#tw flashbacks mention

[frownyalfred]

Actually Oliver Queen (an Arrow-adjacent version at least) and Bruce Wayne bonding over their past experiences with torture and imprisonment (the stories they could tell make even Arthur look wary) while the rest of the JL Founders just look horrified in the background should be a new fic trope.

Let’s leave FMK games behind, and replace it with variations of: “Remember that fingernail thing?” / “Yeah, with the lime juice.” / “I did that thing twice before I realized there’s a trick to it.” / “No shit, there’s a trick?” / “Yeah, when they first insert the pliers under the nail, you tense up your thighs and—-”

[pastafossa]

DDBA SPOILER REALIZATION THOUGHT, SERIOUS ANGST

How we feeling about the realization I just had that Matt is probably drinking red wine in his apartment even though he prefers cheap beer because the smell of cheap beer is likely now tied irrevocably to his memory of Foggy's death?

They were at Josie's.

They were at Josie's: cheap beer, hops, bitterness. He knows that scent.

A scent now mingled forever in his mind with the taste of sour fear, of death in the air.

And of lingering copper, and the anguished, familiar tang of tears and Foggy's cologne.

[skulls-n-soup]

Being a system and a minor is crazy because yes I just had a horrible flashback but also I really gotta finish this English assignment

[the-fall-of-hades]

Imagine noticing Robby trying to fight flashbacks while a patient is in the peds room. You see the signs because you know the signs after being with Robby so long.

You see the way his eyes are focused on a specific spot on the mural on the walls and you just know he's back to the day he lost Dr. Adamson. He's not entirely in the present, evident by the way he misses what the parents are saying.

Imagine you making up an excuse or saying that you've got this so Robby can leave the room since he so desperately needs to leave. You watch him leave and head to an empty room because he's too distracted to go back to working.

And so you help the patient with whatever needs to be done before leaving them in the capable hands of the nurse. You head to where the room is and slip inside, your heart breaking at seeing Robby in such a vulnerable state.

You sink to your knees when you're in front of him, close enough that he can touch you but you're not touching him just yet. You give him the time and space to think about whether he wants your touch or not, happy to just give your presence if that's all that is required.

You give a moment, a respite. A chance for him to come back to his senses and not be stuck in that horrible day.

Imagine before you two leave the room, Robby whispers a soft "Thank you" while his fingers brush against your hand as he leaves. He won't be forgetting your kindness.

MDNI & Support Dividers made by @cafekitsune

Requests are open!

[cry-baby6]

[arlecchinasmainblog]

More Epic Angst

It’s the middle of the night and shouting can be heard from the king’s chambers.

“Get your wretched hands off of me! I am done enacting your vile fantasies!”

It’s happening again.

“Odysseus, my king, my love, it is I, Penelope.”

But he couldn’t recognize that. Not now anyway.

“You are not! You are not! Cease veiling yourself as my wife you evil witch!”

Despite his wife’s gentle words, he couldn’t see her as he rocked in the fetal position; squinting his eyes shut as if he were a child hiding from an imaginary monster.

“Why must you take joy in tormenting me! I just want to go home! I just want to be home!”

The poor man cried in vain. And all his wife could do was weep. For she could not help her husband escape the prison of his confabulated captor. She could not free him from the prison of his own mind.

[fangs-n-fluff]

I recommend not looking at this if/ when regressed!

This is a little rant for littles & caregivers who struggle with hyper-sexuality, sexual flashbacks, intrusive thoughts, etc!

Tw!!: mentions of age play, very brief mention of csa(?), intrusive thoughts while regressed.

This is sfw, I do not personally understand/ participate in any nsfw/ age play, I am a minor.

The day that more of the Agere community is a bit more accepting to people whose regression isn’t completely and 100 percent “innocent” all the time without getting accused of having an age play kink or “sexualizing” age regression, is the day I rest.

As someone who experiences intrusive and impulsive thoughts that I cannot control, it sucks. I cannot just “stop thinking like that”, the more you try and repress those icky thoughts, the more they frequent. Repressing something is never good.

Also, as someone who’s been through some (brief) sexual experiences when I was little plus, was gifted unrestricted internet access—Sometimes when I happen to be regressed and I remember that or I’m experiencing/ reliving a bad moment—my body gets confused and reacts sometimes. And you know what? That’s okay.

Sometimes our brains can be mean. It sucks, I know. But it’s not your fault. It’s something that happens, it’s natural. You’re not gross for your mind getting confused sometimes and feeling things without wanting to. You’re not gross for reacting how you reacted to past trauma. You’re not gross for your body reacting to something involuntary. You’re not gross for your mind making up something you don’t agree with. You’re not gross if you think of adult things while regressed involuntarily/without wanting to.

