#tw near death experience

[indulgentdaydream]

Can you write something where the reader is badly injured in some way and jason rushes her to the manor for help and everybody is confused on who she is bc they didnt even know he was in a relationship (despite them being together for awhile) but they see how soft and cute he is with her. (I’ve never made a request so sorry if it got kinda rambley)

anon you’ve got me TEEMING with ideas I LOVE the trope of nobody knowing jason has a girlfriend and they find out but it is NOT by Jason’s choice nor reader’s.

Also omg? Your first ask is to lil ol me?? That means this is a special occassion. And you’re doing great I’ve def sent worse asks.

Out of the Bag

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader || Hurt and Comfort.

Word Count: 1,862

Warnings: Injuries, swearing, near death experience, blood, knife mention, stabbing, canon-typical violence, use of pet names (princess, baby), drug (pain med) use

You were sat in an alleyway, vision going in and out.

“Tell me something, princess. Anything.” Jason’s voice rang out in your ear.

That’s right. In your right hand, you held your phone, to your ear. Your other hand was pressing the fabric of your coat to the side of your stomach. The blood had soaked through, becoming sticking on your palm and fingers.

You should’ve listened to Jason. You shouldn’t have walked home alone, at night. Luckily your phone had been in your pocket and not your purse, which had been stolen from you by the same guy who decided to stab you.

“Princess,” he sounded panicked.

Right. “Wish I had kicked him harder.”

You heard a sigh of relief leave him, “That’s my girl.”

The phone slipped from your grip a little as your head swam. The sight of blood coming from your own abdomen made no help in quelling your nausea.

You fixed the phone. You had called Jason the second the guy ran off, leaving you to bleed out. He was driving, you think. Tracking your phone to try and get to you. “How far?”

He said something you didn’t hear. Your vision was swimming, your side was aching, and you couldn’t help but keep this funny understanding out of your mind that you were dying.

That this is something Jason had come back to your apartment with a few times, claiming it was nothing. It was something.

You heard him call your name, “What’s around you?”

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

It seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Jason was trying to tell you to stay awake, to look at the alley around you. To look out towards the street and tell him what you saw. Then he was there, standing in front of you, his helmet hiding his face.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” He cupped your face, tapping your cheek to get you to open up your eyes. He crouched down, pulling your hand from your side to assess the damage.

You smiled lazily and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Jason muttered a slew of swears as he pressed something soft yet hard against your agonizing wound. You let out a yelp before Jason was picking you up, placing you on his bike.

He’s talking fast, “Fuck. Okay, listen to me. We’re going to go somewhere new, okay? There’s nowhere around here except there for me to get you safe.”

You passed out nearly as soon as he started the bike.

Jason’s freaking. He had tried to keep you safe from anything like this. From everything less than this. And here you were, bleeding out in his arms as he carried you through the batcave. He beelined for the cots and the medical supplies off to the side. He knows his motorcycle couldn’t have been the smoothest of rides for someone in your condition, but it’s all he had in such a short time span.

He’ll apologize when you wake up.

When. He repeats. When she wakes up and when we can get the hell out of this place again and when I can remind her I love her.

No one was back from patrol yet. He set you down on the cot before tearing off his helmet. He tossed it aside, pulling out a med bag and ripping it open. He pushed up your shirt, examining your side and where he had placed the military-grade gauze pad. He curses at the amount of blood.

His hands are shaking. Jason’s hands don’t shake, but you’ve proven to him a lot of things you could make him do that he hadn’t known he was capable of in the last year and (almost) a half of your relationship.

Jason nearly drops the suture thread before another hand is reaching out from just behind him. It catches the thread and Jason looks back over his shoulder. Alfred’s there, moving up to you.

“Allow me. You keep checking her vitals.”

Jason hadn’t even heard him come up. He’s nodding, stepping back to let Alfred take over the stitching. He moves to the other side of the bed.

That’s when he catches sight of the dark figure moving closer from behind Alfred. Jason immediately fixes him with a deadly glare, pointing at Bruce, “Do not come closer!”

Bruce stills. He’s in his bat suit, his cowl hanging behind his head, exposing his face. He looks down to your body, “Who is she?”

Jason doesn’t want him here. Rather, he doesn’t want to be here. You should’ve been home by now. Getting ready for bed and sending him a goodnight text. He turns his gaze back to you.

There’s some hair across your face that he hadn’t noticed. He moves it out of your way without a second thought, “My girlfriend.”

“Finally feel some remorse for sending someone to their grave, Todd?” Damian’s voice spoke up, walking up and stopping beside Bruce, “He’s probably trying to just reverse what he did.”

Jason ignores him. He wants to yell, scream, and maybe shoot the little bastard, but he was right. In a way, this was his fault. He didn’t look after you. He should’ve offered you a ride. Called you a taxi. An uber. Anything.

Jason grips your hand into his. It’s a way to count your heartbeat, and another way to ground himself. To reassure that you’ll be okay. His other hand stays on your cheek. His thumb gently moves back and forth, stroking your skin.

He barely registers Bruce telling Damian to go wash up. When the brat is gone, Bruce speaks up again, “What happened?”

Jason doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “She was walking home from her friend’s. A mugger got her purse, she fought back. He stabbed her.” Jason takes a deep breath, “She still had her phone. She called me. I brought her here because it was closest.”

A beat of silence. Still stitching you up, Alfred speaks, “How come we’ve never been introduced?”

Jason shakes his head, “I didn’t want her near any of this. She’s bad off enough sticking with me.”

Once you stabilize, Jason brings you up to his room in the manor. He walks past Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph without looking at them. They sit around the batcomputer, watching Jason gently carry you out ot the cave.

He changes you out of your dirty clothes once he makes a run back to your apartment to grab you some of your own spare clothes.

Asides from that, he doesn’t leave your side.

He lets you have the bed to yourself. He pulls up a chair beside it, waiting for you to wake up. He didn’t want you to be alone when you did, in a strange place after a traumatic event. It was a recipe for disaster.

The sun’s been up for a long while and Jason hasn’t budged. He sits there, your hand gripped in both of his, held up and pressed against his mouth. His lips brush over your knuckles whenever he speaks up. Uttering a “I’m sorry.” every now and then.

There’s a light knock at the door before it’s cracking open. Jason turns his head to find Dick poking his head in. Jason glares at him.

Dick steps further in, presenting the tray he was holding. There were two glasses of water, some solid foods, and lighter ones, probably for you. Jason looked back down at you, letting his older brother enter.

“Just… figured since you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” Dick begins, setting the tray down on the beside table beside Jason.

Dick moves back around. He stands at the end of the bed, leaning against the tall bed post that was meant to hold up a canopy. “I heard…” he trails off, before nodding and your body in the bed, still unconscious, “Who is she?”

Jason looks up at his brother, not letting go of your hand, “So you haven’t heard.”

Dick rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Jason raises his brows a little. He looks back down at you. His hand reaches out to brush along your forehead, moving away imaginary stray hairs, “My girl.”

Dick nods in understanding, “How long you two been together.”

Jason pauses in thought, “Over a year. Our anniversary was in December.”

A small, choked sound comes from outside the door, in the hallway. “A year?”

Jason looks up at Dick, who makes a face that shows he’s knows he’s been caught.

“Are they seriously listening right now?”

Steph poked her head in first, an apologetic smile on her face, “We wanted to know!”

Duke pokes his head in next, just above Steph’s, “And we wanted to meet her.”

Tim’s head in next, above Duke’s, “You can’t carry a random bleeding woman into the cave and expect the family of detectives to not be curious.”

Cass’ head appears below Steph’s. She nods in agreement.

Jason let’s one hand go of yours to wave his hand through the air, “What the fuck? She’s not even awake!”

“Well that’s why we sent Dick as bait.”

“For the record,” Dick held up a finger, “They built off of my original, innocent idea of bringing you snacks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason stands up, taking a few steps forward. He points them all back towards the door as they start to filter into the room, “Get—“

“What’s going on…?”

Jason’s whole body whipped back around at the sound of your groggy, rough voice. The others watch as he’s back at your side in a millisecond, his whole demeanour changed. “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Remember how I said we were going somewhere new? You thirsty, baby? Here, I got you some water.”

“Oh, you certainly did not get the water,” Dick piped up.

Jason glared back over his shoulder as he held the glass of water for you, keeping the straw Dick had added placed in your mouth.

You stopped drinking, your eyes now on the other people in the room. You turned your head, propped up against pillows Jason had put there for you. You weakly raised your left hand to wave, “Hi… oh?” your gaze turned down to your hand. A heart monitor clip sitting on your finger grabbed your attention. You gave a confused pout at it, “I feel funny.”

Jason set the water aside again. His glare was gone. He leaned in, kissing your forehead, “You’re hopped up on pain meds. That’s why, princess.”

“Damn,” Steph spoke up, “I wish I got the literal princess treatment.”

Jason turned back around, pointing out the door, “Get. Out. Leave my girlfriend alone until she’s better.”

You looked at the strangers, pointing at Jason with your left hand, “I’m his girlfriend.” Your head tilted back against the pillows as you stared up at Jason, pursing your lips, "I’m tired.”

“I know,” Jason said softly. The others began to filter out of the room as he leaned down and gave you a soft kiss, this time on the lips.

From the exit, a collective, “Awwww,” sounded out.

“Out!”

Your drugged up voice came after his, once they were all back in the hall, “Nice to meet you!”

[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-!”

[just-a-space-rabbit]

Flufftober 2024 Day 2: Fireplace

Supervillain waking up next to a fireplace in a unknown cabin.

Flufftober 2024: Prompt List by @thepenultimateword

TW:Injury, Near death experience, Implied abuse, Attempted murder Mood: Angst/Fluff

Part 1 : Part 2

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Supervillain began to twist around in their bed as the images from last night swirled around in their head. Small glimpses of their fight with Superhero faded in and out, but none of it made sense.

Suddenly they jolted awake as pain surged through them. But instead being greeted by their own expensive bed in their luxury apartment.

They were greeted by an old stiff sofa, in a room lit and heated by a small fireplace with a dying flame. Their eyes slowly darted confused around the room, they could see they were in a tiny cabin. And by the musty smell and dust, they doubted it had been used in a while.

