#serious injury tw

[jonquilyst]

302. Chapter 10, Episode 25

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Transcript:

(White text = Doctor)

*Molly and Megyn are in Nick's room. Molly is standing over him with her hand on his head. Megyn is standing behind her and sobbing*

*Meanwhile, several doctors and nurses are in the room working to remove Nick from life support*

*With the clock ticking overhead, the monitor tracking Nick's heart flatlines, indicating his heart has stopped. The doctor looks downcast*

Doctor: Time of death: 17:42.

[fangirlwriting-stories]

From Beginning to End of Time

Summary: “Then it’s a deal!  From the beginning to the end of time!”

In which Ford is even less careful with his words, and it gives Bill one more tool to use.

Author's Note: This one came to me in a nightmare! Mind the trigger warnings!

…

This time, when Ford collapses, Bill doesn’t take over right away.

Mostly because he’s frustrated.  He’s tried so many things to get Ford to open the portal.  Direct threats, physical punishment, psychological punishment, humiliation.  Nothing’s working!  Too much more of living like this, and his pet might not make it.  Human bodies are ridiculously fragile and finicky.  Ford is only able to go around a week without sleep before he collapses from exhaustion, and that’s at his best.  Ford hasn’t been at his best in a while.

Clearly, Bill needs to try another strategy.  So when Ford first passes out, Bill camps out in his memories first, scrolling them past him, looking for anything Ford is particularly scared of.  Bill doesn’t have a ton of access to the thing he’s really thinking about, which is that someone he cares about will get hurt as a result of his actions.  Ford doesn’t know anyone in Gravity Falls besides Specs, and Specs will run the second he spots Ford’s body.  Bill would have been able to catch him a few weeks ago, but he can’t make Ford’s legs run very fast anymore.  So, that’s out.

Ford has plenty of fucked up ideas for things Bill could do to him physically, but there’s a limit to what Bill can do if he doesn’t want to permanently damage Ford’s skin suit to the point where neither of them can work on the portal, and Ford hasn’t seemed to put that together.  Meaning that the things Ford is dreaming up are far worse, and nothing Bill can do will surprise him.  Not physically, at least.

There’s plenty of psychological stuff he can try, but play around too much and the nerd could fully go insane, and what use would he be to Bill then?  Plus, he’d be boring.  This relationship works better when Bill is the insane one, and Ford is all normal and desperate and cute.

But that means he’s officially running out of options.

With a frustrated huff, Bill flings the amount of memories from the past several months away from him, sending him back down the line towards Ford’s childhood, which can hardly be of any use to him.

Except… the childhood memories are glowing?  Bill reaches out and pokes experimentally at one, and to his surprise, his hand sinks through the image like it’s a liquid.  He peers closer, looking for any kind of explanation.

He comes across a reminder of the terms of their contract.  “From the beginning to the end of time.”

Huh.  He hadn’t realized Ford meant that quite so literally.  And hey, time travel has never been difficult for him before!  That certainly gives him options.

Of course, there are a limited number of people from back then that Ford still cares about now.  Anything with his father would probably anger him more than scare him.  His relationship with his mother is too complicated for Bill to predict his reaction.  If he goes back at a time when Sherman is still living at the house, Ford’s kid body will be too small to accomplish anything worth the trip.  Lesser Half comes with his own problems, but Ford’s reaction to the failed call is enough that it probably makes it his best option.

Well, that solves the “who.”  What about the what?

It can’t be anything that would change the timeline too much.  Ford still needs to be here, like this, when Bill gets back.  That means he needs a situation he can control.  Not too many people around.

Bill starts scanning through the memories, and finds one where Sixer and his lesser half have just found their junk pile of a boat, and are at a hardware store getting what supplies they can with the very limited money they had access to.

That will work nicely.  He needs Sixer to remember the timeline as it originally was, but changing his memories back once the timeline changes won’t be difficult.  He’ll have to play it carefully while he’s there, but it’s just Kid Ford and Kid Lesser Half.  He can pull it off.

So Bill reaches through the memory, pries experimentally at kid Ford’s head, and feels Ford’s discomfort and notice at something poking around his brain that shouldn’t be there.

Right.  Kid Ford might not trust him yet.  No matter.  The Ford in this time period is asleep.  And Bill has always been good at stretching a deal.  That will count.

So he pushes past kid Ford’s uncomfortable squirming, and forces his way into his head.

“Uh hey, Stanley, do you feel that—”

Bill slams Ford’s mouth shut as soon as he opens his eyes, and is left with Lesser Half staring at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

“Feel what?” he asks.

Bill shakes himself as best as he can manage.  He gets a slightly confused look from Lesser Half, but just grins.

“Nothing, sorry!  Just a bit chilly, I guess!”

Lesser Half smirks.  “You baby.  It’s like 55 degrees out.  Come on, we’ll go inside where your poor fragile skin can be warm.”

Since it’s important to be convincing for a while, Bill rifles through Ford’s memories for what he’d say.  Kid Ford still squirms in the back of his head, and Bill shoves him down into the subconscious to keep him quiet.

“Oh shut up,” Bill says, putting a slight whine into his best impression of Kid Ford’s voice.

It seems to work well enough, because Lesser Half laughs, and they both walk into the town’s hardware store.

“Okay, so first we’ll need wood,” Lesser Half says, a childish excitement entering his voice.  “Cause we gotta rebuild the second half of the boat.  We should probably focus on that first, right?  Or do you know some super nerdy boat stuff about how to put it back together?”

“We could find instructions first,” Bill says, because it’s what Kid Ford would say.

Lesser Half sticks his tongue between his teeth and makes one of those “pbbt” sounds that Bill might enjoy more if he had a mouth.  “Bor-ing!  We’ll only need to do that if it doesn’t look right.  I’ll get some wood, and—”

“And I’ll ask for some instructions,” Bill cuts him off.  It’s what Kid Ford would say, and it’ll give him time away from Lesser Half where he doesn’t have to play the part of human quite so well.

“Ugh, fine, if you want to be so dull about it.”

They split off into separate sides of the store.  Bill has some fun slamming Kid Ford into shelves, then picks up some books on boats to keep up the ruse.  Finally, after a perusal of potential items for the next part of this, he slips one more thing to use later inside his jacket.

He meets Lesser Half back up at the front of the store where they pay for what they can afford, and Lesser Half definitely steals some of the stuff they can’t.  If he wasn’t by definition Lesser Half, Bill would almost be impressed.

He keeps his stolen object hidden until they make their way back to the beach.  It’s overcast and too cold for humans to swim, even if Bill is for once in agreement with Lesser Half about that just making them wimps.