Remember lovebug, your regression is yours.

It doesn’t have to fit a specific mold, and you’re not “icky” or “gross” for experiencing something you can’t control.

You still deserve to heal the way you choose to heal, regardless of what other people say.

— Take care of yourself lovelies!

Love you! - 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

[frownyalfred]

me slapping a Pennywaynes flashback into the ninth wave: it's like a reward

[lacetrauma]

im sorry that i don’t have much to say anymore. im not as creative as I used to be

[discord-emote-customs]

snow leopard emojis ? :3

hi sorry friend i am infected with animal jam disease and i cant hear snow leopard or arctic wolf without having flashbacks

on a serious note , heres a sleepin snow leopard & a happy snow leopard w/ a speech bubble w/ & w/o the laughing animal jam emoji ^^

[quezzzs]

[TW almost cheating(by a rando) and SLIGHT homophobia and sexism(from a flashback)]

"I feel drunk already."

"Detective, we had just step foot in here and you're already intoxicated?"

"Well it fucking reeks."

Gavin and Nines had entered the lit up wine tasting venue that already had various other guests standing around or sitting with their glasses, indulging themselves for this 'fun' party as soft music was being played with the scent of wine disseminated.

Tina might be the goddess of persuasion because Gavin is now realizing how quickly he gave in to joining a snoozefest just for a coffee maker.

The two detectives wandered around to check the area, unfamiliar with this current setting and just simply trying to find something of interest.

Mindlessly analyzing each random person's profiles, Nines came up with a question for Gavin. "May I ask why Officer Chen's family throw these...extravagant events?"

"S'pose to be an annual party to celebrate adulthood or whatever. Honest opinion though, I think a bunch of these dicks want a day away from their shitty kids."

One of the couples shot a glance towards Gavin as he made a mocking face at them in return.

Nines elbowed the shorter man at his shoulder to tone it down.

"Ah- you prick."

"I suggest you refrain from profanities for a short while. They don't seem fond of your abrasive behavior."

"Fuck them then."

Thankfully before the two can get into an argument about manners, Tina came in to save everyone's night.

"Gavin! You actually brought your ass here." Tina slinked her arm over Gavin's shoulder from behind, teasing her coworker joyfully. Gavin gave Tina an annoyed face before sighing.

"Hey, Ti-"

"So Nines, he actually convinced you to go?"

Tina interrupted Gavin before he could properly greet her, being direct with her question towards Nines instead with the most smug look on her face.

Nines nodded his head and folded his hands behind his back, acting like his proper self as per usual. "No convincing was needed when the both of you speak at a high decimal. I was aware of the conversation taking place."

...

"Ah."

...

"Well, anyways, hope you guys have a good night. I'm gonna go back to Vicky."

Tina pats Gavin's back and does a little finger gun at Nines before rushing back to the blond woman, who is called 'Vicky' apparently. From the corner of Gavin's eyes, he saw Nines' LED glow yellow and he knew what the android was thinking of.

"Vicky is Tina's new talking stage."

"Mhm. I assumed so with her elevated heart rate."

"Aye, you! Android lookin' fella!"

Both Gavin and Nines turned their heads to face the direction of the loud voice. They saw a group of old guys with their beer making a gesture for Nines to come over there, hollering at him with incoherent drunk sounds.

Nines' LED went yellow again as he looked over at Gavin, who nodded his head slowly at the sudden call out. They approach the guys cautiously to avoid any risks.

"C'mere man, we got something for your kind."

One of them with the flushed face reached an arm over their bag to take out a glass bottle covered up in brown paper. Another old man downed his glass and handed it over to Nines, patting the RK900's hand and ushering him closer.

As they were pouring the liquid into the glass, Nines stood in place. The LED turned red as he had nothing in his social programmings that could help him out in this scenario, eyeing Gavin for some help.

Gavin returned an expression that clearly reads, 'What the fuck do you want me to do???' so he couldn't aid Nines right now.

Once the man was done pouring the liquid in, he gave Nines a grin and nodded his head. "Go on, yeah?"

Nines darted his eyes to the shot glass he was hold and was hesitant to take a sip, but after estimating a 72% of a friendly interaction with these drunken men, he'd have to drink it. He gave another second to pass before he raised the glass to his mouth and sipped it.

The drunk men leaned in closer to get Nines reaction. "Well?" One of them asked.

Objectively, it's what Nines expected alcohol to taste like from all his online sources, like burning shit.

...

However...

He was not oppose to turn it down.

"It's...potent."

The group of men glanced at one another in confusion.

Nines took noticed and reiterated himself in broader terms.

"It's really strong, but good."

The group commemorated one another in success of Nines' positive review on their creation. "We making millions now." They all cheered on and patted Nines on his back, bringing him closer to try it out some more.