Looking down they saw that it and most of their body had been bandaged up. “What the hell happened…?” they mumbled, as everything felt stiff and painful. 

Immediately after seeing the state they were in, Supervillain began to look for their phone, as they did not want to spend a single moment more in this place. But all their gadgets had been taken away from them. Before Supervillain had time to stress about this, a small snore coming from somewhere else in the room caught their attention. 

Slowly, they began to lift their heads to peek over the top of the sofa, looking into the rest of the small one roomed cabin. And there just outside the light of the fireplace he saw someone asleep at the kitchen table, with an old undrunk cup of tea and cold soup infront of them. “H… Hero?” they asked, confused.

Upon hearing their name Hero’s head shot up, looking just as confused as Supervillain had been moments earlier. They looked over at the now awake villain before muttering “oh, you're awake already?” Before they got up and immediately went to tend the dying flames of the fireplace. Supervilllain looked as Hero’s golden blue suite gleamed in the light, but seemed duller than normal. “Do you want some tea? Or coffee?” Hero asked while Supervillain just looked at them stunned. 

It was Hero… The Hero! Superhero’s top team member Hero. The one Hero no one could imagine breaking a law. This was the last person they had expected to be here, wherever ‘here’ happens to be…

By the time Hero had sat down in the living room chair opposite to them, the fire was burning brightly again filling the room with its golden glow.

And Supervillain had finally grown confused enough that all the questions came out at once, making the young hero do a small startled jump as they were bombarded with. “What do you mean by ‘you're awake already?’ Why are you here? Why am I where? Where are we? What is going on?”

As they asked more questions. They tried to get out of the sofa but were met with a sharp pain in the stomach, making them fall back down.

Hero quickly got up to help them back in place, asking if they were alright. “This is my old grandpa's cabin.” Hero said silently, “It’s the only place I have left that… That Superhero doesn't know about.”

“Superhero” Supervillain repeated shock growing on their face as all the memories of their last battle clicked back into place. That’s then they finally looked at Hero properly and saw their maskless face for the first time. And they could finally see how tired and empty their eyes looked.

“Why did you save me?” Hero asked in a cry just above a whisper. “You jumped right in front of Superhero’s attack. It could have killed you.” 

Supervillain did not answer, because… they did not know why. Superhero had just turned on Hero from what it looked like, out of nowhere and began attacking them.

Everyone knew Superhero was cold and strikt with all those how got close to them, but violent? No. Not even Supervillain thought they would stoop that low. “Dead heroes tell no tale” they finally answered. “There have to be some reasons Superhero attacked you. And I want to know why?”

It was now Hero who grew quiet, looking away from Supervillain. Before muttering a small “I can’t tell you that”

“Well, in that case, do you have my phone? Since it seems you took all my gadgets while I was asleep.” Supervillain asked, and they could swear they saw Hero blush a bit in embarrassment as they looked away shyly for a moment and asked what he wanted it for.

“So, I can call in a helicopter and get the two of us out of here. With the way Superhero is acting, I think it 's best that the two of us skip town for a while. Because I doubt you’ll make it far without me.”

Hero hesitated for a bit. And Supervillain could see it in their eyes how they were thinking it over in their head. Finally they relaxed their shoulders, as they looked back at Supervillain with a small light back in their eyes for the first time in ages, and handed them the phone.

... ... ... ... ...

Day 1 -🎃- Day 3

[geode-crystal]

Magic Whump Week, Magic With a Price

For Day 1 of @kabie-whump 's Magic Whump Week! Prompt "Magic With a Price/"It's Worth It"

Delving a little bit into some backstory-related angst for my OC Mianu (with a little bit of his loyal knight Darius thrown in) because... well, Magic With a Price is basically his whole deal lol.

Original work. 440 words.

CW: magic whump, emotional angst, vague mentions of near-death experiences, one brief mention of blood (or, more accurately, a lack thereof)

_______________________________

Mianu’s magic is a curse. And he knows it well.

It doesn’t matter what anyone else calls it; a blessing, incredible power, the right passed down to him through his bloodline, the Might of Kings… all such useless names.  

It’s a curse, and that’s all there is to it.

Mianu’s kingdom is one of balance. Equal parts light and dark. And those who are lucky enough to have magic that shines like light… they are capable of so much more than Mianu could dream of. They can protect. They can heal. They can create.

Mianu can only cause harm.

He’d practiced, of course. Ever since he was old enough to become aware of his power and what it could do, he’d practiced. Magic on the whole was never that uncommon, but his shadows were a special case. They were wild. Difficult to control. And every single spell cost him greatly… even when it didn’t do untold damage to all that surrounded him.

His arm, where he channels most of his magic, is now permanently damaged. Blackened and marred, scarred beyond any kind of repair. It’s nearly entirely made of shadow now. It no longer bleeds when it is cut, instead trailing a sort of smoke, remnants of pure magical energy. And every time he casts, it hurts him.

He would never say that aloud. Especially not to Darius.

But Darius always had a way of noticing anyway.

Mianu has his magic under control now. Most of the time. Some days are worse than others. And whenever he needed to use a lot of magic, to fight off those who wished him and his family harm, or in possibly fruitless attempts to fix all of the things that he had done wrong… those were the worst days.

“You need to be more careful,” Darius had told him on one such day. “You could have lost your arm.”

Mianu had let out a dry, humorless laugh. “I lost my arm a long time ago.”

A bit dramatic, perhaps, but true enough. Mianu had lost a lot of things. He’d made so many mistakes. There were so many things he still needed to make up for.

But he’d saved Darius. Or at least, he’d had a hand in saving Darius’ life. His magic had defended them both from more disasters than Mianu could really keep track of at this point. Not that he wanted to count. He was just grateful that Darius was still there. He would forever be grateful for that.  

All the pain, all he had gone through… it was worth it. As long as Darius remained by his side.

[ofvolatile]

//   (  oktay  çubuk  .  cis  man  .  he  /  him  )  .    ⸻  taylan yalçınkaya ,  a  twenty-six  year  old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  lived  for  almost  their  entire  life  .  the  dirtbag is known  for  being  headstrong  and  volatile  and  is  often  associated  with  sorrow lurking in a ferric heart as it beats stubbornly ,  crimson  stained  &  battered  bruised  knuckles  , and   all the charm and temperament of a junkyard dog .  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  the  co - owner of amrak grocery store  &  professional hockey player for  the  nhl  word  travels  fast  .  it’s  hard  to  keep  a  secret  ,  and  it  looks  like  the  boogeyman  knows  that  redacted  . 

STATISTICS  .

full name : taylan deniz yalçınkaya . nickname : tay & knuckles by hockey fans because of his eagerness to fight . age : twenty - six , april 18 1998 . horoscope : aries . gender + pronouns : cis male he / him . orientation : biromantic , bisexual . place of birth : red creek , michigan where he lived for twenty - years , but he moved to vancouver six years ago for his sports career . career : professional ice hockey player for the vancouver canucks ( played 5 seasons as right wing player , fighter & enforcer for the team ) currently on suspension . he is also the co - owner of a family run business , amrak grocery store . siblings : twin sister selın yalçınkaya . parents : father is a police officer , and mother is the founder of the grocery store . living arrangements : he has an apartment in vancouver , but in red creek he lives with his twin sister . moral alignment : chaotic neutral . hair color : brown . eye color : hazel . height : six foot one . tattoos : a bunch of small scattered stick & poke tattoos , and one big back tattoo , see pinterest . piercings : both lobes , tongue , double on his right eyebrow . scars : with hockey being a violent sport , he has a lot of scars , but the most notable ones are , the cut between his left eyebrow from a fight , where hair won't grow anymore & the scar on his throat where he was accidentally cut by a player's skates , its 10 centimeters long and it took one hundred and fifty stitches to close his wound .

BACKGROUND .  trigger warnings for injury , near - death experience , trauma , drug abuse , toxic sport environment & abusive relationships .

- his parents named him taylan , hoping he would be as gracious as the name that he carried , but he quickly proofed to be a difficult child , and by the time he was a teenager , all he had ever done was creating problems for himself : underage drinking , trespassing , vandalism , settling any and all disputes with violence . he was a regular at the police station , only made more awkward because his father is a police officer . the father and son never had a healthy relationship . with his narcissism and superiority complex his father held a tight ship in the household , with strict rules and high expectations that taylan had no interest in meeting . - start trigger warning brief mention of emotional abuse . a cop with big dreams of being the sheriff one day . his parents have always been very involved in the community of red creek , which his father flaunts to make himself seem like a good person , hoping it will increase his chances of becoming the town sheriff . however , he never got the position and to this day the subject remains a sore spot for him , looking everywhere else except within and taking it out on his son , blaming his bad reputation around town for staining the family's name . end of warning . - taylan's interest in hockey came at the age of five in the garage of his childhood home where he would shoot pucks in a make-shift goal . as he grew older the sport became an outlet for him to let out that aggression for the way his father treated him . he was part of the hockey team at school and immediately after graduation taylan started playing for the junior hockey league ( his first step towards reaching the big leagues ) , while his twin sister was their father's favorite , taylan was their mother's , and he needed her to sign the contracts since he was still underage . it was one year later , that he got drafted for the NHL when an incident led him to jump into opposing bench in an attempt to fight with the opposing players , whose team was in the lead . after the game ended , he was approached by scouts who were impressed by his courage , and drafted him for the vancouver canucks . by this time taylan had become completely independent from his family , and the only one he was staying in contact with was his twin sister . sick of living in their small town that felt more like a prison then a home , he made the decision to leave his life behind .