It works out in this case, though, because it means their section of the beach is empty aside from them.

“Alright,” Lesser Half says, laying everything down.  Bill finds himself wishing they could get on with this.  “So here’s the stuff we bought, and here—” he pulls a bunch of very small planks of wood, a hammer, and nails out from his jacket— “is the stuff I stole!  So we’re off to a pretty good start!”

Bill gets the sense that Kid Ford would chastise his brother at this point, but this is where he’s deviating from the script.

“I stole something too,” he says.

Lesser Half lights up, and turns to Bill with a grin.  “Really?  I’m rubbing off on ya, Poindexter!  What’d you get?”

Bill pulls the object out of his own jacket.

“…Uh, okay Ford, good for you,” Lesser Half says, taking the gardening shears from Bill.  “But we might still have to work on your skills, buddy.  Sorry, but I don’t know what we’re gonna do with these.”

Bill grins.  “Oh, I can think of a few things,” he says, taking the shears back.

“Yeah?” Lesser Half asks curiously.  “Like what?”

Bill reaches across the space between them and grabs Lesser Half’s hand, then pulls it out between them.

Lesser Half gets that look on his face.  It’s one of Bill’s favorite human looks.  The one where they’ve realized something is wrong, and it’s obvious what’s going to happen next, but they love the person doing it too much to not spend a few seconds thinking of alternate options.

Bill loves those few seconds.  It’s where he does his best work.

These, for instance, he uses to put the gardening shears around either side of Lesser Half’s left pinky, and snap them shut.

They make such a delightful crunch.

…

Ford wakes with a scream trapped in his throat.  His hands fly forward, trying to push Stanley away from the shears, but they just end up meeting the edge of his couch, which he collapsed right next to.  The force of his shove shakes it enough that it knocks a book off that lands on his head.

Something in his head that sounds like Bill laughs, “‘From the beginning to the end of time?’  Sixer, you’re supposed to be better with your words than that.”

“No,” Ford whispers to himself.  He shoves himself to his feet, dislodging the book, and runs for his study, muttering “No no no no,” as he does.

Ma gave him Stanley’s new phone number.  He shoved it into a desk drawer rather than tear it up or burn it, which felt weak at the time, but now he’s glad for it.

He almost falls down the stairs twice as he makes his way to the phone in the kitchen, and his hands shake as he dials the numbers.

“Hi, this is Stan Co Enterprises, are you calling about our Stan-Vac Vaccum Cleaner?  Stan-Vac!  It sucks more than anything!”

“Stanley how many fingers do you have?” Ford blurts out, which he’ll admit, out of context sounds a little insane.

There’s a full ten seconds of silence.

“…Ford?” Stanley asks finally, disbelief plain and obvious in his voice.

“How many fingers, Stanley?”

“What— what the hell are you talking about?  Are you just calling to be a jerk?”

“Please, I— please,” Ford begs, hoping the tears in his eyes aren’t obvious in his voice.

There’s another pause.

“Nine, Sixer,” Stan spits, and Ford suddenly can’t breathe.  “Like I’ve had since we were twelve years old.  Which you know.”

“I didn’t—” Ford tries to say, but it comes out a garbled mess.  “You— I’m—”

“Uh, you good over there?  What’s wrong with you?”

“I can’t—” Ford says.  He slides down against the counter, dragging the phone with him until the cord is stretched out as far as it can go.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he chokes out.  “I can’t— I—”

“Woah, hey, easy,” Stan says, a note of concern entering his voice for some goddamn reason.  “What’s going on?  Are you okay?”

“Your finger’s gone!” Ford screams.  “It’s not supposed to be gone!  It was there before I collapsed!”

“…What the hell are you talking about?”

“I can’t breathe,” Ford says, and he buries his head in his knees and pulls the phone on top of them.  “I can’t breathe and I can’t sleep and I can’t stop him, there’s nothing I can do—”

“Okay, slow down,” Stan says.  “Is— Ford, is someone threatening you?  Are they hurting you?”

“He hurt you,” Ford cries, though he’s almost positive it doesn’t come out clearly.  “You shouldn’t have been in danger, you’re nowhere near me, he— I can’t— I can’t open the portal,” Ford sobs.  “I can’t do it, he’ll— he’ll destroy everything, I can’t do it—”

“Ford, you’re not making any sense,” Stan says gently.  “You gotta take a deep breath, calm down, and tell me what’s going on.”

A few hours ago, Ford would have said he can’t, that no one can know, that it could put them in danger, or reveal to them just how badly Ford has messed up.  He would have told Stanley to stay far away, and forget they’d ever had this conversation— not that Stanley would listen to him.  But he would have at least tried to keep him away.  But what would even be the point of doing that now, after what just happened?

“Come here,” Ford cries into the phone.  “I’ll tell you, but please, I need you here.  I need help.”

“Where are you?” Stan says, no questions asked, not even sounding the slightest bit hesitant.  “Ma said you’re somewhere in Oregon.”

“Gravity Falls,” Ford forces out.  “618 Gopher Road.  I— I have to stay awake until you get here.”

“No, you have to get some rest.  You sound like you’re losing it.”

“No,” Ford insists.  “I can’t— I don’t know what he’ll do next time, what if he kills you?”

“Hey, no one’s gonna kill me,” Stan says, a gentle tone in his voice that’s obviously meant to reassure him.  “I’ve survived this long.”

“That won’t count,” Ford says.  “It won’t count.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Stan says, sounding lost.

“He can— he can just find you in the past,” Ford whispers.  “And kill you back then, he can— I can’t stop him, I can’t—”

“…Okay, look,” Stan says.  “I truly have no idea what’s going on, but it sounds like someone’s threatening me to get to you somehow, right?”

“Yes,” Ford whispers.

“Then he won’t kill me.  There’s limits to what he can do, Poindexter.  If I’m just dead he loses all his leverage.  He has to have a bargaining chip.  If he does the worst thing he’s threatened then there’s nothing left to bargain with.  Okay?”

Hearing it laid out so plainly does make some of the knots in Ford’s chest loosen, just a little.  He still can’t sleep.  He needs Stan to get here, and nothing is stopping Bill from hurting him to the point that can’t happen.  But Stan is right.  Bill can’t kill him.  If he kills Ford’s twin, Ford will die before he helps him.

“Okay,” Ford murmurs.

“I can be there some time tomorrow,” Stan says.  “Or the day after at the latest.  Will you be okay until then?”

“Yes,” Ford says.  “I think.”

“Okay.  I’ll call as I get closer, and if anything happens, alright?  It’s gonna be okay.  It’ll be okay.”

“Stanley,” Ford says.  “You never told anyone what he— what I— what happened to your finger, did you?”