Meanwhile, Gavin was on the sidelines now, dumbfounded by what had happened.

Not only was Nines, the uptight asshole he knew out of everyone at work, was persuaded to take a drink, he actually enjoyed it.

Gavin felt like he wanted to have a say in this course of actions, but him and Nines agreed to go their separate ways for the night so Gavin could enjoy himself with the party instead.

He stepped a little closer to where nines was at to give him a heads up. "Don't start doing stupid shit when I'm gone."

Nines only waved Gavin off now that he's found an odd amount of calmness within, alongside dizzying effects.

He couldn't care about Gavin right now.

Being completely ignored, Gavin sneered and took off, shoving his hands into his pocket as he muttered 'prick' underneath his breath.

Wandering all around the venue, the only interesting thing he saw was this weird water fountain outside with little cherubs and fish decorated into the stone.

Other than the 'exquisite' taste in design, everything else made Gavin want to leave immediately.

══════════════════

10:28 PM

2 hours since Gavin and Nines arrived.

And in Gavin's blatant opinion, he was right about this place being a snoozefest.

He chose not to get anything to drink since it was mostly wine(no shit, huh?) and a few beer options, but Gavin wasn't much of a beer guy.

He's already taken a few snacks from the large charcuterie board that was displayed at the food area alongside with some healthy tasting mini desserts that made him get a few side eyes on.

Gambling didn't feel like an option for tonight because he didn't want to be dealing with masterminds and ruin his night more.

At this current time, Gavin was leaning against the wall nearby the exit to the outside area, mindlessly scrolling on his phone while quickly liking any cat post he saw.

He turned his head up to survey the room so far. The music turned more upbeat and noisy with people gathering in the middle of the room to dance their asses off. In another direction, he saw the more chilled out area where he saw Tina talking passionately about something as Vicky watches her in an attentive manner.

When is this shit gonna end-

"Heya~"

Gavin was all of a sudden faced with a woman who was clearly drunk out of her mind and felt strongly uncomfortable with how close he had gotten.

"Uh, hey?" Gavin tried to take a step away from her but she followed.

"Yur really cute *hic* wnna hafe my number?" The stranger slurred her words as she swished her wine glass around.

Gavin tried to deflect the woman with his own question. "Isn't this a couples only event?"

"C'mon, my bouyfriend doesnm't need tuh know."

'REDFLAGREDFLAGREDFLAG!!!'

The alarms were ringing loudly in Gavin's head, making a deep sigh before taking another step back away from her.

"Listen, lady, I'm not interested."

Her face showed a slight frown before coming up with a dumb idea. She leaned back and sets down her wine glass aside.

"Maybe you'll be interested in me now~"

She grabbed the bottom of her skin tight top and tried to raise it up(to which Gavin attempted to leave as he was swift to cover his eyes) before another man came in and grabbed her arm.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"OH, uh, hi baby~"

"Don't you fucking 'hi baby' me, Jane."

It took gave a millisecond to know that this man was the woman's, now he knows is called 'Jane', boyfriend.

Thankfully, Jane's boyfriend had some common sense that Gavin wasn't the one engaging as he looked at Gavin for a moment and apologize. "I'm sorry 'bout her, we'll leave you alone."

He gave Gavin an ashamed smile but was quickly transformed into justified anger as they were moved away to argue.

Gavin stood in place, speechless and confused by the dysfunctional couple.

'Wow, couldn't even get a woman to leave you alone? I knew you're a sissy but goddamn, Gavin, you are a fucking homo'

Gavin shook his head in disgust by a familiar voice that was prominent in his head. He groaned and began to walk away from where he was, now wanting to leave.

Tina just straight up lied to him about needing help because she looked like she's already doing fine with Vicky. No point in staying for longer.

He walks around the swarms of people around him and headed to where he last saw Nines-

"I WANNA SEE YOU OUT THAT DOOR. BABY BYE, BYE, BYE!"

What a glorious sight to behold.

In front of Gavin was Nines holding a microphone and standing on a table with his hair ruffled up, grey button up undone at the top, and face bright blue, all the professionalism he had completely erased as he sings with the group of men from earlier and a few new people cheering him on.

Gavin covered his mouth with his left hand...and started recording and taking pictures with his other hand. After recording enough footage and taking pictures, he puts away his phone and went to take Nines away after the song was done.

One of the guys from the group nudged Gavin's shoulder to warn him. "Make sure he keeps good."

Gavin nodded his head and did a two finger salute before Nines threw his arms around Gavin.

"Hi, detectiveeee~"

"You're drunk."

"Whaaat? No 'm naut." Nines says as he is currently nuzzling his face against Gavin's jacket.

"How many drinks did they give you?"

"Aughhhhh..."