- start trigger warning . away from red creek and in the big city were his best years of his life , doing what he loved the most . however , everything came to a crashing halt during his last match . after colliding with a opponent , taylan got his throat cut by the player's skate blades , lacerating his carotid artery . the accident was traumatizing for him ; bleeding out on the ice , thinking that he would die . taylan needed hundred fifty stitches to close up the wound . less then a week later and still not fully healed mentally , his coach saw him fit enough to play again . the relationship taylan had with his coach was a toxic one , and abusive , that combined with taylan's own competitiveness had him biting his tongue . he was used to the years of verbal abuse from his father , and instead he let out all his anger out on the ice . however , after the accident his performance had noticeably declined . while abusing pain killers was not something unspoken in their field , developing a problem for them and testing positive for hard drugs before a match was not something they could ignore . the manager of the team saw him as a liability , casted him out as a black sheep , despite his own coach enabling his harmful habit for so long . they had the pr team working overtime to hide the suspension stating that his current absence is because of his injury . end of warning . - needing to rest his injury out and bitter over how things went down . taylan is back in his hometown where his relationship with his father still is on bad terms . he helps his twin out as selın takes over the store from their mother's hand , anything to make up for the time he been away . no one knows about his suspension , and the team likes to keep it that way ( but if they are sport fans they could have seen the accident when it aired on tv , that part is not a secret ! ) HOWEVER , this is not the secret that the boogeyman knows of course , there is something else he's hiding hehe .

HEADCANONS  .

1 . ) trigger warning for abusing painkillers . while taylan has a high pain tolerance , he still uses medication to treat the injuries he has acquired during his years of playing hockey . the pills were basically handed out by his coach like tic tacs , pushing him to play more games despite his chronic injuries . definitely not a healthy work environment . his suspension has put him in the NHL players assistance program that helps him deal with his trauma , which also comes with frequent drug test , so outside of prescribed painkillers and sleeping pills , he tries to not use anything else , because he wants to get back on the ice as soon as he can . 2 . ) he doesn't have a healthy sleep schedule . it started back in his teenage years . when he was staying out all night and past his curfew , and it only got worse with his disruptive schedule as a hockey player where the matches ends at ten and the adrenaline keeps him up all night , flying of to the next match the following day . when he can get some rest , he likes to take afternoon naps . 3 . ) he has a bunch of stick & poke tattoos on his arms . there was a phase back in high school when he wanted to be a tattoo artist and practiced it on himself . 4 . ) he likes to collect zippo lighters and has a nasty habit of smoking cigarettes . tried stopping multiple times by chewing on tobacco , but always falls back to smoking .

[fangirls-fanfiction]

Sooooooo after I wrote the chapter of my other story: 'A Contract; A Relationship' I started writing other short stories about what life was like for both Queen Dice and Luci and how their relationship developed before the main plot line of the show or the game. So I decided to make another story for it lol.

Yes, this is based on my genderbent/humanized au blog on Tumblr, though it does take place before it.

This first part is just that chapter that inspired this whole story (and a little extra st the end) just so no one gets confused lol

Enjoy! ^^

Story below undercut:

Even as they yelled after her, she ran. Even as she heard the sounds of gunshots, she ran. Even as her legs begged her to stop, she ran. She couldn't stop, it was between life or death.

In an attempt to lose them, she dashed down an alleyway. Turning around to see if the coast was clear, another gunshot fired just as she tripped and fell.

It was the end if the line. She scrambled to get up, only tripping and falling over once more. Such bad luck, tripping not once but twice; going down an alleyway with no way out; trying to pickpocket a man whilst not knowing he was the leader of a gang.

Such bad, bad luck. That's all she was good for, bad luck.

"Nowhere to run now, lil lady."

"I'm— I'm sorry! Please! I didn't mean any harm... I'm just so far away from home and I have nothing... I promise it won't happen again!" She begged for their mercy.

"There ain't no such thing as 'forgiving' in this here town. Besides, don't you know not to take things that don't belong to you?"

"Of course! I'm sorry! Here!" She tossed him his wallet. "Really! I'm so sorry I didn't mean to— "

"Too late for that, lil lady."

All four silhouettes aimed their guns at her, the girl shielding her face as she braced for impact.

But instead, she heard one of the guys screaming.

Quickly uncovering her eyes, she watched in horror as one of the gang members was caught ablaze by some unknown force. After he was scorched to ashes, another one's gun blew up in his face, causing him to fall over and his body catch in fire. The leader and one other man stood alone as a cloud of purple smoke and bright spark appeared in between the girl and the gangsters.

As the smoke cleared, she watched in horror as they all recognized who had joined them in the alleyway.

"Hello boys." The Devil sneered.

Wasting no time, the two gangsters shot at the demon, only seeming to knock her back slightly. With a snap of her fingers, the barrels of both of their guns were bent, pointing directly at them.

"Shoot another damn bullet... I fucking dare you." The Devil spoke darkly.

The two gang members ran off, the Devil still standing with her back to the girl. She had no idea what the demon had in store for her. She herself had never seen a four person gang turn to a two person gang run off from one person. Not only that, but she was the Devil. Her purpose was to cause misery and break mortals' dreams and create chaos. Who knows what she was planning for her now that the gang was gone. It didn't matter how many times those gang members had shot her, she was the Devil.

Though, as the demon stood there, the girl became less and less convinced. The gang had surely shot her more than a dozen times, but she was immortal, she would be fine. Right...?

Swaying back and forth slightly, the Devil finally fell to the ground with a thud. Her trident clanked to the cement, bouncing just out of her reach. Not that she was reaching for it, she didn't move a muscle after she fell to the ground.

Taking that as a miracle, the girl hurried out of the alleyway and past the fallen demon. Coming to the end of it, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Devil or not, the demon had saved her life and here she was running off without so much as a thank you. She turned around a bit, the demon still not moving. Walking back into the alley a few steps, she stopped when she felt she was far enough away that she could run if the Devil were to wake up.

"Are... Are you ok...?" She asked, her voice echoing in the alleyway.

But the Devil didn't react whatsoever.

"Ma'am, are you ok?" She said more confidently, taking one more step closer.

Still nothing.

Just then, she saw it. A large wound on the Demon's hip, swimming in blood. Panicking, she looked around as if someone was nearby who could help. But at this time of night, the streets were desolate. Not one person. Just her and the Devil.

Kneeling down to be more level with the demon, she felt a sharp pain near her stomach. Immediately placing a hand over it, her white glove turned red from the blood of the bullet wound.

'I didn't dodge the bullet...' She stared in complete horror.

Snapping back to reality, she noticed that the demon's wound was only getting worse by the minute.

Untying her neckscarf, she was hesitant to actually follow through with this plan. This was the Devil after all. Glancing at her face, the girl let out a sigh before letting out a deep breath and began dabbing the blood to hopefully control the bleeding. Her father had taught her a bit about first aide- But nothing about demon blood. Not that she thought that she'd ever need it; in the 20 years of her life, she never once thought that her first encounter with the Devil would be like this. So she handled this situation as she would for a human. Applying pressure, she finally took another glance at the demon. Able to concentrate on her appearance now, she was almost surprised. Aside from the horns and tail, the Devil looked pretty... Average. Despite all the stories she had heard, the Devil's appearance seemed to contradict almost all of them. The demon almost looked friendly, but she should've known better. The demon most likely used this form to trick people. Though fallen down on the ground unconscious and bleeding, the Devil looked rather defenseless. Not in a negative light, but in a damsel in distress kind of way. She'd almost call her beautiful, though that just felt... Odd. Pretty or not, she was still the Devil. Like, the mistress of all Evil and the Queen of Hell.

Turning back to the wound, her efforts hardly seemed to be working. Her neck scarf appeared to have hardly done anything. Putting the scarf aside, she looked around. Panic setting in, she realized that she had no idea how to deal with this effectively.

She jumped at a quiet groan, the Devil's eyes blinked open to a narrow slit. Her eyes were an empty, yet oddly beautiful, shade of gold. Glowing in the darkness, her eyes fixed on the girl, the girl freezing in place. Though the demon seemed less angry and more confused. Unfocused. Like she was trying to remember what had happened. Hesitantly, the demon sat up, the girls falling backwards and backing away. She coughed as blood entered her lungs, making her fall back against the brick wall of the alleyway. She struggled to breathe, as she watched the Devil stand without much effort and go to her trident.

With a single strike to the ground, the magic of the demon's trident had healed her wound. She glanced back at the girl, who panicked, trying to explain herself but instead threw herself into a coughing fit, falling to the ground.

"You're a Dice, I presume?" The Devil knelt down to be level with her. "I'd recognize that dapper clothing anywhere."

"Go away— " She started, coughing once more.

"I see they got you pretty good." The Devil ignored her comment.

Unable to speak and verbally tell her to go, the girl mustered up all her strength to swing at the Devil, the demon easily catching her fist.

"Listen, this is important, I can help you... For a price." The Devil let go of her hand. "Judging by the fact that you're inhaling your own blood, you've only got a few minutes." She went on. "You can either die here or let me help you; for the small price of working for me under a contract."

The girl sat up, opening her mouth to speak, only to fall right back over in a coughing fit.

The Devil extended out her hand for a handshake, awaiting her to take the deal. Barely able to breath, her vision began to get fuzzy as she stared at the Devil's hand. Using what was left of her strength, she took the chance, agreeing to the deal and shaking the Devil's hand.

Not even a moment later, her lungs cleared, giving her a chance to breath once more. Feeling around where her wound once was, she was relieved to see that it was gone. She was ok. She wasn't going to die.

Her gaze redirected to the Devil to thank her for what she had done, however, her heart sank as she stared right at a contract and a quill.

"That's an awful lot of fine print."

"Don't worry about it, no one reads it anyway." The Devil placed a pen in her hand.

"I..."

"Don't go back on your word now... I hate it when people go back on their word." The Devil growled.

Nodding quickly, she hesitantly signed the contract, the shimmery, gold parchment disappearing with a spark as her own left the paper.

"There we are, the deal is done and the oath is sealed." The Devil sneered. "Welcome aboard, Miss Queen Dice."

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

Queen Dice sat in her seat by the office door. This was the worst thing to happen to her. Between all of the trials and tribulations she'd endured her whole life, this one certainly took the cake as the worst. She couldn't imagine what the Devil had in store for her. What she'd be doing for the rest of her life, in this awful place.

Taking a look around, her eyes gazed up at the towering walls of brimstone. Deep into the pits of hell and among the demons and the sinners. She'd always tried to be a good person, despite where she came from.

She was a good person, right?

Trying to keep her mind off of it, Dice glanced down the corridor. Though she was specifically told to stay in this spot the Devil left her in, her curiosity was piqued. Glancing at the door, Queen Dice stood from the seat, starting down the corridor.

If this would be where she would be trapped for the rest of eternity, she might as well get a look around. The Devil wouldn't even notice that she was gone.

