takes a swing at her. 

She’s ready for him. She catches the bat in one hand and brings her other fist down hard on his elbow. He lets go of the bat. Ah. Rembrandt hadn’t been sure how she ended up with it. 

Ajax is still moving, swinging the bat at the middle Fury while she kicks out a foot to trip the third one. She keeps her momentum, ducks between them and out a few paces, and now she’s behind them, and she’s still got the bat, and they weren’t ready to put up an actual fight. 

Ajax is grinning. Rembrandt remembers that she was smiling the first time, too. This is good for her. She likes puzzles. 

Cowgirl and Cochise exchange a look. 

“For real?” Fox mutters. 

Rembrandt laughs. Ajax is taunting the Furies, and they’re circling her, but Cowgirl and Cochise have figured out that the Warriors have them temporarily outnumbered. There are more Furies up the street, but they won’t come looking until the other Furies have already turned tail. 

Fox is looking at her in disbelief. And sure, Rembrandt looks a little bit crazy. She was scared the first time, too. But tonight is different. And Rembrandt already knows they’re going to win. 

Rembrandt is still laughing, breathless, when the Warriors crash into Riverside Park. The adrenaline has crystallized the night into laser focus. She got clipped in the shoulder by a Fury but she doesn’t care because they won and they’re all getting home tonight. 

“Yooo hooo,” the cop leers. “Pretty lady-”

After she fixes this moment. 

“What’s so funny?” the cop calls out, “Come on, I wanna laugh, tell me the joke!”

Ajax freezes. She looks at the cop, and then she looks at Rembrandt. Rembrandt turns around. He’s looking right at her. 

This is new. 

“Ajax,” Fox hisses. 

This is bad. 

Rembrandt reaches out a hand, grasping for Ajax. She’s still there, solid and real and not going fucking anywhere if Rembrandt can help it. Rembrandt can’t look away from the cop. She keeps seeing him, grinning into his radio, split lip bleeding down his chin. Rembrandt tightens her grip on Ajax’s sleeve. 

“Let’s go,” she says. Her voice is shaking. 

This man wants to hurt her. She can see it in his lazy grin. He wants to hurt her, but he’ll take Ajax instead. And Ajax will give herself to him. 

Rembrandt remembers him, practically fucking drooling. How badly did he hurt her, after Rembrandt ran? How badly will he hurt her this time?

She can hear Ajax repeating the same bullshit from last time as the others try and badger her into leaving. It doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters unless they can get out of this park. All of them. 

Rembrandt tears her eyes away from the cop. She starts dragging Ajax away by the arm. “We’re leaving,” she says, not looking back at Ajax. “We don’t have time for this.”

Ajax stops abruptly, yanking her arm out of Rembrandt’s grip. “You don’t get to choose that for me,” she says. She sounds hurt. 

“We’re going ,” Rembrandt says, reaching out to try and grab her again, but Ajax backs out of her reach. 

Ajax looks back at the cop. He’s watching them. Eager. Hungry. If they get physical he’ll get them both for assault. Rembrandt tries to breathe in. Her ribcage feels like it’s made of iron. 

“I’m staying,” Ajax insists. “You can go.”

What the fuck is wrong with her? Rembrandt can’t save her if she’s so determined to be fucking stupid. 

“What’s with you?” she hisses, “What, we didn’t let you play leader so now you gotta beat up some old fuck to prove yourself? Did Swan get one more Fury than you? Grow the fuck up, Ajax.”

“Fuck you,” Ajax spits, but Rembrandt knows what Ajax on the back foot looks like. She wasn’t expecting a fight. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

Right. Like every single person in that park doesn’t know Ajax is all worked up trying to be Rembrandt’s white knight. Rembrandt just wants to go home.  

“Don’t say you’ll catch up,” Rembrandt says, and she is twisting the knife, but Ajax could never love anyone who wasn’t mean. “If you get away from that guy you’ll find another one. You don’t give a shit about winning. You’re only happy when you’re losing a fight. You can get yourself fucking jumped back in Coney. Keep it together for another three fucking hours and do your goddamned job.”

And Rembrandt isn’t much of a fighter, but she knows what a knife looks like sliding home. She turns away. She’s had enough of Ajax looking at a fight she didn’t know she was losing until she’d already lost. 