Gavin felt like he should be surprised but he didn't.

He just really wanted to go home.

"Wha- heeeyyyy, put me dowwwwwn."

Nines tried to hit at Gavin's back when Gavin had picked him up by the legs and held him over his shoulder. Nines somehow doesn't weigh a lot considering his more tougher build compared to Connor but Gavin assumed it was because of the material androids were made with.

Gavin holds up Nines as he walks toward the back of the venue place and carefully open the doors at the back. Once outside in the courtyard area, he walks up to the water fountain from earlier and asked Nines one small detail.

"You waterproof?"

"Mhm, yeah."

...

...

...

Gavin threw Nines into the water fountain to sober him up.

He crossed his arms and waited for Nines to get up, the sounds of water splashing around and seeing Nines desperately trying to get up made the human detective chuckle, despite how this may be a little dark.

Nines stood up, water dripping down his body and hair, LED flashing red, and a scowl found on his face.

"What the fuck."

Now hearing the oh so regal Nines curse was the cherry on top. Gavin began to laugh loudly and pointed at Nines for how ridiculous he had shown to be.

Not wanting to get the last laugh, Nines went over and grabbed Gavin in by his jacket and into the water fountain with him.

"WHAT THE PHCK- OH PHCK ITS COLD."

Gavin held himself to warm up, even though he was soaking wet now, as shivers went down his spine. Doesn't help that it was chilly outside already.

Then he heard laughing.

Not his.

But Nines' laughing.

He watched Nines have his hand hovering above his mouth with the sounds of hysterical laughter coming out of his voice box, eyes closed with his face full of joy.

It wasn't the type of laugh you would hear from a snobbish rich person, but moreso a laugh that felt so genuine and contagious.

Gavin couldn't help but chuckle before splashing some of the water at Nines in a playful retaliation for bringing him down too. Acting offendedly, Nines swashed the water back at Gavin and it led to the two of them having a water fight.

══════════════════

Minutes later, they found themselves sitting at the edge of the water fountain, squeezing out the water as much as they could. Wiping the excess water that was falling on his face, Gavin dropped a small mention to get going.

"So, never seen you like that before."

Nines thinned his lips and shrugged his shoulder lightly. "I'll admit, performing public singing in front of strangers wasn't where I wanted to be in, but the prompt was much too compelling not to choose."

"I didn't mean that." Gavin waved his hands on the singing bit.

Nines raised an eyebrow at him as he watched Gavin's face "What did you mean?"

"I meant seeing you be all so..." Gavin scratches the back of his head before gesturing his hand out. "I dunno, fun? I sorta threw you in the water but you didn't give me the same annoyed stare you always do." Gavin looked back, holding eye contact with Nines.

"True, but having the opportunity to bring you in with me helped elevate my mood." Nines spoke clearly in a flat tone meant to tease Gavin.

Gavin gave a sassy remark back. "Okay, fuck you."

"You already do that, Gavin." Nines fought back with, testing his taunts further.

"Gavin?"

Nines realized the informal title he had referred to Gavin and stammered to correct himself.

"I-I did not mea-"

Gavin smirked as he hit Nines' arm, now being the one doing the teasing "I'm fucking with you. We're off duty anyways so it's cool."

Nines chuckled again and shook his head, smiling. When he saw Gavin again, he noticed his work partner gazing at him.

"Do I have alcohol residue left on my face?"

Without missing a beat, Gavin stated his thoughts out loud.

"You have a nice laugh."

Neither of them knew why he said that.

Gavin shook his head, as if making the embarrassment growing to pass away instead, and he cleared his throat.

"Let's go, you can dry up at my place and I'll bring you back to the station."

Even though Nines wanted to talk for some more, he agreed with Gavin. "Sounds alright."

Exchanging goodbyes with Tina, changing into something dryer, and driving back to the DPD precinct, it was quiet between them.

But now that silence had became bearable.

Nines was still stuck on the first ever compliment Gavin had given him that wasn't followed up by cursing or insults.

And Gavin was screaming at himself for making an obvious move that he didn't mean to say out loud.

They had a good first night together without sex.

Prev - Next

[flowersandskeletons526]

"Over the Edge" - Warriors Concept Album Fanfic (part 1/3)

Rembrandt's recovery after a fight gone wrong is going slower than she likes. While she struggles to get back to her old self, the world marches on past her.

This is a continuation work to my other fic titled "Don't Let Anything Happen To Her." Read that if you haven't yet or this one will not make any sense. Enjoy!

--------

Cochise lifted Rembrandt’s arm up from her side. “Does this hurt?”

“No,” Rembrandt mumbled.

She lifted her arm higher until it was level with her shoulder. “How about this?”

“That hurts.”