There’s a pause.

“…No,” Stan says.  “I told Ma I stole the shears and was messing around.”

“You should have told her,” Ford whispers.

“I’ll be there soon, Sixer,” Stan says instead of any kind of response, and he hangs up.

Ford shouldn’t have worried.  For the next day and a half, he couldn’t sleep even if he wanted to.

[spiderin-space]

One of COTL’s biggest mysteries tbh

[compelledcurator]

A piercing, high pitch scream broke through the otherwise white noise. No more laughing, music gone, even Jesse's voice taken.

Gambit shook his head, vision coming into focus he was met with devastation. A series of bombs had exploded during the parade. Injured people, mutant and human alike lined the rubble. Touching his head, he slowly checked for any head injuries before scanning the many bodies for signs of life.

Gambits hearing finally kicked back in, screams, sirens, calls for help, he preferred the silence but thankful to have his senses back.

" Jesse? " he called out, everything happened so fast. One minute he was joking about his treats the next he's thrown across the stalled area and in a heap wondering what the hell just happened.

Grabbing his comms he hoped the kids were safe, time to make a plan " Gambits lookin' good,,,,,, anyone comin' my way?,,, er I'm gonna search de area,,,, Jesses missin' " unsure if anyone hear him he got to his feet and again yelled for Jesse, louder this time.

" JESSE "

Fear woke the adrenaline inside this mutant and speed picked up real fast. Gambit tore through broken rubble and stalls, looking for Jesse and the others. Hours flew by and nothing.

Seems police have some areas locked down and rescuers were also taking care of trapped people. Gambit continued, now fearing his newly found brother may be gone.

A little impressed (and maybe a little unnerved) by the sheer amount of sweets Remy had bought, he helped the other set the purchases down on the bench. "Bon Dieu, how're you gonna carry the leftovers? You got that many pockets?" Shaking his head in amazement, Jesse sat in a graceful motion, crossing his legs at the ankle. He hesitated before opening the box of cookies and taking one for himself, cradling it in his palm to avoid getting crumbs all over the ground. Despite Remy's eagerness about buying the things, Jesse didn't seem to mind not ordering, his manner as easygoing as ever.

[flowersandskeletons526]

"Don't Let Anything Happen To Her" - Warriors Concept Album Fanfic (Part 2/2)

Here's part two like I promised. Same trigger warnings as the first part. There's no actual violence in here, just mentions and threats, but there is still the blood and serious injury warning. I apologize for the angst and thank you humbly for suffering through this with me

Link to part one and yes I know it's long but I don't know how to fix it:

https://www.tumblr.com/flowersandskeletons526/769796493559398400/dont-let-anything-happen-to-her-warriors?source=share

----------

Cleon, Ajax, and Swan burst through the front door within a second. There were no words. Cleon took Rembrandt from Mercy and ran up the stairs to the apartment, the other Warriors hot on her heels. Mercy got through the door last, looking on in horror as Cleon laid Rembrandt on the couch and rubbed her knuckles on her sternum in a desperate bid to wake her up.

Mercy didn’t even register that she had been tackled until Swan was pulling Ajax off of her. “What did you do?!” the enforcer bellowed. “What the fuck did you do?!”

“Ajax!” Rembrandt’s voice was weak and choked, but it carried. Ajax forgot about trying to kill Mercy and went to her side next to Cleon, taking her hand and holding tight as Swan helped Mercy to her feet.

“I’m here, baby,” she said, “I’m right here.”

“Mercy saved me. Don’t be mad at her. Please.”

Cleon was on her feet in full leader mode. “Mercy, go get the hand towels from the bathroom. Swan, get Cochise on the phone. Tell her Rembrandt’s hurt and I want her here right now!”

They jumped into action. Mercy grabbed the towels and knelt beside Ajax and Cleon. Cleon folded up one to press over the cut on Rembrandt’s head and handed the other to Ajax, pointing to the slash in Rembrandt’s side. “Hold it here,” she said, “and apply pressure. Rembrandt, honey, I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.”

Rembrandt screamed as Ajax pressed the towel over the wound. Ajax held her down gently, whispering reassurances to her until she stopped struggling. The momentary flight of pain and panic seemed to drain what little strength she had, and all she could do was stare at them blearily as they tried to keep her awake and talking. She kept looking back to Mercy.

“Cochise and Cowgirl are on their way,” Swan said behind them. 

“Great. Come here, hold this on her head to stop the bleeding.” Cleon stood and pulled Mercy away, forcing her to turn her back on the scene. Her voice came low and harsh. “What. Happened.”

Mercy couldn’t answer. She looked down at herself. She was covered in Rembrandt’s blood.

“Mercy!” Cleon snapped. “What the fuck happened!”

Mercy choked out, “They threw her off a fire escape.”

“What?!”

“We got jumped. There were so many of them-”

“Why didn’t you run!”

“We did! We tried! They had cars, they cut us off, I made Rembrandt go up the fire escape so I could get her out of the middle but one of them was already up there and he grabbed her and, and-” Her throat closed up as tears filled her eyes. “I tried to stop him, Cleon, but one of them grabbed my legs and I couldn’t get free until after he pushed her off so I-I-I… I stabbed him.”

“You had a knife?”

“I didn’t kill him. I wish I fucking did but I didn’t. I threw him down the stairs and threatened to cut his throat and that’s when they took off.”

Cleon took a deep breath and held it. She kept a stoic expression, but Mercy could see the terror and soul-crushing panic in her eyes as they flitted about, looking everywhere but at Mercy’s face. “Okay. Okay. Fuck!”

“Cleon, come here!” Ajax snapped. 

Cleon gave Mercy’s arm a quick squeeze before going to replace Swan next to Ajax. Swan stood at Mercy’s side, watching Cleon wipe away tears from Rembrandt’s blank face while Ajax rubbed her arm in an effort to keep her conscious. Mercy had never seen either of them so scared. She turned to Swan.

“Is she going to be okay?” she whispered. 

Swan wouldn’t answer.

The door slammed open. Cochise and Cowgirl ran into the apartment, nearly tripping over each other. Cochise had a heavy backpack with the first aid symbol on it slung over her shoulder. Her little first aid kit had turned into a full on first responder’s trauma bag in recent months after neosporin and gauze bandages could no longer keep up with everything the Warriors put themselves through. She and Cowgirl went pale when they laid eyes on Rembrandt.

“Oh my god!” Cowgirl exclaimed.

“What happened?” Cochise switched places with Cleon. Her eyes were hard and focused, mouth set in a grim line, and Mercy was violently reminded that she had indeed been a soldier in a past life. 

“Rembrandt got thrown off a fucking fire escape,” said Cleon.