Rembrandt just keeps walking, and hears Swan murmuring to Ajax in the background - christ, she might have gone too far if fucking Swan is trying to intervene. But the other Warriors fall in line after her and she doesn’t really care because Ajax will get over it, or she won’t and they’ll scream at each other until the neighbors bang on the walls, and it’ll be fine because they’ll have gotten the fuck out of here. 

Rembrandt sits down on the subway and doesn’t look up. Someone sits next to her, but she watches Ajax’s boots follow Cochise to the other end of the car. A hand brushes gently across her shoulder. Fox. She looks up, and Fox is frowning at her in concern. 

“That was…” Fox says quietly, “A lot.”

What is Rembrandt supposed to say? She can still hear the police sirens. She can still see the train. 

She doesn’t say anything. 

They're all together heading into Union Square. And the cop didn't call in backup, so they should be fine. There's no reason for the captain to be looking for them. 

But he's still there at the top of the stairs, and he still wants them with their hands in the air. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Rembrandt grits her teeth. Fine. She can fix this too. 

She reaches down and laces her fingers with Fox’s. “Stay close to me," she says under her breath. 

Fox makes a curious noise, but she's too busy checking over her shoulder for the cop to wonder that hard. They keep their heads down and Rembrandt lets Fox take the lead through the station as they hurry to the train. 

C’mon, Rembrandt thinks, and she was never really big into praying but if there's a saint of running from the law she'll take all the help she can get. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon. 

Rembrandt sees the flash of yellow. She sees the ‘Southbound’ sign. She doesn't hesitate a moment to drag Fox on board with her. 

Fox is looking back at the platform, worried. “The cop-” she says, “He's still-”

Rembrandt grabs onto Fox’s other arm. “Just stay with me.”

She doesn't say please. Fox turns back to her. Her worry is compounding the longer she looks at Rembrandt. 

“Hey,” she says, “Hey, it's cool. I'm here.”

She leans forward and presses her forehead to Rembrandt's for a moment. Rembrandt closes her eyes, and lets herself breathe out.

The doors close with a whoosh. Fox is still there. Rembrandt takes just one more second there in the dark before Swan inevitably seizes the moment to chew her out for being a bitch. 

Swan does open her mouth. But she says the wrong thing. 

“Ajax, what the fuck!” Swan shouts, and she slams her fist on the door. 

No. 

Fox jerks away, turning to look back at the platform. 

No, Rembrandt fixed it. She fixed it. They were all going to be okay. 

But there's Ajax, taking a swing at the captain. 

She's a better match for him than Fox was. She's taller than him, so she doesn't have to get in under his guard like Fox did. She keeps him at arm's length, moving him in circles on the platform. 

Rembrandt can see her mouth moving but she can't hear what she's saying. She can hear the noise of the other Warriors saying something, but she can't understand it. 

The train jerks under her feet. She gets knocked off balance for a second. They're leaving her again. 

Rembrandt tries to swallow, tries to breathe, but there's no room inside her. She feels like one of those little styrofoam cups they have at the museum, the ones they took down to the bottom of the ocean and came back up all shrunken, with the air pressed out. 

Ajax sees the train leaving. She gives them a little wave. 

The captain takes the moment to whip out the baton from his belt. He lashes out at her, aiming for her left knee. 

One of the Furies hit her with a bat in that knee. Was that tonight, or was that the other tonight? Was Ajax limping? She hadn't been paying attention. 

It doesn't matter, because Ajax sees him coming. She leans back, takes a step away to get out of range. 

Only there isn't another step for her to take. 

Rembrandt sees the moment Ajax feels air under her foot. She sees the flicker of confusion on her face. She'd lost track of where she was on the platform. That wasn't like her. 

Rembrandt closes her eyes. She doesn't need to watch the confusion crack and break into fear. She's seen it already. She's seeing it now, anyways, behind her eyelids. 

She braces herself for the screaming. She tastes saltwater in her mouth. She doesn't want to hear it, she doesn't want to know . 

She puts her hands over her ears.

And the movement dislodges her from where she's leaning up against Ajax's shoulder. 

“Hey,” Ajax says, easy smile bleeding into concern, “You alright?”