“Alright.” Cochise dropped her arm and leaned back where she sat on the edge of the coffee table. “Have you been wearing the knee brace I gave you?”

“Yes, for the tenth time, I’ve been wearing the brace.”

Rembrandt had, in fact, not been wearing the brace.

It had been three weeks since she’d been thrown off a fire escape on a tagging mission with Mercy. Well, three weeks since she woke up after it. She barely remembered that night. It came to her in brief flashes and fleeting nightmares she couldn’t decipher. She remembered running, remembered Mercy’s hand in hers, the weightlessness as she went over the edge. She remembered the sky above her when she hit the ground. Everything after was fuzzy, blurred by pain and terror, coming in and out with glimpses of faces and muffled voices in between all the agony. 

Cochise let her take off the sling after week two of being tied up in it. The knee brace had to stay on longer. She was allowed to leave it off at home but “not while you’re out walking around,” as if Rembrandt had been able to go anywhere but between apartments since that night. She hated the stupid thing. It was clunky and annoying and the way her pant leg bunched up around it irritated her. But no matter how many times she asked if she could just ice her knee and take it easy, Cochise insisted, and she had Cleon and Ajax backing her up so Rembrandt had no choice but to follow orders.

Maybe if it helped with the pain, she could get over it, but it didn’t. Nothing did. It didn’t matter how many painkillers she popped or how drunk she got. The dull, pulsing ache in her leg and shoulder was ever present, distracting her through the day and keeping her up at night. Most of the bruises had faded to ugly yellowish green blotches by then, but even they still hurt if she twisted wrong or bumped into something.

The scars were the worst part. The other Warriors let her get drunk when Cochise removed her stitches, not because it necessarily hurt, but because of how fucking uncomfortable it was. Rembrandt held Ajax’s hand in a death grip and screwed her eyes shut as she felt the pull of every single thread exiting her skin. The scar on her head she could mostly forget about, hiding it beneath her bangs and reminding herself to not touch it. The scars on her torso were a different story. 

She caught sight of them after getting out of the shower one day. Twisting in front of the mirror, she traced the long, jagged, angry red strip that carved its way from her hip bone to the bottom of her ribcage. Her back looked like someone had wildly taken a knife to it, crisscrossed with a patchwork of deep slashes and puncture wounds that she’d just barely been allowed to keep uncovered. 

She remembered the intense, stabbing pain when she hit the ground. She remembered something sharp dug into her flesh and the warmth of her blood soaking her shirt. The night sky. Mercy’s voice. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t-!

Ajax had found her with her arms braced against the edge of the sink, head hanging, face blank but with tears pouring from her eyes. She wrapped her in a towel and just held her for a long time before she was lucid enough to get dressed. She’d been exclusively wearing flannels and jerseys stolen from Ajax, anything loose that buttoned or zipped because she couldn’t lift her stupid fucking arm high enough to put a shirt over her head.

Back in present day, Cochise handed Rembrandt a book titled “An Introduction to Physical Therapy.”

“I don’t know much about it but this has good advice,” she said. “I marked the parts that talk about shoulder dislocations and knee sprains and highlighted the exercises I want you to do. You might need someone to help you with some of the stretches, so have Ajax do them with you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Rembrandt said quietly. “I’ll tell her.”

“How are you feeling overall?”

“Shitty.”

“Shitty how?”

“Shitty like I got thrown off a fire escape and landed on broken glass. Everything still hurts.”

“Is there a new type of pain or it just hasn’t gotten better yet?”

“It’s not any better. The only thing better is I can finally talk without almost passing out because my ribs hurt so bad.”

“Well, you know, that means you didn’t puncture a lung so that’s good.” Cochise moved to sit beside her on the couch and squeezed her hand. “It sucks and I’m sorry to tell you, but it’s going to hurt for a while. I’m not being dramatic when I say it’s a miracle you didn’t break your neck. This was honestly the best outcome we coulda hoped for.”

“Best outcome would’ve been not getting thrown off a building,” Rembrandt scoffed.

“You know what I mean. Just keep using the brace, take ibuprofen, and do the physical therapy and it’ll get better. Promise.” 

The front door opened. In walked Ajax and Cleon, whispering between themselves. Their conversation cut as they crossed the threshold so Rembrandt couldn’t discern the topic, but Cleon’s eye twitched with severe irritation and Ajax wore a scrunched up expression that Rembrandt knew was her “I’m pissed but can’t cuss out my leader” face. Rembrandt honestly did not want to know what the issue was now. 

Ajax sat beside Rembrandt opposite Cochise and kissed her temple before sinking back into the couch, sulking with her hands in her pockets. Cleon sat in the armchair across from the three of them wearing a similarly upset expression. Rembrandt looked between them as cold anxiety blossomed in her chest.