“What floor?” Cochise asked. Cleon looked at Mercy. Cochise followed her eyes. “Mercy, what floor?”

“Second,” said Mercy.

“She hit concrete?”

“No, she landed on some trash bags.”

“Definitely had something sharp in them. Rembrandt, hey, look at me. Open your eyes. Ajax, can you get her shoes off, please? Rembrandt, squeeze my hand as hard as you can, okay? Good, that’s good. Wiggle your toes for me. Great.” Cochise held her hand out without looking, and Cowgirl passed her a wooden tongue depressor. She pressed it up the length of Rembrandt’s legs. “Can you feel all this? Rembrandt, open your eyes. Talk to me.”

“Yeah, I can feel it,” Rembrandt croaked. 

Mercy caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were hazy and unfocused, pupils blown wide, and she looked through everyone instead of at them. 

“Cleon, lift her head up a bit so I can feel her neck. Carefully.” Cleon did, much to Rembrandt’s distress, and Cochise pressed along her spine from the base of her skull to her shoulders. “I don't feel anything out of place. Does your neck hurt? I know your head hurts, but does your neck hurt?” Rembrandt mumbled a no. “Alright. Doesn’t seem like there’s any spinal injury but we need to keep an eye out. Mercy, was she able to walk after she fell?”

“She could before she passed out.”

“Blood loss. She doesn’t have the blood pressure to stay conscious if she’s upright. Fuck, that shoulder is definitely out of place. You’re not gonna be happy with me when I put that back, Rem.”

Rembrandt inhaled sharply. “Am I gonna die?”

There was silence. Ajax reached over to cup her cheek, forcing a trembling, uncertain smile in a failed attempt to ease her mind. “No, baby, you’re going to be okay,” she promised. “You’ll be perfectly fine. You’re just a little banged up right now, that’s all.”

Rembrandt closed her eyes, face twisting. “You’re lying.”

Mercy watched Ajax’s heart shatter into a million pieces.

“Cleon, is there still a bed in the spare room?” Cochise asked. Cleon nodded. “Okay. Ajax, bring her in there. I can’t give her stitches on the couch.”

“No!” Rembrandt tried to push her away, but she hardly had the strength to keep her eyes open, let alone move anyone. “Ajax, I wanna go home.”

“Watch her arm,” said Cochise.

“We will, baby,” Ajax said, lifting Rembrandt in her arms. Rembrandt let her head loll against Ajax’s chest. “We just need to get you patched up first.”

She carried her into the spare bedroom, Cochise and Cowgirl following behind. Cleon made Swan go with them. Swan looked back at Mercy, hesitating, but Cleon insisted, saying Cochise was going to need two extra sets of hands and Ajax would be preoccupied with keeping Rembrandt calm. So she went, leaving Mercy alone with Cleon in the living room. Mercy couldn’t stop staring at the couch, now dyed with a red so dark it was almost black.

There was so much blood.

Cleon held Mercy by the elbow and gently guided her to have a seat at the kitchen table. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened,” she said. “From the start. Do not leave anything out.”

Mercy took a deep breath. “Rembrandt finished tagging. We were walking home when we heard these dudes behind us and they were saying shit and I told them to back off. I only did it once, I didn’t taunt them or anything, and then we ran. We were almost back when they cut us off in a car. Two cars. There were so many of them, Cleon. They had us cornered and I saw the fire escape and I made Rembrandt run up ahead of me but there was a guy already up there that I didn’t see. He grabbed her and said something about killing a few Warriors and then he threw her over the railing. Ajax gave me a knife for if there was trouble and I stabbed him in the back, pushed him down the stairs, and threatened to kill him if the rest of them didn’t leave. They all ran off, and that’s when I grabbed Rembrandt and got us home.”

Cleon nodded slowly. “I’ll start with saying I’m not mad at either of you. I’m glad you didn’t try to go up against all of them. Proud of you for that.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“What exactly did the guy say?”

“He said it was so easy to get through Brooklyn and it was going to be easy to kill off a few Warriors and take Coney Island from us.”

“This was a gang? Did they say their name?”

“No. Rembrandt said they were from Staten Island.”

“What were their colors?”

“Purple jackets with, like, a crown on them, I think.”

Cleon’s face darkened. “The fucking Princes,” she snarled. “Did you hear them say any names?”

“No. None of them. They were a little too preoccupied with trying to kill us to introduce themselves.”

“Stay here. I need to make a call.”

Mercy sat at the table, staring at the scratched wood. She couldn’t bear to see her hands, covered in dried flaking blood, so she kept them folded in her lap and tried not to cry. The adrenaline had mostly left her system and left her a shivering mess. She couldn’t break down, not right now, not if they might still need her to help. So far they didn’t, and she was left alone to her thoughts at the kitchen table.

Why hadn’t she seen him on the fire escape? Why hadn’t she been strong enough to fight him off? If she had been stronger, if she could run faster, if she was more observant, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. She should have run from the get and not even bothered telling them off and maybe they wouldn’t have had the opportunity to get ahead of her and Rembrandt. If she’d just been a little faster, she could’ve gotten him before Rembrandt fell. Yeah, she stabbed him, she made them leave, but it was too little too late and now Rembrandt might die because Mercy wasn’t fucking strong enough.

As she drowned in the what ifs, Cleon screamed at someone over the phone in the other room. The person on the other end of the line hollered back so loud that Mercy could hear him over the receiver.

“Your guys threw my tagger off a fire escape! They told my girls they were going to kill them to take over Coney Island!”

“Cleon, I didn’t know they were there!” the man on the line shouted. “They were supposed to be patrolling!”

“Didn’t know? Didn’t know?! You didn’t know your idiots were completely out of your borough?”

“Cleon, believe me-”

“I don’t gotta believe shit, Tommy! One of my girls might die because you didn’t have a handle on your bitches. If that motherfucker isn’t left to die in a ditch, I swear I will swim across the fucking Narrows to put your ass six feet under with him!” There was a long pause. “Expect a call from Masai.”

“You don’t need to get the Riffs involved,” said the other gang leader.

“Oh, you’re gonna want him there to mediate because if I show up alone, there’s no one to stop me from putting you in a body bag and keelhauling you under that fucking boat!”

Cleon slammed the receiver down and immediately picked it back up to call Masai. In the brief silence, coming from the spare bedroom, Mercy heard a muffled, “One, two, three!”

There was a sickening pop. Rembrandt let out the most agonized, bloodcurdling scream Mercy had ever heard.

When Cleon finally got off the phone, she came to stand beside Mercy. Facing away from her, she gripped her shoulder hard enough to hurt. Mercy noticed her shoulders shaking as she tried not to cry.