---

Sorry if that little fluffy bit last chapter led any of you to believe Ajax and Rembrandt being in love was gonna be the nice fun part of this fic. Woe. Relationship problems be upon ye.

[azpiiicueta]

[leclercskiesahead]

Eyes only for each other

[sucka99]

[syrupoison]

[peppoco]

howdy, i’m jem/bugs (๑･̑◡･̑๑)

queer nigerian artist and DID system

she/her and it/its. plural they/them only please

literal goat. demon critter

bisexual aromantic girlthing

i draw furries and animate sometimes. hoping to publish a graphic novel !!! you can usually find me obsessively reblogging elliott from stardew valley but i have other interests i swear i like bluey and blues clues and snoopy and moomin and rottmnt but if you want more of what i like it’s on my carrd

we might tag posts with who’s fronting but for the most part, please just address all of us as jem or bugs :]

asks and requests always open, i wanna try and interact more here

basic dni applies, basically don’t be a jerk and we’re good. terfs and pro-shits fuck off and die. do not involve me in system discourse or i’ll kill you. pro-israel blogs can fuck right off.

feel free to tell me if i reblogged a post from someone gross

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tags guide under the cut

#peppoco.png = art and animation

#peppoco.txt = just my text posts

#peppoco’s archive = makeshift save folder

#peppoco.fave = favorites

#peppoco.exe = vent tag (rare. will also just use #vent cw

#we just got a letter = inbox asks. also under #peppoco.inbox

#it’s a queuesmas miracle = queue tag maybe. but i don’t queue

#run it back = reblogs of art (bumps)

original character tags:

#Bibbysitting = Apollei, Peris, and Daize, girls in a polycule raising a demon

#LAG0M0RPH-4 = Constantine, Bonnibel, Elvira; bunny sisters surviving an apocalypse

#A Foxtrot Away = Foxtrot the live stuffed animal toy fox and Bolide the star guiding them back home to his person

#Vinyl and Marbles = Vinyl the bat and Marbles the cat who get into mischief on their home island

#peppoco’s dnd OCs = D&D character I make. Primrose, Bini, Caliper, etc

[faeryaesther]

Well the last time Kei met tsitsipas he won saur....

[imisseveryoneiveevermet]

[tvmusiclife]

nwsl screenwriters were doing sooooo good with this final!!! now who tf wrote in "pinoe goes down in the 3'"

[asthedeathoflight]

Run It Back pt. 1

Hello everybody. I am of the opinion that every stage play is kind of already a time loop. However. They can always afford to be MORE of a timeloop. Welcome to Rembrandt's horrible terrible no good very bad night that just will not stop happening.

-----

Afterwards, Rembrandt goes down to the water. The sun glints off the gentle waves. It all looks the same. It shouldn’t. Everything is different now. Rembrandt leaves her shoes on the sand, rolls her jeans up past her knees.

The water is achingly cold. She starts to feel numb almost immediately. It’s not enough. It runs up over her ankles and it’s still not enough. 

She takes another step into the water. She wishes she’d stopped Fox from getting off the fucking train. Keeps walking. It’s starting to soak the cuffs of her jeans. She doesn’t care. She wishes she’d stopped Ajax from talking to that fucking cop. It’s getting harder to walk now, with the water pushing against her thighs. 

It’s dark, and cold, and empty, and as Rembrandt stares out into it she can only see herself. She watches a wave form a few dozen feet out. She’s too tired to get out of the way. She wishes they’d never gone to the Bronx at all. 

The sunlight dances on the foam at the crest of the wave. 

She wishes-

The train rumbles beneath her feet like a living animal. Her body feels numb, like she’s been in one position so long she can no longer tell what that position is. Rembrandt stirs just a little, trying to feel out the boundaries of her body. She feels another body against hers, she’s leaning on someone’s shoulder, she remembers this, she’s-

“Hey,” Ajax whispers to her. “Wake up.”

She opens her eyes, and there’s the train. There’s Fox looking out the window. There’s Ajax, looking down at her with the beginnings of a smile in her eyes. 

Rembrandt sits up straighter, looking around the car. That really is Fox at the window. That’s Swan, without the hole she tore in her jeans running from the Turnbull ACs. 