“Rembrandt,” Cleon said after a moment, “I’m sending you on a tagging mission tomorrow night.”

“What?” said Cochise. “She can’t-”

Cleon raised a hand. Cochise silenced herself so sharply that Rembrandt was acutely reminded of just how long Cochise had been under their leader’s command. “Those rich punks from Seagate have apparently forgotten what the word ‘territory’ means,” Cleon continued. “I sent some of the new recruits to pinpoint the blocks they’re encroaching on. I want to double the tags through there to remind them to stay behind their gate.”

“Okay,” Rembrandt said slowly. “I can find a way to get up somewhere.”

“You’re not climbing anywhere.”

“You want me to keep my tags low?”

“You’re not tagging. You’re supervising.”

“What?!”

Rembrandt jumped to her feet, only to immediately drop back to the couch as white hot pain shot through her leg. It was not the first time she’d done that. Any explosive movement in her knee landed her right on her ass. That meant no climbing, no running, no doing fucking anything that made her a good tagger and a useful member of the Warriors.

Cleon pointed at her leg. “That’s exactly why. Business has to continue but I’m not going to allow you to make yourself worse because I let you do something you weren’t ready for.”

“But I am ready.”

“Physically ready. Which you obviously are not.”

“I can-”

“Put your arm above your head.”

That was mean. Cleon knew she couldn’t, which was exactly the point. Rembrandt turned to Ajax, looking for a bit of support, but she didn’t find it. Ajax just bounced her leg impatiently and kept her eyes on the floor.

Rembrandt looked at Cleon. “You’re sending me, your tagger, on a tagging mission, but you won’t let me tag?”

“It’s just for now.”

“How long is ‘for now?’”

“Until you’re better.”

“Who’s gonna tag? Ajax?”

“You don’t have to say it like that,” Ajax said defensively.

“Mercy,” said Cleon. 

Rembrandt’s throat tightened. She held no ill will towards Mercy. Truly, she didn’t. Not one bit. Mercy was the only reason she got out alive that night. But… But Rembrandt was the tagger. Rembrandt had been the tagger from day one and now Cleon was sending their newest recruit to take over her job because - what? She wasn’t as fast as she used to be? She couldn’t reach far enough? She could tag just fine! Why was Mercy doing her job for her!

Out of the corner of her eye, Rembrandt watched Ajax sink further into the couch. No way in hell Ajax had agreed to this. No one trusted her to be in the same room as Mercy without Swan and at least Cowgirl there with them. 

“Swan and Ajax will be with you two,” Cleon went on as if she could read Rembrandt’s mind. “I don’t want a repeat of what happened. Honestly, I’d come with, but Masai and I are still figuring out exactly how to handle the Princes and neither of us can really afford to be away from the phone at the moment.”

Rembrandt bristled at the name of the gang who attacked them. She saw a flash of purple and a poorly embroidered crown. Rough hands grabbing her collar. The garish jacket rapidly fading from view as she plummeted-

“Rembrandt!” 

Ajax was shaking her, hand tight around her wrist. She blinked back into her body. Lifting a hand to her face, she found her cheek wet with tears. She looked up to see everyone staring at her, leaning in where they sat with expressions of confused worry. The only one who didn’t look completely weirded out was Ajax. 

Ajax knew exactly what it was, but Rembrandt had made her promise not to tell. She didn’t need anyone thinking she was more fragile than they already did. 

“Rem, honey, don’t be upset,” said Cleon gently. “It’s just for now. Once you’re better, it’ll go back to normal.”

“No, it’s… it’s not that. I’m fine.” Rembrandt shook her head to clear it. “Does Mercy know she’s doing this?”

“Yeah, I told her.” 

“And Swan?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, fine. Whatever. I’ll teach her the tag.”

On the walk back to their apartment, Rembrandt refused to look at Ajax. She still held onto her arm but only because she kept tripping from the stupid brace not letting her fully bend her knee. Ajax kept glancing down at her, catching her when she stumbled, being there for her to lean on like always but waiting for her to start any conversation. Rembrandt hated it. She didn’t like starting conversations. Ajax was the one who talked and Rembrandt chimed in or played off of her, not the other way around. 

Rembrandt didn’t speak until they were in the apartment and getting ready for bed. “I can’t believe you fucking agreed to this,” she snapped as she struggled to pull on a tank top.

“I didn’t,” Ajax said from her spot on the bed. She looked up from the physical therapy book she held in her lap. “Do you want help?”

“No. I got it. I’m fine.”

“Alright. Whatever you say.”

“You’re seriously okay with Mercy taking over my tagging work?”

“I wanted to go kick the shit out of those Seagate bitches so bad they’d never go past their gates again. Cleon insisted we tag to send our message instead. If I had it my way, you wouldn’t be doing this at all. You think I want to be out with Swan and Mercy?”