Cochise, Cowgirl, and Swan came into the living room. Cleon and Mercy got up to meet them.

“Is she-”

“She’s alive,” said Cochise quietly. Her voice was detached and clinical. “She lost a lot of blood. I don’t know what she landed on but I’m guessing broken glass because she’s cut up pretty bad. Her vest saved her from the worst of it. The shoulder was dislocated. I put it back and tied it up as best I could with what I have right now. I’ll go out tomorrow to get a real sling. She won’t need surgery on it, at least. No spinal injury but definitely concussed and I’m sure she cracked a couple ribs just from how it looks like she landed. Possibly a sprained knee. Real bad bruising. She won’t be tagging for a long time.”

“But she’ll be okay, right?” Cleon pressed.

“She’ll live. She’s sleeping now. I would've liked to keep her awake a little longer to get a better feel on how out of it she is, but…” Cochise shrugged helplessly, eyes downcast. “I already put her through enough tonight. I gave her some painkillers and hopefully those help but it’s… it’s bad. Honestly, I don’t know how she came out of it walking. Cleon, if she starts to have real trouble breathing or her cognitive shit goes downhill, we’ll need to take her to a real hospital.”

As Cleon and Cochise talked, Ajax came out of the bedroom. Mercy was the only one to notice her, shoulders set, face blank as she made a beeline for Swan.

It was a cheap shot. 

Ajax absolutely rocked her shit with a brutal hook to the jaw. Swan hit the floor like a bag of bricks, lying dazed on her back. Next thing Mercy knew, Ajax was on top of her with her hands around her throat, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her vision began to tunnel before the others were able to rip Ajax off of her. She rolled onto her side, coughing and holding her throat as they wrestled Ajax to the floor.

“I’ll kill you!” she roared. “I will fucking kill you! You’re a dead woman!”

Cleon pressed all her weight on Ajax’s shoulders to pin her down. Cowgirl tried to hold her legs so she would stop kicking at them. Cochise had her in an arm bar, wrenching it behind her back so far Mercy thought she was going to break it. They still struggled to hold her.

“She was supposed to be safe with you! You were supposed to protect her and you let her get thrown off a fucking building! She almost died because you needed to learn a couple blocks!”

“Ajax, stay down!”

Swan was on her feet and helping Mercy up, bleeding from her mouth. Mercy watched Ajax’s rage morph and dissolve as she broke down crying hysterically. Cleon grabbed her by the neck to get her to stop banging her head off the floor. She just kept wailing, “I should’ve gone with her! I should’ve gone with her! I should’ve gone with her!”

When it looked like she wouldn’t try to get up again, Cleon said, “Mercy, Swan, get out of here.”

Which was a mistake. Hearing their names reignited Ajax’s fury, and she started thrashing and spewing death threats again. Swan dragged Mercy to their bedroom and locked the door behind them.

Mercy sank to her knees as her resolve finally collapsed. She dropped her head into her bloodstained hands and sobbed like she never had before in her life. Swan didn’t speak, only sighed as she gathered Mercy in her arms, gently rocking her back and forth. She held her tight, cradling her head against her chest. Mercy clung to her like a child waking from a nightmare, which was what this whole awful night had become. One big horrible bloody mess.

When Mercy stopped crying after a short eternity, Swan pulled back and cupped her face in her hands. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Mercy sniffled. “That’s the fucked up thing. I’m fine but Rembrandt, Rem, she-” The words stuck in her throat like needles. “I thought we would be okay. I thought I could keep her safe but I failed her.”

“You didn’t fail her. You got her out alive,” Swan reassured. Mercy found it impossible to look her in the eye. “Who did this?”

“Cleon said it was the Princes or something after I told her their colors.”

“Mm.” Swan sat back on her heels. “They’re getting bolder.”

“Who are they?”

“The laughing stocks of Staten. Bet they thought they could score points if they annexed part of Brooklyn.”

“I heard Cleon talking to their leader. He said he didn’t know anything about it.”

“I believe that. That’s one of their issues, Tommy doesn’t have a hold on any of them. Probably will now, though, after this. With a transgression like that, I wouldn’t be surprised if they threw the guy off the back of the ferry.”

Mercy shuddered. “Are you okay? Ajax hit you hard.”

“I’m fine. Just cut the inside of my cheek.” Swan helped Mercy stand, looking her up and down. She opened the door a crack and peeked down the hall. “They’re not out there anymore. You should go shower. Change clothes.”

Mercy nodded. She needed to get the blood off her.

Swan sat in the bathroom with her while she showered, bringing her a towel and a change of clothes and offering to brush her hair for her. When she asked what Mercy wanted to do with her dirty clothes, Mercy told her to throw them out. She let Swan lead her to bed. Swan cradled her in her arms and held her tight until she cried herself to sleep. 

The next several days passed in a blur. Mercy didn’t sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. She ended up on the fire escape in the middle of the night more than once, leaning on the railing, staring over the edge, the vision of Rembrandt lying broken there searing itself into her mind. Only Swan could convince her to come back inside. Cochise and Cowgirl came over every day to check on Rembrandt. Cochise said she was healing relatively fast, all things considered, and most of her stitches could come out within the week. Rembrandt was only conscious when Cochise had to look her over, and even then she apparently struggled to stay lucid. 

Ajax rarely left her side, and only for a few minutes when it was necessary. The other Warriors made it a point to keep her far away from Swan and Mercy.

When Mercy passed the room, she sometimes heard Ajax mumbling indistinctly through the door, but she never heard Rembrandt. 

Cleon asked Masai to come down to Coney one day. Mercy was forced to recount every little detail about that night, down to the color of the man’s eyes and the sound he made when she buried the knife in his back. As she got around to that part, Ajax came into the living room. She stared at Mercy sitting at the kitchen table with Cleon and Masai, expressionless, her eyes hollow and cold. Mercy’s voice faltered. The two gang leaders looked behind them, and Cleon was quick to rest a hand on Ajax’s back and guide her back to the spare bedroom.

Mercy heard her whisper, “You don’t need to hear this.”

Masai wanted to talk to Rembrandt about what happened but Ajax shut that down immediately. Not that Rembrandt was aware enough to answer questions, anyway. Cleon respected Ajax’s refusal. What she didn’t respect was the litany of violent threats towards Masai that Ajax added on; a sanctionable offense on any normal day. Masai assured Cleon that it was alright and he didn’t take it personally. 

“If the roles were reversed,” he said in that low, gruff voice, “I would’ve threatened to beat my ass, too.”

Five days passed with no real improvement in Rembrandt’s condition. Mercy sat at the kitchen table with Cochise and Cowgirl. Swan and Cleon talked out of earshot near the door.