The world feels like an optical illusion. She remembers getting on the train,sitting down next to Ajax,letting the familiar sounds of the Warriors bantering around her fade into background noise as she closed her eyes. But right under that, she remembers the gunshot. She remembers running. 

She shakes her head a little, but that just makes her dizzy. “Where are we?” she asks. 

“Um,” Ajax says, looking around. 

“Just crossed the river into the Bronx,” Cleon answers from where she’s sitting across from them. “Have a nice nap?”

It had been, actually. Rembrandt remembers that she woke up a little woozy at first, but she’d felt bright and awake and quick on her feet by the time they got to the meeting. The blood is turning to ice in her veins. Something is wrong. 

Cleon is looking concerned now. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Rembrandt says, and doesn’t quite hear herself. 

Everything feels like it’s in slow motion, or like she’s underwater. The scene before her keeps drifting in and out of deja vu. Swan is staring stonily at the other wall, blocking out all the chatter around her. That’s familiar. That’s in focus, in both her memories. But Ajax ducks into her frame of vision, looking worried, and that isn’t right. She can still sort of see Ajax leaning back in her seat, laughing at whatever Rembrandt said when she woke up the first time. 

She bumps Ajax with her shoulder. “Had a bad dream,” she says. 

The train is pulling into their stop. Swan springs out of her chair. “We’re here,” she announces to the car. 

Ajax gets up and gives Rembrandt a hand to pull her out of her seat. 

They step out onto the platform. Rembrandt looks up at the night sky, grey clouds glowing with city lights. The afterimage of blood stains it red. If it was a bad dream, she’s still having it. 

Rembrandt is shaking by the time they make it to the park. She can’t help it. She’s not really cold or anxious, but there’s an electric current in her limbs and she can’t calm it down. They see the crowd in the distance. Rembrandt hears the gun. She can’t do this. 

When Rembrandt stops walking, Ajax bumps into her. 

“Hey,” she says, worried, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Rembrandt shakes her head and immediately feels seasick. “It’s nothing,” she insists. 

She stares at the ground and tries to focus on breathing. She hears Cleon say, “Okay,” and knows she and Ajax must have been having some silent conversation over her head. 

Ajax reaches down to take her hand, and then they’re walking in the opposite direction from the meeting. 

Rembrandt looks up in confusion. “Where-”

“Hey, hey, shh,” Ajax says, “It’s cool. They’ll tell us what happened after.” 

Ajax leads her to sit down on the steps of a building on the edge of the park. Rembrandt remembers a beat too late that she was supposed to say, “Don’t fucking shush me.”

Rembrandt blinks at the trees, the streetlights, Ajax crouching down in front of her. Now that she’s diverged from the phantom memories completely, it’s easier to focus on the present. Ajax looks really worried. 

“I’m fine,” Rembrandt breathes, “I told you, it was just a weird dream.”

“Okay,” Ajax agrees, not sounding convinced. 

Rembrandt huffs out a laugh. “Fuck you,” she says, “You just wanted to skip the meeting.”

Ajax laughs and sits down next to her. “Maybe.”

Rembrandt nudges her with her shoulder. “Look at us,” she says, “We’re in the Bronx.”

Ajax exhales. “I was expecting… more.”

“More?”

“I dunno. It’s really not that different from Brooklyn, is it?”

Rembrandt rolls her eyes. “How are you a small-town girl in the biggest city in the country?”

“Hey!” Ajax says in mock-offense, “I’ve never been out of Brooklyn! This is big for me!”

“Oh, sorry,” Rembrandt says, dripping with sarcasm, “I forgot I was a world traveler. I’ve been to New Jersey.”

Ajax tries to shove her, but Rembrandt is ready for it, so she manages to stay upright. Ajax is laughing despite herself, and Rembrandt is laughing too. The deja vu feeling isn't as bad now. That other version of tonight seems overexposed, the colors too vivid and the sequence of events improbable. It really does seem like a bad dream, now. In the amber light of the streetlamps, Rembrandt can’t even piece the events into a coherent narrative. 

She breathes out. 

“Thank you,” Rembrandt says, “For staying with me.”

Ajax raises an eyebrow at her. “Like I can trust you off on your own.” 

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Ajax says, “Sure. You’re welcome.”