[falcqns]

you'll be alright (no one can hurt you now) chapter four

✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Lucy Chen & Tamara Colins, Tim Bradford & Lucy Chen, background Tim Bradford x Lucy Chen

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Lucy goes on her first date since taking in Tamara. Tim nearly loses his mind when she doesn’t show up for her first scheduled shift back on time.

✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: canon divergence, (eventually) autistic!Tamara, Tim Bradford would do anything for Lucy Chen, Lucy is a hardcore swiftie, Day Of Death (im so sorry) near death experience, kidnapping, hospitals, being buried alive, Caleb Wright, mentions of Rosalind Dyer, yknow the usual DOD warnings, 

don’t forget to read and reblog, and i do not give permission for my works to be posted anywhere other than tumblr. thank you.

A/n: im so sorry for this I hate this episode so much, but it is important to Lucy’s character development and who she is as a person and a cop and I don’t want to change that so we’re going to have to suffer through DOD together. I won’t be going into detail about Lucy’s POV, so I will be doing the majority of this chapter from Tim’s perspective. There’s a bit of a time jump (4 weeks) but not much has changed in Lucy and Tamara’s world. 

Tim yawned as he adjusted his badge as he walked out of the locker room. He glanced at Nolan and West standing by the door to Grey’s office, talking to him with concerned looks on their faces. Tim thought it was weird, but then he remembered that Lucy was coming back to work today, and he promptly forgot. He made his way to the break room and poured himself a black coffee into his travel mug, before leaving and heading into the break room. 

As he made his way down, he thought about Lucy and how excited he was for her to be back. The last5 4 weeks without her had been filled with nothing but silence and boredom. While Tim would never verbally admit it, he had missed Lucy. He missed her voice, how she ranted about things happening in her personal life, or about drama (or ‘tea’ as she called it) that was happening around the station. He missed the scent of her chai tea latte filling up the shop, he missed paying for that extra meal on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, his days to pay. He missed her immensely, more than he thought he would, and he was very glad that she was back. 

Before he could open the door and wait for her, however, he was summoned into Grey’s office. He wrinkled his eyebrows and followed Grey into his office. He grew even more confused when he walked in, and saw Nolan and West sitting there, both looking uneasy and scared. 

“Whats going on, sir?” Tim asked. 

Grey looked at Nolan, who swallowed, and then spoke. “Lucy did not come home last night. She is not responding to texts or calls.”

“Where did she go?” Tim asked, and Jackson spoke up next. 

“She went on a date. She was supposed to come to my apartment,” Jackson said, before side glancing at both Grey and Nolan. “She was going to spend the night with me and then we were going to come to work together, as I live closer. But when I woke up, she wasn’t there. Neither was her car, and I have been trying since 7:30 am to get a hold of her.”

Fear swirled in the bottom of Tim’s stomach. “Who did she go on a date with?” 

“C-Caleb Wright.” Nolan said. “With a ‘W’.” 

Tim nodded. “Okay.” He said, pondering possibilities in his head briefly. “Is it possible that she’s just running behind and her phone is dead?” 

“Well, we thought of that but-“ Jackson said, but John cut him off.

“If she’s just running late and we ring the fire alarm, she’ll get dinged, but-“ 

“If we don’t, and something terrible happens…” Tim interjected, thoughts trailing off. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, his attention turning to Grey.  “What do we do?”

“Well, what do we know about this Caleb guy?” 

“Nothing.” Jackson said, shaking his head. “No, he uh-, he said that he worked for a medical supply company. Lucy showed me a video of him playing with a puppy.” 

Grey nodded. “Okay. Bradford, take West and run a background check. I want to know everything you can find on Caleb before we knock on his door.” He said. “And find Armstrong.” 

Tim nodded. “Right. Come on,” He said, motioning for West to follow him.

He heard Grey talking to Nolan about having him and Nyla run a trace on Lucy’s phone, in order to get her into the MUPS and NaMos systems that the LAPD used. 

As Tim and Jackson made it to Armstrongs office, where the detective was just settling in for the day, Grey walked out of his office, and called for everyones attention. 

“Everyone listen up,” He said, and the room fell silent. “Officer Lucy Chen has not been seen for approximately 13 hours. Given the circumstance, we cannot rule out abduction,” He said, and Tim breathed deeply, trying to control the nausea that he was feeling. 

His rookie was potentially missing. The person he was responsible for training, and for keeping safe while out on the streets. The person that was, even now, the best rookie he had ever trained, and ever will train. His Lucy could be missing, and he didn’t know what to do other than to focus, and do whatever Grey told him to do in order to find her. 

“So stop whatever you’re doing.” Grey continued. “I want everyone on this until she’s located.” He said, before turning to an officer. “Notify S.O., see if they can shag calls for service. 

Tim turned his focus to the computer that Armstrong was using as Nyla walked up to Grey. He overheard her say that the GPS on her phone was disabled, and he began to hyper focus on the words on the screen. He was no help to anyone, much less Lucy, if he was panicking. He had to remain calm, and get the background check like Grey had ordered him to. 

“Caleb Wright doesn’t seem to exist.” Armstrong said, concern evident on his face. 

Tim’s anxiety grew. What was going on? Tim shook his head and walked around the desk to look at the computer screen. 

“That’s impossible,” He said. “I saw his social media page.”

“Well, it’s gone now, so he must have erased it.” Armstrong said. “But if he is our guy, then he’s already faked one identity.”

“Bryan Coleman,” West chimed in. 

Armstrong nodded. “Exactly.” He agreed, pointing at Jackson. “He stole his life to gain access to the old zoo. Used it’s isolation to kill his victims,”

Tim nodded, understanding where Armstrong was leading. “But with that place burned, he’s gonna need new killing ground.” The though of Lucy being his next victim made his stomach churn, and his heart thud painfully in his chest. He couldn’t lose her. She had changed him so much already in their short time together, and he wasn’t ready for her 13 months with him to be up, much less to never see her again because she was murdered. He had to save her, but it angered him that he didn’t know how. He didn’t know the true identity of who took her, where she is, the state that she’s in, or if she’s even still alive. And that thought killed him. 

Armstrong nodded at Tim. “My guess is that he already has one, and thats where Lucy is right now.” Armstrong picked up the phone, and Tim nodded at West, motioning to the door. 

“Lets go.” He said, and Jackson lead them out of his office and towards the stairs. 

“If we don’t find her-“ Jackson started, but Tim stopped, and turned to look at him. 

“Don’t.” He said, cutting him off. “Don’t go there. If she was taken by him, the only way that you are good to her is if you are focused solely on saving her, not playing worst-case scenarios.” 

Jackson nodded, gulping. “Right.” He said. “Sorry. I’m just worried.” Tim nodded. 

“I know. I am too.” He admitted, and almost laughed at the shock evident on the rookie’s face. “But, we need to focus on her. This is not about us and how we’re feeling. This is about finding her, and saving her before it’s too late.” 

Jackson nodded. “Okay. You’re right. What do we do now?” He asked, and they continued their journey down to the main floor. 

“We go and tell Grey what we know, and wait for further instructions.” 

“Okay. Is it okay if I just run to the bathroom quick?” Jackson asked, and Tim nodded. He could tell that Jackson was starting to panic, and needed a moment alone to collect himself. 

“‘Course.” He said. “Meet me in his office when you’re done.” Jackson nodded, and Tim watched him walk towards the bathroom. Tim was about to turn to walk to Grey’s office, when he saw Jackson pull his phone out and make a call. He stopped, watched him for a moment, but decided not to eavesdrop on his call. If it was important to finding Lucy, he knew West would fill him in. If it wasn’t, it was personal, and Tim could honestly care less. 

He walked into Greys office, and Grey immediately stopped what he was doing to look up at him. “What did you find out about Caleb?” 

Tim shook his head, his hands on his hips. “He doesn’t exist. It seems to be an alias. And we figure that if he’s already faked one identity,” He said, and paused when the door opened. Jackson walked in and Tim looked at him, silently asking if he was good. Jackson nodded, and Tim continued speaking. “If he’s faked one identity already, then it has to be Bryan Coleman.” 

Jackson picked up where Tim left off. “We speculate that he used his identity to gain access to the old zoo, and used to the isolation to his benefit to kill his victims, but since we’ve found that spot already, he has to find somewhere new.”

“And that’s where Lucy is.” Grey finished, his head nodded. “Alright. Nolan and Harper are on their way back to the hospital after talking to the victim we saved yesterday. Go take 5, and we’ll reconvene in the briefing room when they’re back.” 

“Yes, sir.” Tim and Jackson said at the same time. They left the office, and Jackson headed left, towards the front door, presumably to wait for Nolan. Tim however, went and sat in the briefing room. 

He didn’t want to take 5. He wanted to be on the streets, knocking on doors, finding out where Lucy was. He wanted to find her and bring her home. He wanted to find her, and make sure that she knew that no matter how tough he was with her; no matter how many Tim Tests he puts her through, he cared about her, and he wanted nothing more than for her to be safe. She needed to be home. She needed to be at the station with him, not being held somewhere unknown by a serial killer’s protege. 

He blinked back tears in surprise as his foot tapped against the floor, watching the minutes slowly tick down. Why was he crying? Tim Bradford rarely cried, not because he didn’t find things sad, but because he didn’t allow himself to.  The last time he fully allowed himself to break down in tears was the drive home from serving Isabel with divorce papers. He couldn’t let himself cry over Lucy, especially now. If he did, it would mean revealing his weakness, and he wasn’t ready for that yet. He wasnt ready for the looks, the whispers, the questions. The higher ups asking his nature of his relationship with Lucy. He couldn’t do that. Not to himself, and especially not to Lucy, who wasn’t even a P2 yet. So, he swallowed the lump in his throat, and sniffed, blinking away the tears.

He had barely blinked away the last tear when Armstrong came into the room, and walked up to the whiteboard that had all of the important facts about Lucy and her disappearance. 

“The bartender at Las Torres recognized Lucy and Caleb.” He said, and Tim sat up straighter, hope beginning to build in his chest. “The good news-“ he continued. “Theres a security camera in the parking lot, so we know that they left at 9:05. The bad news?” Armstrong clicked on the monitor in the room to reveal the footage of Caleb leading Lucy out of the bar by her upper arm. “The camera angles too steep to recognize faces.”