“Do you think Ajax will ever stop trying to kill me?” Mercy asked quietly.

“If she wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” said Cowgirl.

“Girl!” Cochise exclaimed.

“What! I’m right! Look, Mercy, Ajax doesn’t actually want to kill you, not outside the moment of, y’know, choking you out like she did, but honestly? She’s probably going to hate you for a long time. And I don’t know if she’s ever gonna trust you again. Definitely not around Rembrandt.”

“Okay, that’s a mean way of phrasing it-”

“But I’m right.”

Mercy dropped her head onto the table with a loud thunk and covered it with her arms. 

Ajax’s voice pierced the air. “She’s awake.”

Everyone leapt to attention. Ajax stood by the window, her arms hanging at her sides, hands relaxed. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Mercy doubted she’d slept at all since that horrible night. 

“How is she?” Cleon asked.

“Still really out of it but she’s talking again.” Ajax turned her head and faced Mercy. “She wants you.”

Mercy swallowed hard. She headed towards the spare bedroom. Ajax grabbed her. She froze. The others were already moving to separate them, but Ajax didn’t hit her or try to strangle her again. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Mercy and pulled her into a bone crushing hug, burying her face against Mercy’s shoulder as tremors wracked her body. She took three deep, measured breaths, and then pushed Mercy back to hold her at arm’s length. Her brow furrowed and there were tears in her eyes and she opened her mouth like she wanted to say something but nothing came out. She merely swept past Mercy and went to sit beside Cochise at the table. 

Mercy’s heart ached as she left Ajax behind and went to see Rembrandt.

She found the tagger sitting upright in bed, propped up on pillows, staring idly out the window at the sunset. Her arm hung in a sling with an icepack on her injured shoulder. There was a big bandage on her head where she’d been cut, the edges of a bruise peeking out around it. She wore one of Ajax’s shirts, and where it rode up around her midsection, Mercy could see that her entire torso was wrapped in bandages. Her eyes were sunken and she was still pale and there was a little hitch in her breath like breathing hurt but she was awake. She was alive.

Rembrandt turned to look at Mercy, still weak. She flashed a tiny smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Mercy perched on the edge of the bed next to her. “How are you?”

“Still in a lot of pain, but I’m okay,” Rembrandt said. “I’m sorry Ajax went after you.”

“How-” 

“Cochise told me when Ajax stepped out for a second. Warning for when I woke up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… it’s okay. She apologized.”

Rembrandt frowned. “She what?”

“Or, I think she did. She hugged me just now.”

“Huh. You’re right, that is how she apologizes. You’re okay, right? You weren’t hurt?”

“No, I-I’m fine. I got out alright.”

The tagger nodded, smiling as her eyes flitted back to the window. “That’s good.”

Mercy couldn’t stop the words that blurted out of her mouth: “How the fuck do you seem happy right now?”

Rembrandt’s brow furrowed. Her smile wavered but never fully left as she took a deep breath. Mercy caught the wince when she did it. “I’m still alive,” she whispered. “When I went over the edge, I felt like I was falling forever. I thought about how I would never get to paint again. I’d never get to go out with Cochise and Cowgirl. There would be no more movie nights with Cleon and Swan at their place. I wouldn’t know if you were safe. I wouldn’t get to tell Ajax-” Her voice broke. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I thought I’d never get another chance to tell Ajax how much I love her.”

“Rembrandt-”

“But then I hit and… I wasn’t dead. I saw the sky and I heard your voice and I wasn’t dead! I definitely feel like I got thrown off a fire escape, believe me, but…” She shrugged one shoulder. “I’m happy.”

Mercy held Rembrandt’s hand and brushed away the tears on her face. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m so, so sorry, Rembrandt. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“Mercy, I don’t blame you. I got hurt. It happens. This time was just… bad.” Rembrandt squeezed Mercy’s hand. “You got us out of there. That’s what matters. And I know Swan has told you the same fuckin’ thing so if you’re not gonna listen to me, at least listen to your girlfriend, man, damn!” It got Mercy laughing despite the tears welling in her eyes. “Will you promise me something?”

“Yeah, of course, anything.” 

Rembrandt’s smile disappeared. “Please, don’t hate Ajax.”

“I don’t hate Ajax,” Mercy said immediately. “If Swan was where you are right now and I had to go out there and look Ajax in the face, I’d try to strangle her, too. We’re even.”

Rembrandt laughed, which turned into a wince and a muffled groan as her chest spasmed. Mercy laid a hand on her uninjured shoulder and waited for her to get her breathing back under control. She let her head loll to the side. “She’s never gonna let me out of her sight again, is she?” she asked.

“Probably not. I hate to break it to you,” Mercy joked, “but you did actually get tossed off a fire escape.”

“Wow, really? Hadn’t noticed,” Rembrandt said sarcastically, and that got both of them laughing again. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

“Hey, by the way, where did you get a knife?”

“…Ajax.”

“Oh, mother-!”

[geode-crystal]

“Don’t you hurt a single hair on his/her/their head.” for the prince and knight duo ❤️

-- @whumperofworlds

Hello friend! Thank you for the ask!! You get a fun little whumpy drabble lol

______________

“Don’t you touch him,” Darius snarled. “If you hurt a single hair on his head…”

He stood in front of Mianu, sword raised, using his entire body to shield Mianu’s form. Mianu was huddled as far into the corner of the tiny, dismal room as he could possibly go. He was curled in on himself, clutching at the wound in his side, his other arm lying limp on the ground. His own magic betrayed him, shadows pulsing around his bad arm. His breathing was ragged. Shallow. His face was pale. And Darius didn’t want to think about all the other injuries he had sustained.

All that damage, all because Darius hadn’t been fast enough.

But he was here now. And he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Mianu again.

The enemy soldier sneered. Their own sword was held casually at their side, tip down, practically touching the cold stone floor. An easy threat… and a sign that they were far from intimidated.

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” they drawled.

Darius bristled with fury. His own sword leveled out, pointing right at his adversary’s heart.

“Walk away,” he hissed. “Right now. Or I will ensure that everything you did to him will be unleashed on you. Tenfold.”  

The enemy only smirked. “Cute. But let’s try this: you stand aside, and allow our dear young prince to follow orders. Or I could run you through, toss you aside, and make him follow orders.”

Mianu winced. A soft cry, a pitiful hiss, passed his lips. Darius had never felt such hatred.

“Over my dead body,” Darius snarled.

The soldier laughed. “Alright. I’m flexible.”

And their sword flashed as they lunged right for Darius. Darius was only too eager to meet the challenge. Whatever happened to him didn’t matter. As long as it meant Mianu got out without any further harm.