“You aren’t going to start a fight with them, are you?”

“No, I’m not going to start a fight! I’m fine being around them,” Ajax protested. Rembrandt shot her a look over her shoulder. “I’m mostly fine being around them. I don’t want to punch either of them in the face, is that good enough?”

“Yeah, that’s good enough.” Rembrandt sat beside Ajax on the bed, leaning her head on her shoulder. Ajax put her arms around her and held her close. “I could tag just fine if she would let me.”

“You’re recovering. Just let yourself get better.” 

“I am better.”

Ajax sighed. She didn’t try to argue. Planting a quick kiss on Rembrandt’s cheek, she got up to turn off the lights before laying down beside her and pulling the covers over them both. Rembrandt laid on her side, keeping pressure off her hurt shoulder like Cochise said. She couldn’t bear to sleep on her back. Every time she tried, the ceiling morphed into the night sky and she felt the stabbing pain through every single scar. Ajax settled in behind her, curling around her and looping an arm around her waist. She rested her forehead against the top of Rembrandt’s spine. 

“I wish you would just let yourself rest,” she whispered, her breath warm across the back of Rembrandt’s neck.

“I hate this feeling,” Rembrandt muttered. “I can’t do shit.”

“You’ll get better soon.”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks.”

Ajax just held her tighter.

The next morning, Rembrandt stood with Mercy in the alley next to Cleon’s building. She laid out a couple sheets of cardboard pulled from the recycling and handed Mercy a paint can and a mask.

Mercy rarely looked at her anymore. Not fully. She would only give quick glances here and there, trying to hide the fact that they were aimed at her knee or her shoulder or the scar on her forehead when the wind blew her bangs out of place. Rembrandt knew she still blamed herself for what happened. She wore the guilt splattered across her face like blood.

After they talked the day Rembrandt woke up, she thought they were cool. She thought Mercy was okay. But during that first week, when Cleon insisted Rembrandt stay at her apartment to keep an eye on her, she would walk by their bedroom late at night and hear Mercy crying.

Grabbing her own paint can, Rembrandt sprayed a small version of the Warriors tag in the corner of a sheet of cardboard. “Copy that,” she said. Mercy did. Well, she tried. “No, move with your whole arm. Don’t flick your wrist like that.”

“I’ve seen you do that,” Mercy said, frowning.

“When I’m painting. You need strong, clean lines when you’re tagging.”

“I thought tagging was painting.”

“No, it’s-” Rembrandt took a deep breath and shifted her weight off her bad leg. “They’re different. Give me the can, let me show you again.”

She showed Mercy the tag again. She made Mercy copy the tag again. And again. And again. And again until she truthfully did have it down to an acceptable degree, but Rembrandt couldn’t look at any tag that wasn’t her own without finding fault in it. She could see Mercy growing more and more self-conscious every time she made her repeat the tag. Eventually she came around and took pity on the girl because she could admit she was being mean at that point, but in her defense, this was her job. Her tag that she designed. And now Cleon wanted her to-!

No. No. This was not Mercy’s fault. She would not be mad at the girl who got her out of that night alive because Cleon was keeping her benched.

While Mercy threw out the painted cardboard, Rembrandt sat on a busted milk crate to smoke. Mercy leaned against the wall beside her. She wordlessly passed her a cigarette.

“Hey,” Mercy said after a moment, “I’m sorry. I know you’re not happy about this.”

“I’m fine,” Rembrandt said curtly. “I get why Cleon wants you to do it. She’s still figuring out exactly where you fit. She does it with everyone.”

“I thought Ajax recruited you specifically to be a tagger?” 

Rembrandt gritted her teeth and stubbed out her cigarette. “She did.”

Rembrandt dreaded going out that night. She and Ajax met Swan and Mercy outside their apartment. Mercy wore her new vest that Cleon had finally finished making for her. Rembrandt had the very beginning of a new vest, only a few spikes and her tag across the back, missing all the scuffs and charms and paint stains that she’d gained over the years. The fall had destroyed her old one to the point where it was completely unwearable.

Ajax and Mercy stood far away from each other, neither of them quite over what happened yet, but Mercy could finally look at Ajax again and Ajax wasn’t trying to beat the hell out of Mercy anymore. Swan pulled Rembrandt into a gentle, lingering hug. Rembrandt buried her face against Swan’s chest.

“How are you feeling?” Swan asked.

“I’m fine,” said Rembrandt, which seemed to be the only answer she had for that question anymore. “Let’s do this.”