Tim sighed, shaking his head. All he wanted, all anyone in this room wanted was to find Lucy, but it seemed that at every turn so far, the universe was working against them. And Tim hated it with a passion. Tim let a breath out from his nose, attempting to calm the burning fury in his body. There wasn’t a lot that made Tim angry enough to feel the need to fight God, but someone he lo- no, cared about, being in any sort of pain was certainly enough. 

“Two minutes later,” Armstrong resumed speaking. “This car drove by.” Tim watched as a grey car drove through the frame, and Tim sighed, knowing that Lucy was most likely inside of it. 

“The licence plate on Caleb’s car was reported stolen earlier that day,” Grey said, looking between the room and the images on the monitor. “Officer Chen’s care was found in the alley where she left it last night. Which means, we believe that Caleb is Rosalind’s protege, and he took Officer Chen.” 

Tim sighed in disappointment. He knew that what they were saying was the truth, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Tim picked up the rapid breathing of his heart, and the anxiety fluttering in his stomach, a silent threat of the possible reappearance of his breakfast. But, before he could spiral fully, Grey caught his attention again. 

“I know how upsetting this is, but we have to remain focused. She’s counting on us.” Tim heard Grey ask if there were any questions, but Tim didn’t stick around to find out. He walked out of the room, pulling his phone out as he walked. 

He dialled Angela’s number, and breathed, knowing his best friend would be able to sense the shakiness of his voice no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

“What’s up?” She answered casually. 

“Hey. Lucy’s been taken. I need you.” He said simply, and waited for her response. The line was silent for a moment before Angela spoke again. 

“On my way.” Tim hung up the phone and stuffed it back into his pocket, walking back into the briefing room. 

When he re-entered, Nolan was up at the front, relaying the information that he and Harper had gotten from the other victim at the hospital. 

“Nora was abducted two nights ago.” He said. “We found her 18 hours later, already tattooed, and about to be put in a barrel to be suffocated. This makes Caleb’s timeline from abduction to death approximately 24 hours.” Tim’s hands shook listened.

“Which means we have less than 10 hours to find Lucy.” Jackson said, his face portraying everything Tim was feeling. 

“Unless we’re wrong, and she’s dead already.” Armstrong stated casually, and Tim dug his nails into the palm of his hands to prevent himself from punching Armstrong for even thinking to suggest such a stupid idea. No, she was alive, but they needed to find her before she wasn’t anymore. 

“No,” Harper interjected. “Look, I know I haven’t known Lucy as long as the rest of you, but I do know she is a fighter.” She said, glancing back at Tim briefly. “She’s gonna do everything she can to stay alive until we save her.” Tim nodded in agreement, watching as people filed out of the room, but Tim remained rooted to his spot, staring at her picture on the whiteboard. 

He needed her safe. He needed her by his side, where he knew she was alive, and okay. He didn’t know how he was going to get through these next few hours, but he knew that he had to do it so that his rookie, his Lucy, would be safe. 

He suddenly found himself sitting down next to Jackson, answering calls, when Angela walked into the station, Wesley trailing behind her. 

“Hey,” he said, standing up to greet her. “Thanks for coming in.” 

“Of course,” She said, looking to the side of her, and seeing the phones that him and Jackson, and two other officers were manning. “Grey’s got you on tip lines?” 

Tim nodded. “Nothing says we got squat like listening to the public.” He looked up at Wesley. “Day off?”

Wesley nodded, not making eye contact with Tim. “Yeah, something like that.” Tim looked at him suspiciously, but let it go. “Can I help?” 

Tim crossed his arms. “Whats your tolerance for cranks and asshats wasting your time?” 

Wesley shrugged. “I’m a public defender.”

Tim nodded his head to the phones. “Have at it.” 

“This is useless,” Tim said, turning to Angela as Jackson spoke to Wesley. “We should be on the streets kicking down doors.”

“Who’s doors?” Angela asked, a concerned look on her face. 

“I don’t know,” He answered honestly. “But I-I can’t just sit here.” He stormed away, desperate to do something, anything, to bring Lucy home. 

Of course, Angela being Angela, followed after him. “Wait up!” 

Tim rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, just blowing off steam.”

“I get it,” Angela said, following after him. “But you got to get your head in the game.”

Frustrated, Tim turned around to face her. “I don’t need a pep talk.” 

“Then why’d you call me?” She demanded. “Clearly, you need to get something off of your chest.”

Tim sighed. “This is my fault.” He answered, looking down at his shoes. 

“What?” Angela asked. “How?” 

“The day I came back from my leave, I went to her apartment after shift. No one would tell me anything about why she was off. I questioned her, but she wouldn’t tell me. Something was going on, and I should have pressed her more. I should have been there for her, I’m her training officer for gods sake. I should have known something was wrong.”

Angela took a step closer. “Tim, she didn’t tell anyone. All we know about her leave is what Jackson and John have been permitted to tell us. Something happened, and she needed time off to deal with it. That doesn’t make you a bad training officer. You did all you could.” She explained. 

“I could have done more.” Tim stated, before turning to walk away. 

“What is it about her?” Angela asked, making Tim stop in his tracks. 

“What?” He asked, turning around, confusion all over his face. 

“Look, I’ve known you since before you became a TO. You’re hard on your rookies, but you’re also fiercely protective over them. But with Lucy, you are more over protective than you have with any other rookie. You’ve honestly been quite lenient on her so far. So, what is it about Lucy that makes you feel like you should have prevented this? That you should have protected her better, or been there for her more? You’ve always said that you’re their training officer, not their friend. What is it about Lucy that changed that for you?”

Tim shook his head, before looking up at Angela. She’d been his best friend for years. He could never hide anything from her, even if he wanted to. He knew that she would instantly see through whatever bullshit answer he would give her, so he decided to be truthful. As much as he could be with himself, anyways. 

“She turned around and smiled at me.” He said, his voice quiet and shaky. A crease formed on Angela’s forehead, showing her confusion. “Her first day, when Grey said she was paired with me, she turned around, and smiled at me. I don’t know what it was, but she’s got this grip on me, and I don’t know why. I don’t know how to not care about her this much.” He said, a stray tear, falling from his eye as he spoke. 

“Tim…” Angela said quietly. “Tim, I think you know why.” Tim shook his head immediately, knowing what she was getting at. 

“No,” he responded. “Thats not it. She’s my rookie, I would never cross that line.” 

Angela smiled sadly. “I know you wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean your heart doesn’t still want her.”

Tim shook his head, trying to protest, but his face betrayed him, crumpling as he fought to stop the sob clawing its way out of his throat. Angela didn’t say anything, just pulled him into her arms, and held him as he cried. 

“We’re going to find her,” She said eventually. “Whatever it takes.”

—- 

An hour later, and Tim had calmed down. His sadness and anxiety was now replaced by anger. Anger that was stronger than before, and made him want to burn the world to ashes just to find her. And that’s exactly what he was going to do. 

“Problem officer?” 

Tim wasted no time in reaching through the open window, grabbing a fistful of the Benjamins hair, and slamming his face onto the steering wheel. 

“You listen to me very carefully,” He spat. “Your name is Benjamin Lassie. You’re a mid level idiot who controls every illicit item that enters the Central California Women’s Facility. And today is your day of reckoning.” He squeezed tighter. “Now, I am responsible for a life that is in jeopardy, and I will do whatever I have to to save her. Do you understand?” He demanded. 

“Theres a man who gives you items to smuggle onto death row for Rosalind Dyer. You are gonna give me that man.” He continued. 

“Why would I do that?” Benjamin demanded. 

Tim squeezed even tighter. “Because if you don’t, I will pull you inside out.” He threatened, and he then watched with a sickening satisfaction as Benjamin saw his life flash before his eyes, and spit out the name; Jerry Havel.

Tim smiled, released Benjamin, and sent him off with a threatening look that told him Tim would follow through with his threats if he said a word about what just happened to anyone. 

Jackson then shakily followed him back to the shop, and as soon as he shut the door, Tim was speeding back to the station while Jackson typed his name into the computer to do a background check. 

“Any information you get, you text it immediately to Lopez.” Tim said in a calm tone, feeling bad for scaring him.

“Yes, sir.”

—-

30 minutes later, Tim had managed to get a S.W.A.T. team and a no knock warrant together, ready to raid Jerry Havel’s place. Tim followed behind S.W.A.T. as they moved in on Havel’s place. 

They paused briefly at the door, before busting it open, and running inside. “Go, go, go!” One of the S.W.A.T. member said as Jerry began to run. Another officer shot him in the right shoulder, and he fell to the ground on his face. 

Tim ran up to him, Jackson following behind. He grabbed him, and turned him over. “Where’s Lucy?” His heart dropped into his stomach when he realized that the man he was faced with was not Caleb. “That’s not - that’s not Caleb.” He said, moving away from the man in front of him. “Damn it!” he yelled in frustration. 

He tried to control his breathing as Jackson took over, yelling at the man about his name, and where he worked. Tim looked back at Jerry, who told them through stuttering that his name was in face Jerry Havel, but he had never worked at that prison, and had been on disability for the last five years after an inmate shivved him during a riot. 

“Look, DOC clearly states that you work at that prison.” Jackson said. 

Jerry sighed and looked down. “My identity was stolen.” He said. “Right around 3 years ago. Really screwed up my credit.” 

Tim nodded, making the connections in his head. “Caleb used Jerry’s identity to get into prison, get close to Rosalind.”

“Just like he stole Bryan Coleman’s identity.” Jackson finished as he holstered his gun. 

“Is this connected to the officer that was abducted?” Jerry asked. 

Tim nodded. “Yeah.” He said, tears welling up in his eyes as he spoke. “And you were our last shot at saving her.” 

Tim moved on auto pilot for the next hour. So much so, that he didn’t remember anything between leaving Jerry’s house, and arriving back at the station.  Once he arrived there, he was handing over a file that had a record of the credit card charges on the card that Caleb had used under Jerry’s name that Jackson had found. 

“Hey, hey,” He said, getting Angela’s. Grey’s, and Wesleys attention. “We got something.” He said, dropping the file on the table. “Caleb used Jerry’s identity to rent a post office box in Kern County, near the prison. But, he kept it up after he quit.” He explained, as Angela opened the file, and began pouring through the contents. “Still pays for it. He must have a place close by.” 