It was his duty as a knight. And his honor as Mianu’s love.

[snoffart]

put him out of his misery.

uhh LOL very rare for me to oc post but I've been playing ffxiv and made some OCs... my cowboy catgirl Zaeli (half miqo, half hrothgar) and her adoptive father, Harmon.. For the endings context, Harmon is a wanted man and his bounty is quite high. A man sought him out and took him down, and Zaeli killed that man for vengeance. It implies at the end that she will put Harmon out of his misery.

[saintlcss]

“I will, I promise.” One day. Jude would say anything when she found the words, say everything when Shaw asked and there was time. When it had not been borrowed or begged for. When it stretched lazily and could be taken for granted again. She would find the words for it all then. How wrong it had been. How she had pretended not to be harmed by it. A child in an orphanage with a mother, a body that worked the land but a life lived only in the mind. The truth: being trapped hadn’t changed Jude, it was Shaw alone who had reached into her, left her unable to return to the nothingness of before. Alive now, everything ached. She had never had to imagine knowing the words to explain it, the very thing she had believed impossible. “I will bore you with it all one day.” A smile like a wince. Words dangerously close to promise. That Shaw would recover, that they would remain pulled together this way forever. I was the same. A breakfast shared where she had counted their differences in her head, time spent together that made each one seem irrelevant. Mirrors and distorted reflections. “Hey,” A hushed tone as she wiped at wet cheeks. Tears and blood, things she hoped wouldn’t be theirs again. “You are more good than you know.” The only she’d ever known. Were they the same or merely inevitable? She only knew they had never deserved to hold them as she had. They were healer, angel—she was no more than a failed guard dog. A distraction.

Jude nodded. Anything Shaw asked.

“Shaw,” Jude assessed the body, their body, and cautiously uncovered their leg once more. She did not flinch at the sight but bent, slow and sickly. Remembered. Blood darker, the makeshift splint still in place. “You’ll need to put your hands around my neck and—” And? Away from the snow, the light. Somewhere safer and warmer. Bury them in a bed near a fireplace. Not a grave but a hiding place. Hope with whatever there was left. In her ribs, a curse rattled. It was directed at herself, that she should have done more, better, for them. There wasn’t anything more to use; the roof had caved in, but she should have anticipated it. Await the fall. One eye on the window and one foot out the door always—had she not learned it well? It was all that her mother had managed to teach her. So briefly had she forgotten to be afraid. It would have only ever been costly, the longing she had swallowed.

Hands moved as Jude shook. Cold, terror, something violent. Bones could take only so much before they cracked. The leg needed to be kept as straight as possible. So much to consider and yet every option seemed wrong. She swallowed, placed her hands in the space behind knees, fingers spread to hold the twisted bones in place. She looked at Shaw, tracked every small expression as if she knew a cure. “Ready?” Too light in her arms, too long in the snow. Cold with winter and feverish with wounds. She held Shaw close. Clung to them. Her feet sought out the path ahead, stamped many times before without thought—out the open door and down the stairs. Slowly now, a shared journey, too delicate for haste or mistake. A breath did not leave the rancher until she reached the ground, found a door ajar. She pushed on, moved Shaw through the ranch without anything more touching them. Eyes ahead, never on the blood that was known without looking.

A bed from long ago. Small, nearly rusted—kept like an artefact in a museum. One of the few things left behind in a bare cabin that had welcomed crawling remains years ago. Sleep that was granted after days of searching for a patch of solitude in hell. The new patient delivered to it with the lightness of care, of dread that all would collapse at any moment. “It will be warmer down here.” Further from the sky and closer to the heat. She hadn't felt the difference yet. Jude held Shaw long after she placed them in the bed; they would not be taken from here. Her throat dry and raw as if it had let out the screams it held. Practicality. It was needed. If only to give them a better chance, if only to keep her from her knees. However difficult it was to look away.

“I’ll light a fire.”

Snow and rain and runoff. Shaw thought about their skin, with its color drained, the light in their blue veins pulsing. Jude had come into their world with not much grace. Waves breaking against the shore, tenacious and relentless and alive. Waves that had found relief at finding the long slab of rock of the earth, finally. The stone of them calcified over time, weathering quickly as the water seeped into the cracks and broke the slab apart. In that regard, then, this snow was no different. To be cracked and torn open. Transformation again. Jude no longer the cause but their lifeline.

Lips pressing gently in their temple, that stretch of skin between their forehead and their ear. In their earlier days, this was often only a prelude to a kiss. She would trace a downward path and settle in the slope where their jaw and neck met, where tension had lingered deep beneath the muscle, where Jude could coax out the most relief—and lower, still, in the hollows of their collarbone. Other times, it was simply this: an offering of something tender in the dark, unprompted and hesitant but welcome. Moments that Shaw had pretended not to notice and to let sleep overtake them instead. In the morning, it would have been forgotten. The gesture obscured. There was a purposeful risk in that silence, then. To not acknowledge the lurch in their heart when they had to leave the ranch where life grew and to go back to the clinic that was only ever a ruin in waiting. 

It could not be ignored now with the starkness of the sky and the burn of Jude’s touch. Shaw tucked themselves in closer. Not a lot of good. “Okay.” Their mouth pressed against the curve of her neck, the only solace they could offer amid the rot of themselves. A leg cut off from all sensation. Blood strong and metallic against their nose. Any minute more and the living part of dying would have already commenced. “Tell me anyway.” Was it selfish, they thought, to bring it up now? The world as it was and could never be again. Looking back almost felt like a betrayal. Memories flickered like doors left ajar and a window boarded shut but ruptured through like a roof. But Jude’s presence was a balm to their lungs. Wondered how different she may have been outside of this hell. Perhaps no different. Still always covered in muck and sweat and tenacious and relentless and alive. “Would you believe if I said—” Tears swelled again. The body so often had its tells. Crying had hurt as much as laughter. Ruined still. To have done everything correctly, to have their needs reduced as burden. A son caught in the line of fire and a home that never should have been a home. And, here, now: punished for the only tenderness they had ever wanted to uphold. “I was the same.”

Minutes of weariness. The world burning. They wondered recklessly if there was still a path back to life and felt themselves shake the thought away. They would come back. It was only fair. They still wanted more of this: how Jude had made every effort to charm them, how Shaw had blushed with each attempt and kept looking anyway. The song-and-dance. Games they could both win. They would not be the first to lose. “You’d have made me laugh.” That had been the crux. That they could laugh together. 