Ajax and Rembrandt walked behind Swan and Mercy. Rembrandt didn’t want them to see her stumbling, didn’t want them to see how she held onto Ajax just to keep herself upright. It was a long walk to the edge of Coney Island. When they reached the building Cleon wanted double-tagged, the Warriors stood in a line beneath the fire escape, looking up over the brick face. Rembrandt couldn’t look for long; she just kept seeing herself hanging over the edge of the railing. Ajax discreetly took her hand.

“Alright,” Rembrandt said, looking over at Mercy. “Go to the top of the fire escape to the ladder that goes to the roof. Lean out as far as you can and spray the tag.”

“How far do you go?” Mercy asked.

“Mercy, I love you,” Swan said under her breath, “but you can’t go as far as Rem can.”

Of course, she couldn’t! No one could! So why wasn’t Rembrandt doing it!

Instead of screaming that to the sky, Rembrandt said, “Just reach as far as you can.”

Ajax had a few inches of height on Swan and just a little more raw muscle, so she had to boost Mercy up to the ladder of the fire escape. Rembrandt thought of her first mission years and years ago, how Ajax’s strong hands felt on her waist as she lifted her, and for some reason the sight of Ajax helping Mercy do her job sent a fiery bloom of jealousy ripping through her chest. Pursing her lips, she put her hood up and glared at the sidewalk.

Swan put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not forever,” she mumbled.

Rembrandt glanced up at Mercy climbing the fire escape. “I know.” She raised her voice. “Mercy! Tag it there!” 

She watched Mercy reach out with the can and completely miss the wall. She held the can wrong, the nozzle outwards, and ended up spraying her hand and the top of a window. Rembrandt bit back a growl of frustration as Mercy fumbled the can and nearly dropped it. She recovered well enough and managed to correctly spray the tag to where Rembrandt could admit it looked official. 

Mercy was all smiles when she came down. Rembrandt plastered a smile of her own across her face, praying it didn’t look too forced. She was proud of Mercy - really, she was - but this whole experience left such a bitter taste in her mouth that she couldn’t think of much else. 

Mercy ran right up to her. “Good, right?” she asked. “That works?”

“Yeah,” said Rembrandt. “You did great. Ready for the next one?”

“Yeah! Let’s go!”

Swan smiled as she coaxed Mercy down the street towards the next building. “Don’t drop the spray paint this time.”

Rembrandt couldn’t hear Mercy’s indignant comeback over the ringing in her ears. The world rocked. 

The night sky. The taste of blood. Stabbing pain in her side-

Ajax touched her arm. “Rem?”

“I’m fine.” 

[namusass]

i cannot describe how disappointed i am in you all. im watching Ballerina on netflix and i come to tumblr and you're all thirsting after the guy? the guy who is a serial rapist and blackmails women into slavery? why on earth would you go for that when there is SO MUCH SAPPHIC CONTENT??????? do better, im so serious, these gays deserve so much more content. i wanna see so many gifsets, so much fic, these women are GAY and IN LOVE Ok-Ju kills SO MANY DUDES FOR MIN-HEE

[onemashedbraincell]

tw: mentions of flashbacks and panic attacks

the flashback and panic attack combo right after is like stubbing your toe on a lego brick and then immediately tripping and face planting into a pool full of legos.

[hersurvival]

Black.

Blue eyes.

Blacked out.

Fading, falling.

Fighting for consciousness.

Every night when I start to drift,

Nodding in and out,

I'm back.

Left at a party, a bare mattress

On the floor in a back room.

Briefly awoken

By him sneaking in.

"Hey. Hey," he coos,

"It's me, we met earlier."

[heath-morgan]

@lcstbcy

the chill of the night air seeped through heath’s jacket, but the coldest touch was the metal pressed against his skin. the weight of the gun on his hip was a familiar sensation, not uncomfortable, but a constant reminder of the balance he had to strike. its grip rested snug against his side, the textured surface rough yet reassuring beneath his fingertips as he brushed it on instinct. his eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the dimly lit street ahead as he caught the faint rhythm of footsteps. just far enough back to be cautious, just close enough to be deliberate. that presence was back, the one that had lingered on the edges of his awareness for days, always out of sight but never truly gone. no matter where he’d been - downtown, the east side, or slipping through the shadowed streets of brooklyn - he’d felt it. always lingering, always watching.

when the moment came, his hand moved with practiced precision, fingers curling around the grip as though it were an extension of his own body. the pull of the holster gave way to the solid heft of the weapon in his palm, its balance steady and exact. heath turned in one seamless motion, his arm raised, the barrel now aimed directly at the stranger behind him. the weight of the gun wasn’t just in the metal; it was in the decisions it carried, the line it could draw between threat and survival.

"stay right the fuck where ya’re standin' or i’ll brain paint this street when i blow yer damn head clean off. ya got three seconds to spit out who ya are and what the fuck do ya want”