Angela grabbed a piece of paper, and read from it, comparing what was in the file with her own notes. “Rosalind’s family - her trust owns a farm in Kern County.” She handed him the paper that showed evidence of the farm. 

Before he knew it, he was in the stations helicopter, racing to Kern county with Angela, Grey, Jackson, with Nyla and John on the ground in a shop. 

When they landed on the farm in Kern County, Nolan told them that Caleb was dead, and that Lucy was buried somewhere on the property. Tim felt a sick sense of happiness knowing that Caleb was dead. He was gone, and now he could never touch a single hair on her head again. She was one step closer to being safe, and now all they had to do was dig her up before it was too late.

Nolan thrust a phone into Angela’s hands. Angela looked down, watching the video of Lucy inside the barrel. “I can’t even tell if she’s still breathing,” She said anxiously, looking up at Grey. 

“Spread out.” Grey commanded. Tim looked around, trying to find a good place to start looking. “Airship, we have an officer buried alive.” The panic that Tim had been desperately trying to keep at bay came bubbling to the surface, and his chest started to constrict as he looked at the open fields. He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to keep the tears at bay, but knowing at some point in the next few minutes, he would be crying. Either from relief, or grief. 

He took a moment to calm himself, repeating the words he had said to Jackson earlier in the day to himself in his head. “The only way that you are good to her is if you are focused solely on saving her, not playing worst-case scenarios.” 

He turned to look at the house briefly, before realizing that there was no way Caleb would have buried her close to the house. He turned to Jackson and explained, before summoning Jackson to follow him. He took off running as far as he could as fast as he could. 

A few minutes later, they came to the top of a hill. “Lets split up,” He suggested to Jackson. “You go left, alright?” Jackson nodded, and took off to the left. Tim continued forward, looking around for any possible sight that Caleb could have buried her. 

Then, as he was coming down the slope of another hill, something caught his eye. A sparkle, so bright it nearly blinded him briefly. He didn’t think anything of it at first, but then realized that there wasn’t much around there that could produce a sparkle like that. He took a step closer and looked again, finding the sparkle once more. He ran up to the spot the sparkle originated from, and fell to his knees in front of it. 

He scooped up the source of the sparkle, and could have cried right then and there when he realized what it was. 

Her ring. Her moonstone ring. 

He stood up, and began looking around in the dirt for any indication that she could be close. He began kicking dirt around, and stomping, hoping to God that she had dropped it on purpose, and it wasn’t another one of Caleb’s tricks.

But, when he stomped again, and heard the unmistakable sound of rubber on metal, he knew it wasn’t a trick. Lucy had left him a clue, and she was right there.

He stomped two more times just to be sure, but once he heard the clanging two more times, he turned around and shouted. “I’VE GOT HER!” He then pocketed the ring, dropped to his knees, and began digging with his bare hands. 

His hands ached after a few seconds, the sharp rocks in the sand cutting and digging into his skin, but his need to save Lucy, get her out of that barrel outweighed all of that. He was so close to her, he just needed to keep going. 

A few moments later, Nyla, Jackson, and Angela joined him in the digging, with the rest of the officers headed their way. The local PD joined in moments later, bringing shovels, making the process move quicker. The metal of the shovels hit the metal of the barrel, and Tim choked out a sob. 

“Guys,” He managed to say. “Right here.” He said as he reached forward for the latch on the barrel, pulling it towards him. It took two pulls, but on the second one the latch snapped, and the lid came off. 

He threw it behind him, and looked into the barrel.

There she was, hunched over, her curled hair laying over her back, tangled with dirt and blood. 

“Come on!” Tim yelled, and began pulling Lucy out of the barrel. Everyone joined in and helped him get her out and onto the ground. 

He touched her head softly once she was laid on the ground, and leaned in, listening for breathing. He heard Grey ask if she was breathing, but didn’t answer. When he heard no breathing, he cupped her chin and her forehead, breathing two rescue breaths into her mouth to help her lungs inflate. He then moved his hands to her chest and started compressions, watching her face for any sign of life.

As he did the compressions, all he could focus on was her. He got to her, now all he could do was hope he could restart her heart in time. The more compressions he did, the more desperate he became. Why wasn’t her heart starting to beat? Why wasn’t she moving, breathing, crying? Was she-

Lucy gasped in a deep breath, her body starting to shake. Tim cried out in happiness as her eyes fluttered open. He reached behind her and helped sit her up, cradling her to his chest when she burst into tears, curling towards his chest. 

“You’re okay,” He whispered to her, as he pulled her closer. As he held her, he noticed that all of the anger, pain, anxiety, and fear had disappeared. As soon as she took that gulping breath in, his body knew she was safe, that she was alive. 

“You’re okay,” He whispered into her hair. Even after all that she went through, she still smelled like herself, and it calmed Tim down even further. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. He can’t hurt you anymore.” He whispered as he cradled her head to his chest. 

He breathed deeply, letting the tears fall from his eyes. They got to her in time, and she was going to be okay. She was back in his arms, she was breathing, and was crying. All signs she was a survivor. 

——

Tim rode with her in the ambulance. When the paramedics had arrived on scene, she refused to let go of Tim, starting to go into a panic attack whenever someone tried to separate her from him. Once they had gotten her into the ambulance, and had taken her vitals, they gave her a sedative, and she fell asleep within a minute, still holding tightly to Tim’s hand. 

Tim held onto her hand the entire ambulance ride, and then helicopter ride back to St Stephens, his eyes locked onto the bleeding marks from where she had been bound at the wrists. He didn’t let go until they landed at St Stephens, and she was rushed into the back to be examined. 

He was shown into a waiting room, where he was told that Dr Sawyer would come and get him when he could see her. He was about to sit down, when his phone began to ring. He fished it out of his pocket, and answered it, briefly seeing Nolan’s name flash across the screen. 

“Tim,” John said as soon as he picked up. “Listen, I don’t want you to question what I’m about to ask you, I just need you to do it.” He said, and Tim, who was still in shock from everything, just agreed, and listened to what John had to say. “I need you to go to Mid Wilshire Childcare Centre. You need to go to the baby room and pick up Tamara Chen, and bring her to the hospital. Don’t forget your ID. You’re on the approved pick up list and I’ve called ahead, so don’t worry about any questions. There will be someone waiting for you at the front door to show you where to go, alright?” He said, and Tim, who was utterly confused now, nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.” He said goodbye to John, and left the hospital immediately after informing the nurses that he would be back. He hopped in the shop, stopped by the station briefly to grab a carseat, and then hopped back in the shop. 

He pulled into Mid Wilshire Childcare Centre, and grabbed his drivers licence out of his wallet, before making his way to the front door. There was a middle aged woman waiting for him, a smile on her face. 

“Tim Bradford, I’m assuming?” She said, and Tim nodded. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

The lady nodded. “I’m Martha, the chef here. If you follow me, I can show you to the baby room. I know you’re in a hurry.” She said. She turned, put a code into a key pad, and entered the building, Tim following behind her. As soon as they walked in, Martha turned right, and led him to the end of the hallway. They entered a small classroom with two educators, and 4 babies. 2 of the babies were playing in a water table, the other one was sitting at the table, eating banana, and a third one, who didn’t look older than a few weeks old,  being held in a rocking chair by another educator. 

“Tim, this is Ella, and Cara. Ella is Tamara’s primary educator.” Martha said, and Tim nodded to her. 

“Nice to meet you, Ella.”

Ella smiled. “You too, sir.” She said. “Tamara has had a really good day today. She slept well, drank both bottles, and enjoyed our walk we took them on.” She said, as she went over to the other educator, Cara, and took the small infant from her. 

She carried her over, and Tim blinked quickly, realizing that the small infant must be Tamara. “Okay, thank you.” Tim said. 

Ella smiled. “No problem. We will need some more wipes for her, probably in the next day or so.” Tim nodded. 

“Okay perfect. Is there anything else?” 

“Oh, yes.” Ella said, grabbing the binder off of the counter. “Could I just see your ID?” 

Tim nodded and handed it over. Ella compared the names before smiling and handing it back. 

“Thank you.” She said, putting the binder down. “If you follow me, I’ll show you Tamara’s things.” 

Tim followed Ella as she showed him her cubby, and handed him her backpack.

“Okay, you’re all set, we’ll see you later.” Ella said and Tim thanked her again before following Martha out of the building. 

“Have a good night,” Martha said, holding the door open for him. 

“Thank you, you too,” He responded, looking down at the small infant in his arms that apparently belonged to Lucy. 

“Okay, little one,” he said quietly, opening up the door to the shop, and buckling her in her carseat. “Let’s go see Mama, I guess.”

—-

When Tim walked back into the waiting room, he was greeted with Grey and Luna sitting together. They both turned to look at him when he walked in with the baby carrier, and Grey smiled. 

“Oh good,” Grey said. “You didn’t have any issues picking up?” He asked, and Tim shook his head no.

“No, sir. I guess Nolan called ahead because she was ready to go when I got there.” He said.

Grey chuckled. “You look confused, son.” 

Tim laughed quietly, sitting down, and placing the car seat at his feet. “I am very confused. When did Lucy have a baby?” He asked, as he bent down and got Tamara out. Tamara gazed up at him as he lifted her up, holding her head in one hand and bum in the other. 

“She didn’t,” Grey said. Tim looked at him, confused. Grey sighed. “Look, I’m going to tell you this simply because you need to know why you’re holding a baby that shares a name with your rookie.” He said, and Tim nodded. “When you were on leave for your GSW, Lucy was on patrol with Wrigley. She found a mother OD’d, just hours after having given birth to her.” He said, pointing to Tamara. Tim’s eyes locked onto the tiny infant while Grey spoke. 

“Lucy came with her to the hospital, and when DCFS showed up, Lucy asked to take her in, as she is an emergency foster parent. DCFS agreed, and that’s why Lucy went on leave.” He said, and Tim looked at him in shock. 

“Oh,” He said, stunned. 

Grey nodded. “Yep. Then, 4 weeks ago, she got a call from DCFS stating that they were unable to locate any of her family, and Lucy was given the option to adopt her.”