They recalled long stretches of road and tumbleweeds and earth-baked highways and the rusting railroad bridge as they crossed the Rockies. The first car ride away from the world as they knew it. The engine of the hatchback had sputtered in the middle of nowhere and they had spoken to themselves that they were going to be alright and got to working. Hovering above them, a butcherbird on barbed wire perched to kill. The hands of a butcher’s daughter, mending something. Mending still, body broken, no longer alone now. Jude, speaking to them. The path made clear. “Let’s go now.” Downstairs. The hearth. The stitches could start there. The clinic in all its sterility a lifeline. How many bodies had they mended there. How many they still could. This winter would take so many. It would not take Shaw. It would not take Jude. “Can you do that for me?”

[jonquilyst]

301. Chapter 10, Episode 24

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Transcript:

(Pink text = Megyn)

(Cyan text = Molly)

(White text = Doctor)

*The doctor reappears from the hallway*

Doctor: Molly? Megyn?

*Molly turns her head in response to the doctor's voice*

Jayden (patting Megyn's side to rouse her from sleep): Wake up, Megyn... The doctor wants to see you.

Doctor (after leading Molly and Megyn to a secluded area): I'm so sorry to tell you this, but... Nick's brain hasn't shown any activity in the last six hours.

Doctor: After conducting several tests, we've concluded that he is brain dead.

Molly: What? Wh-What does that mean?

Doctor: It means that despite being placed on life support, all functions of the brain have stopped. There is no hope for recovery and the person is legally and clinically dead. I'm afraid Nick's brain injury was too severe for him to recover.

Doctor: I'm so sorry... Please allow me to escort you to his room where you may both have time to say goodbye.

[interstella5555daily]

Day 6

"I'll drive the rest of the way."

The idea of what happens during High Life to the rest of the band + shep has haunted me since I got into interstella

[pfhwrittes]

a soap and isla drabble for the daemon au below the cut

"ye can't ignore me forever, isla." soap sing-songs, reaching out to flick at isla's dark ear. she huffs and pointedly gets up from the sofa in the rec room to flop on the floor, facing away from him. soap nearly smirks at her dramatics, his highly-strung other half of his soul.

"c'mon bonnie girl." soap whines, more doglike than the belgian shepherd that shares his soul, and stretches out into the vacant space, nudging his toes into the sable fur of her flank. there's a zing of irritation down their bond and soap has to fight to keep his face neutral.

soap pokes at her again, and again, and again, jostling her over and over until finally isla whirls around to click her teeth noisily mere millimetres away from soap's medical boot.

"steamin' jesus, ye nearly had my entire leg off there!"

"well stop bein' such a wee cunt then!" she snaps, her lips curling away from her teeth in a snarl.

"i'm no' bein' a cunt!" johnny defends himself, "i'm just bored! ye ken what it's like!"

isla grumbles and gets up to pace a circuit of the rec room, her teeth chittering quietly as she lopes in circles from exit to exit.

soap sighs noisily and starts tapping a rhythm on his thighs.

christ, how the fuck is he gonny survive another three weeks of this?

[babysitting-hellhound]

This is Ez typing again. I'm big so I can type for Chester.

He wants to first of all thank everyone for their warm wishes in our inbox. We probably aren't going to answer any of the older ones, but we both deeply appreciate it. It's making us both feel so much better already, so he and I can't thank you enough.

Now on to more serious things. TW for serious injuries and near death.

We were in a three-way car crash that almost killed one of the other drivers involved. Chester was also in critical condition, both of his legs and an arm were broken, and that's why I'm here to talk for him. I was miraculously uninjured but definitely in serious shock for a while.

He almost died on us a couple days after the accident, and I was very scared I was going to have to make THAT announcement instead...but he's going to be alright, and is recovering too. We technically shouldn't even have been released from the hospital yet according to the doctor.

Here's the scary part about the future: Chester may never walk again. I wasn't present for a lot of the details but I was told it has something to do with spinal damage. If I get more information (He doesn't want to scare me, which I understand. It could be bad for me in littlespace) I will tell you all what I can. I know that doesn't affect our online presence as much as him being in pain will, but it's an important detail we know needs to be told.

Lots of love from Chester and Ezzi, Even though we were new to the community you all helped us feel more than welcome.

-♣

[i-never-grew-up]

never tattoo yourself in your room with a sewing needle and pen ink.

AND DON'T TRY TO FUCKING REMOVE IT WITH A NAIL FILE WHEN YOU REALISE THAT YOUR PARENTS WILL GO APE SHIT OH MY GOD

Yours sincerely -

a 14 year old who gave himself a stick and poke on the 23rd of march then a couple days ago decided to remove it with a nail file which didn't work and is now on his way to A&E

[jonquilyst]

297. Chapter 10, Episode 20

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Transcript:

(Pink text = Megyn)

(Cyan text = Molly)

Molly: Megyn... There's a good reason why I never reported you. It's not that I never cared...

Megyn: What?

Molly: I knew how frustrated you were with us... And you had every right to be. When you left, I knew right away that you were trying to escape so that you could be free and away from us.

Molly: I wasn't sure what plan you had in mind, but deep down, I knew that you being separated from us was the best thing you were doing for yourself. So, I decided the best thing I could do for you was try to protect that freedom you were seeking.

Molly: You had done the very thing that I never had the guts to do, Megyn: escaping and building a better life for yourself. That was something I was too scared to do in all the years I've known your father.

Molly: So, in the end, I didn't tell the police, I told the school we were homeschooling, and I came up with every excuse possible to prevent anyone from reaching you.

Molly: The biggest hurdle was keeping your father from finding you. He couldn't comprehend why you would just leave like that...

Molly: But for the entire time you've been gone, up until last night, I've been able to hold him back. Hold him back from reaching you, wherever you might have ended up.

Molly: I failed you as a mother, and I am so terribly sorry. I should have left him... I really should have... And I'm so sorry I never did...

Molly: But no matter what happens, he can't hurt us anymore.

[coiledqueen]

ooc. hoooly guacamole

stopped home from work for lunch and was helping my elderly neighbor move some heavy boxes down some flights of stairs. I told her to let me handle the lifting but she insisted on taking a box down while I wasn't looking and started to fall backwards. without really thinking I dove to catch/brace her and we took a tumble down the last few steps--

good news? she's completely fine. I held her and ate the rest of the fall. bad news is that my bones are sufficiently rattled and I'm in the waiting room as a patient this time lol. needless to say I'm pretty sure I sprained something so I'm not going back to work. in the end, I'm just happy she's okay. and I'll probably delete this soon but typing something out is helping me process this whirlwind of events lol.

life has been so WEIRD lately!! just gotta roll with it! planning to return here very soon (I'm begging circumstances to let me cook, I need to write...), it's just been a whole week...!!