She sits back on her hands, absently scanning the perimeter of the park. Rembrandt tries to imagine that it could always be like this. This was Cyrus’ dream, right? The two of them in their crew vests on a block in the Bronx, unafraid. 

As they sit and watch, a quartet of men in matching hand-knit sweaters appear and make their way towards the meeting. Bizzies, says a voice in Rembrandt’s brain. She tries to shrug it off. One of them locks eyes with Ajax. After a moment, he nods. She nods back. 

Cyrus hasn’t even spoken yet, but here’s peace, already starting. The voice speaks up. It hasn’t happened yet. 

No, no “yet.” Wait it out. Breathe through it. It’s just the same as every other time Rembrandt has ever been convinced everything is about to go horribly wrong.

It hasn’t happened yet, but it will. Rembrandt inhales, exhales, feels the roughness of the concrete under her. Leans closer to Ajax. 

“Aw,” Ajax says, “Are you cold?”

Yes. No. She’ll warm up soon, when she has to run. Rembrandt nods. Ajax puts an arm around her. They wait there, Rembrandt trying to melt into Ajax so she doesn’t have to deal with whatever the fuck is going wrong in her brain.

Rembrandt feels the countdown in her mind. She can see the other her, on the edge of the crowd, watching Cleon watch Cyrus, starting to understand that tonight means something. She can feel the future bearing down on her. 

It’s not real. It’s some sort of fucking hallucination. It’s nerves. Rembrandt closes her eyes. She wraps her arm around Ajax’s shoulder under her jacket.

She hears the gunshot. 

Rembrandt nearly falls over when Ajax leaps to her feet. It was just as loud, this time. Maybe louder. Ajax looks back at her. 

“Get the fuck up,” she says, “That came from the meeting, fuck, we gotta go.”

Rembrandt doesn’t move. 

“What the fuck,” Ajax hisses, “Get up.”

She grabs Rembrandt’s arm and hauls her to her feet. Rembrandt doesn’t want to go, but Ajax is moving, and fuck Rembrandt is not going to be left alone on this fucking corner. 

So Rembrandt runs. 

The crowd has imploded. They need to get out of there. The cops are going to show up soon. They need to find the others. Rembrandt tries to remember what happened the first time. The noise of both sets of memories is deafening. Ajax stops at the edge of the crowd. Why isn’t she moving? They need to run, they need to get to the gate, Cochise told them they needed to get to the gate. They're on a different side of the park. Rembrandt can't figure out what direction the cemetery is from here.

Someone on the edge of the crowd turns around and sees them. He looks desperate, hungry. Ajax sees him seeing her, but her face is still all confusion, she doesn’t know, she wasn’t there, how could she think he’d blame her?

Ajax doesn’t know. He stalks forward, lunges to grab her by the arm. 

“Hey, what the fuck?!” Ajax barks, but she’s off balance, she’s not prepared, because she wasn’t there. 

“Warrior,” the man roars, and heads turn at that. Rembrandt sees Ajax, now, seeing them see her. She sees Ajax as she was - will be? - looking at the cop. She knows what Ajax looks like staring down a fight she won’t win. 

“Rembrandt,” Ajax says loudly, not looking at her. If Ajax looks at her, they’ll see her. “Run.”

Rembrandt can’t leave her again. She can’t watch this again. They should’ve stayed with the others. The other night was better than this.

Everything is so wrong. She wishes-

And the train is rumbling beneath her feet. 

Ajax is smiling at her again. There’s a third groove on the record. Rembrandt sits up. She feels the drum beat of the other nights. “Okay,” she says. 

“Okay?” Ajax is still smiling, amused. 

Rembrandt doesn’t look at her. She doesn’t want to see the cop. 

She gets out of her seat. She wants to ask, “Are we almost there?”, but she knows. 

She stomps her feet a little bit to wake them up. 

Okay. She gets the picture. It’s game time. 

Rembrandt stays at the edge of the crowd. She braces herself for the gunshot. She takes Ajax by the hand, and she runs.

-----

I think this thing is gonna be eight chapters long? I've already got two more written. We shall see how it goes. Also I'm experimenting with this whole posting directly on tumblr thing bc it looks fun.

[tigerpeachs]

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