Tim smiled. “Which she took.” He said, running his thumb over her cheek.

Grey nodded, as Luna sat on the other side of Tim.

“Yes,” Luna said. “And she’s doing a terrific job as a single mother.” 

Tim smiled again, moving Tamara closer to his chest. “I have no doubt about that.” He said. “Gosh, she’s so beautiful.” He commented, as Tamara’s eyes fluttered shut. 

“That she is,” Grey said. “Look, please don’t be mad with Lucy over hiding this from you. She was just trying to protect Tamara.” 

Tim nodded. “I know, and I’m not. But I am going to tell her that I am going to help her, in anyway she needs. I’m her training officer, but also her friend, and I’m going to help her through this.”

[caspersickfanfics]

Post-adrenaline puking

For @monthofsick day 6

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting, near death experience, nightmare reference, imagined death (?) (thinking about "what if [character] died")

A/N:

No ask for this one, just my own brain thinking it'd be great if Cyno and Tighnari were fighting together and then Cyno almost died and he's totally fine but Tighnari is horrifically shaken up by the whole experience.

There was something uniquely exhilarating about fighting with Cyno. Although Tighnari was more than capable of handling The Withering on his own or with his team of forest rangers, something about teaming up with the person Tighnari was closest to enhanced his own strengths. As a general rule of thumb, Tighnari didn’t much like fighting, but this… he would never admit it out loud, but fighting alongside Cyno felt more like play.

They took down the last ruin monster together, and despite the energy-sucking effects of The Withering, Tighnari felt like he could fight ten more as he moved to destroy the tumor. A single shot should do it, now the they’d destroyed the monsters and the branches. And yet… It didn’t. Tighnari frowned. Had he missed? A sense of foreboding rose in his bones, but he brushed it off as he heard Cyno laugh.

���Tighnari! What does an archer say when he misses his target?”

Tighnari ignored this, taking aim for a second shot. As he did so, he heard three things:

The complete silence of the wind

Cyno’s carefree voice saying, “Oh, bow”

A creak that comes not from nature, but machinery

He whipped around just in time to a final infected ruin monster appear behind Cyno, already charging up. He didn’t know how it had gotten past both of them, but he knew without a doubt that it could take his partner from him forever with a single strike.

“Cyno!” Tighnari’s stomach flipped; he felt felt the blood drain from his face and with it went any sense of fun. For a moment where time was frozen, Tighnari saw snapshots of Cyno, making unfunny jokes to lighten a tense mood, playing TCG with the highest degree of intensity, returning to their home weary to the bone but full of love after months of nonstop work. He saw him helping Collei through panic attacks, reminding her that her illness did not define her or make her weak, tucking her in after a bad dream and staying with her the better part of the night, teaching her tracking and spatial awareness to ensure she’d be able to sense when danger was near. He saw Cyno as he was years ago, awkward and uncertain in the early stages of their friendship, recalled the wonder in Cyno’s face as Tighnari taught him how to brush his tail. He saw Cyno asleep in their bed, peaceful and entirely relaxed and safe.

Then he saw Cyno, cold and stiff. Lying flat, but not sleeping. Entirely unmoving. This Cyno he had seen before, too, many times since his dreams had returned, but only ever in the worst of his nightmares.

And then the hands of time began ticking, and Tighnari lost track of himself. He had a thought that he’d need multiple shots to take it down, and then he was moving. Two shots from a distance, running closer before the second one hit. The machines weapon went off, its laser beam striking too close to Cyno for comfort, but Tighnari’s body continued to move. Positioning himself in close quarters and knowing that he could hit its weak point up to five times in succession if he got lucky.

He did get lucky, but it didn’t feel that way. There was no immediate sense of relief as the ruin monster fell to the ground. Tighnari wasted no time destroying the tumor. The Withering cleared, but his chest stayed tight and painful, and oxygen felt just out of his grasp. He heard Cyno whistle and then speak as though he were a mile away.

“Wow, that was kinda hot. I had no idea you could–” Cyno’s breath stuck in his throat the moment he caught sight of Tighnari. Ears pinned to his head, tail quivering weakly, eyes wide. A single glance and he could tell something was wrong. He just didn’t know what.

Then Tighnari doubled over and vomited, and Cyno was at his side assessing the damage before a single thought crossed his mind.

“Are you hurt,” he demanded. No response, just a moan and a shuddering back, and then a hand clasping Cyno’s arm, tight. “Tighnari.”

“‘m fine,” the forest watcher mumbled, voice hollow and still thick with nausea; decidedly unconvincing. A harsh heave brought another wave of puke splattering across the uneven forest floor. Cyno held his companion steady with his free hand on Tighnari’s shoulder. When the retching stopped, the matra took it upon himself to conduct a quick but thorough examination, only breathing a sigh of relief after he confirmed that Tighnari had sustained exclusively surface level injuries.

“Right,” Cyno spoke with an attempt at confidence. “You’re okay.”

Except Tighnari did not look okay at all. His skin was washed out and covered in beads of sweat, and his ears stayed pressed into damp hair. The way he gasped for air made Cyno’s chest hurt. Most concerning were his eyes: unblinking and dilated, red-ringed but dry, they traced all of Cyno’s movements as if tied to him by invisible strings.

“You–” Tighnari started, only to be cut off with a retch. His grip on Cyno’s arm tightened impossibly further. Cyno didn’t mind; he simply moved closer and rubbed firm circles onto the ill forest watcher’s arched back until he threw up again and his airways cleared. Cyno was rattled, impatient for an explanation and reassurance, but not enough to rush Tighnari into speaking. He took a slow breath before speaking again.

“Let’s sit." The matra’s voice was deliberately soft with the suggestion, and his movements as he guided Tighnari to rest on a fallen tree were gentle. He was still clearly feeling unwell. He curled up, one arm wrapped around his knees, feet pulled close to his body, looking much smaller than he was. Even his tail had curled closely around him. Every so often a wet burp would bubble out of him, but Cyno doubted there was anything left in his stomach. Since he hadn't brought any extra supplies, Cyno used his own bare hand to wipe the area around Tighnari’s mouth clean. He tried not to think too hard about what it meant that Tighnari, who was usually so insistent about taking care of himself, expressed no resistance to this action. He still hadn’t let go of Cyno’s arm, though his grip eased somewhat over time. As Cyno eyed the place where their skin touched, he thought about how scared he had been at the idea of Tighnari being hurt; he thought about the number of times Tighnari had examined him for injuries, and the intensity of his gaze just minutes ago.

“Ah,” Cyno said quietly. It was so obvious. “I’m okay.”

The words, simple as they were, clearly meant a great deal to Tighnari. His tail twitched and unraveled, brushing Cyno’s shoulder and falling to rest nested between both of their thighs. Tighnari’s eyes, which had been staring blankly at the ground in front of him, drifted to Cyno’s face.

“You almost died,” Tighnari croaked. A shiver ran down Cyno’s spine.

He didn’t know if Tighnari was right, though he trusted the forest watcher’s judgement. He wanted to deny it. He knew, really, that it didn’t matter exactly how close he had come to fighting his last. If he had scared Tighnari to this extent… He didn’t know how to fix it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, both helplessly and genuine. “I didn’t mean to.”

Tighnari’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his nose twitching. His mouth quirked up slightly, like he wanted to laugh but was too tired to muster up the energy. “I know.”

Cyno nodded. There was a much bigger conversation to be had, he knew, but now was not the time. Tighnari’s complexion had improved somewhat, but he was still incredibly shaky. His grip on Cyno’s forearm had weakened, and he had slumped against Cyno’s side. It was… disconcerting, seeing how steady he usually was, and Cyno wanted him to rest and feel better as soon as possible.

“Do you still feel sick?”

Tighnari took a moment to answer, and Cyno knew he was taking stock of his body. He waited silently, comfortable with this familiar process, until Tighnari shook his head. “Not sick, just tired and weak. I–” He hesitated and Cyno offered when he hoped was an encouraging expression. Tighnari’s cheeks flushed pink. “I’m not sure I can walk, to be honest.”

This was not surprising to Cyno. “I’ll carry you.”

The blush darkened. Cyno stood, facing away from Tighnari, and nodded at his own back. “Get on.”

Tighnari scoffed audibly, and then there was a soft “You’re ridiculous,” but soon a weight settled against Cyno and he smiled slightly.

“What did the forest ranger say to the fox?” He asked. Tighnari groaned, Cyno’s smile grew, and together, they set off towards home.

–––

Send asks here!

[antvnger]

In my universe, People are saying that death in an illusion and using Quantum Physics to back it up. Which I mean, I guess you could argue that the physical body dies and the soul doesn't. But I don't know, I don't like how that was worded. Because death is very real. You stop, because the brain, the heart, the lungs, and the stomach all stop which is labeled dead. As someone that's experienced death of a close relative to, I just find it upsetting to think about. You're someone that's involved with the Quantum Realm on a science level, what's your opinion on this.

This is honestly the first I’ve ever heard of a theory like this, Anon. And I’m with you, I’m not a fan. Because you’re right. 

Death, unfortunately, is very real. I’ve seen it. I’ve had to deal with it regarding my friends and my family, so yeah, I understand how you feel.

The Quantum Realm doesn’t have anything to do with death or the afterlife, and yeah, I do believe there’s an afterlife. We are not bodies with souls; we’re souls with bodies. And souls exist after the body dies.

There are multiple accounts of people who have experienced near death experiences coming back and describing things they could see and hear. Not just “nothing” or a void. Even some people in their very last moments, like my Gigi, spoke about seeing something beyond the physical world as they pass.

And I personally believe my soul will go to heaven when my body kicks the bucket.

I don’t know if these are things you’re looking for or what you want to hear, Anon. But from my experience and my own research, this is just a snippet of how it looks to me.

[the-lunacy-system]

I know that last time I tried it, it almost killed me (/srs) but I kind of want to be in a romantic relationship

[flowersandskeletons526]

"Don't Let Anything Happen To Her" - Warriors Concept Album Fanfic (Part 1/2)

I lied, this did not end up being a one shot, it got way longer than I expected. Mercy goes out with Rembrandt on a tagging mission.

I'm putting heavy trigger warnings on this for violence, severe injury, and near death experience. No one dies, but it's still a rough one. Just be warned

---------

Mercy stood in her and Swan’s bedroom, eavesdropping through a crack in the door. Swan and Ajax were in the living room having a shouting match with Cleon. Well, Ajax was yelling. Cleon and Swan managed to keep their voices calm, but Mercy heard Swan’s tone becoming more and more clipped as the conversation progressed. She would have liked to be part of the discussion - it was about her, after all - but Swan insisted she stay out of it for the moment.

“You can’t send Rembrandt out with just Mercy!” Ajax snapped.

“I can and I am,” said Cleon. “Mercy needs to learn the territory. A short tagging mission is good for that.”

“If she needs to learn the territory, have Swan take her on a fucking walk! Give her a map! Don’t send my girlfriend out with her alone!”

“Cleon, permission to speak freely?” asked Swan. 

“Speak.”

“This is stupid. Mercy’s a decent fighter and yeah, she held her own against the Furies, but she had all of us behind her then. Plus a baseball bat.”

“You want me to give her another bat?”

“That wasn’t the point. She’s not experienced enough yet and Rembrandt’s not the world’s greatest fighter if shit goes down. Sorry, Rem.”

“You guys can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Rembrandt said grumpily. Mercy hadn’t even remembered she was in the room. The girl was so quiet. “For what it’s worth, I trust Mercy. She’s a quick thinker and-”

“And fucking impulsive,” Ajax interrupted.

“That’s rich coming from you,” Swan retorted.

“Hey, fuck you!”

“Guys!” Rembrandt snapped. “I’m not even going outside our borders. The city painted over my old tags, I’m just redoing them. Two buildings. I could do this myself if we didn’t still have to follow the buddy system.”

“It’s not a buddy system,” Cleon protested. 

“It so is. Mercy and I can do this. We’ll be fine.”

“Rembrandt,” Swan began.

“You promised you would stop treating me like a kid!” There was a little twinge of hurt ringing in her words. “Are you three gonna trust me or not?”

No one spoke for a moment. Damn, Mercy thought. The girl had a big voice when she wanted. She heard the patter of someone pacing on the hardwood floor, probably Ajax if she had to guess. Swan sighed.

“We do trust you,” she said.

“Thanks,” Rembrandt deadpanned. “Ajax?”

Ajax didn’t respond. Mercy could almost imagine her expression, fists clenched and arms folded over her chest, face scrunched up in a smile. She imagined the Warriors staring at her expectantly waiting for her to either relent or keep fighting Cleon’s decision. Mercy couldn’t blame her; she didn’t like Swan going anywhere without her, it made her nervous, and Swan was tied with Ajax for the best fighter in the gang. But being one of the best fighters and not allowed to go with the one who wasn’t supposed to fight at all? Mercy understood why Ajax was on the brink of going full nuclear. 

“Fine,” Ajax finally ground out. “You’re sure it’s nowhere near the borders?”

“I defined the borders,” Rembrandt pointed out. “It’s nowhere close.”

“Alright.”

“You guys are good to go home,” said Cleon. “Meet up with Mercy here tomorrow night.”

Mercy heard the front door open and close. Footsteps approached the bedroom. She jumped on the bed, grabbing one of Swan’s books and opening it to a random page, trying to seem casual as Swan entered. The war chief smirked and shut the door behind her.

“I know you were listening,” she said.

“Listening to what?” Mercy said, playing dumb.”

“Mercy.”

“Hm?”

“The book is upside down.”

Shit. She was caught. She groaned and put the book away. “Okay, yeah, I was listening.”

Swan chuckled and sat on the bed beside her. “So I don’t have to tell you how important this is.”

“I know, Swan. First time chaperoning a tagging trip, I know it’s a big deal.”

“Don’t use the word chaperoning. Rembrandt will throw a can at you if she hears it.” She leaned over and took Mercy’s hand. “You have two rules for this. One, get home alive, and two, keep Rembrandt out of trouble as best as you can without breaking rule one.”

“I know-”

“Want to hear a story?”

“Not really but I don’t think I have a choice.”

“A little while after Ajax and Rembrandt officially got together, I had to go on a tagging mission with her alone. There was a fight. Rembrandt didn’t even actually get hit, just got knocked into a wall, but she came home with a nasty scrape and a concussion. Ajax headbutted me in the face so hard she broke my nose. Never raised her hands, didn’t turn it into a fight, she only did it to make sure I knew that I screwed up. She and I are evenly matched on the regular but if Rembrandt’s safety is on the line, Rembrandt is the only one who can talk her down.”

“Swan.” Mercy held Swan’s hand in both of hers. “I get it. I can handle this. Trust me.”

“I do.”

The next night, Mercy waited on the stoop for Ajax and Rembrandt to arrive. They came around the corner hand in hand, Rembrandt saying something indistinct to Ajax, who looked like she wanted to be absolutely anywhere else. They met at the bottom of the steps. Rembrandt had her backpack full of spray paint on and her mask around her neck. Ajax let go of Rembrandt and shoved her hands in her pockets as she stared Mercy down. 

“You guys gonna be alright?” she asked curtly.

“Yeah, babe, we’ll be fine,” Rembrandt said, sounding like they’d already had this conversation ten times on the walk over from their apartment.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“I’m sure.” Rembrandt stood on her tiptoes to kiss Ajax’s cheek. “Mercy, let’s go.”

Mercy went to follow the tagger. When Rembrandt’s back was turned, Ajax snatched Mercy’s arm and stopped her in her tracks. 

“Don’t let anything happen to her,” Ajax hissed before Mercy could speak, “or I’m gonna kick Swan’s ass and then come after you.” She reached into her jacket and shoved something into Mercy’s hands. When Mercy looked, she saw a large bowie knife in a beat up leather sheath. “Don’t let her see that. She hates it when I bring weapons.”

Ajax let go and turned to go up to the apartment. Hiding the knife in the back of her waistband, Mercy hurried after Rembrandt. 

They didn’t talk as they strolled through the dark streets. Rembrandt hummed to herself, rattling a spray paint can to make a beat. Mercy thought it was cute. She looked around. Rembrandt’s tags were everywhere if you looked for them: a flash of red at the back of an alley, a streak of paint along the edge of a roof, markers in every nook and cranny to claim Coney Island for the Warriors. She glanced down at Rembrandt. The tagger was a solid five inches shorter than her but she couldn’t imagine trying to climb to the places Rembrandt could apparently go with ease.

“Hey,” she said, “how do you get up there?”

Rembrandt raised an eyebrow, pausing her beat. “What do you mean?”

She pointed to a tag on the top floor of a building that seemingly would be impossible to reach unless you rappelled down from the roof. “Like that one.”

“Oh, easy. Go up the fire escape, hop the railing, climb along the window ledge to reach it.”

“Easy?”

“For me.”

“Doesn’t it scare you? What if you fall?”

“Pfft. I tagged the face of the Wonder Wheel for my initiation,” Rembrandt said with pride. “Climbing a building don’t scare me. I’ve been doing it so long, it’s like walking.” She smiled softly. “I’ve got a better vertical jump now but when I started, Ajax used to have to pick me up to help me reach the fire escape. She watched me jump down from one and twist my ankle and wouldn’t let me do that after.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Why Ajax?” She didn’t intend for it to sound like that. Rembrandt’s smile faded, her eyes narrowing as she turned to look Mercy square in the face. “Y’know, I mean, she’s so-”

“Watch ya mouth.”

“I don’t mean anything bad by it!” Mercy backpedaled. “It’s just, you guys are so… different.”

Rembrandt looked away and kept walking. “We are different,” she said. “And I’m glad for that. I…” She took a deep breath, contemplating how much she should share. “Ajax found me in a really, really bad place, and I’m not sure I would’ve gotten out of there alive if we hadn’t met on the boardwalk that first night. I know she’s loud and she’s quick to fight but it’s because she’s protective over all of us. Yeah, she’s worried about me being out here right now but she’s worried about something bad happening to you, too. She does like you, you know.”

Mercy couldn’t help the smile that lit up her face. “She does?”

“You two are weirdly similar. It honestly throws me for a loop sometimes. Wait, stop, this is the building I have to tag.” 

“Where?”

“Third floor.” Rembrandt put her mask on. “Just wait down here and make sure there’s no trouble while I’m up there.” 

“What if there is trouble?”

“Run.”

Mercy cringed a little and took her place by the ladder to the fire escape. She tried to stand like Swan, which felt weird, and then tried to stand like Ajax, which felt weirder, so she crossed her arms and shifted her weight between her feet waiting for Rembrandt to come down. It only took a minute before she heard footsteps clanging down the fire escape and Rembrandt dropped to the sidewalk beside her. Without a word, she waved her on towards the next target.

She made quick work of that one, too. Mercy watched her climb over the railing and suspend herself in mid air to reach around a corner. It was more than a little impressive, Mercy had to admit. She understood why Ajax would have taken so much notice in the beginning. As Rembrandt came down, she put her mask and cans into her backpack and smiled up at Mercy.

“All good,” she said. “Congrats. Your first tagging trip was a success.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Mercy said in confusion.

“You don’t have to do anything. You’re just supposed to watch my back. If I’m up there and something happens while I’m on my own, there are only so many roofs I can jump across before I’m stuck.”

“Have you had to jump across roofs before?”

“Once or twice. But once I’m out of space, it’s a bad place to be. Let’s get back home.”

Rembrandt resumed her spray can beat as they walked back towards the apartment. Mercy nodded along, putting a little bounce in her step as she walked. She couldn’t help but smile. Her first tagging mission was a success! Rembrandt said so herself! Maybe now Swan would trust her to fend for herself a little more. Maybe she could get a little more approval and a little less standoffishness from Ajax. Cleon would know she could for sure depend on her. She was finally on her way to realizing her place in the gang.

Coarse laughter cut through the night. The Warriors stopped dead in their tracks and slowly turned around. Behind them on the corner, a group of men approached them, cackling and pushing each other around. They wore garish purple jackets with yellow crowns emblazoned across the chest and “S.I.” patches on the shoulders. Their eyes were set squarely on Mercy and Rembrandt.

Rembrandt made a tense noise in the back of her throat. “It's a Staten Island clan,” she mumbled.

“Are they trouble?” Mercy asked.

“Everyone’s trouble when they’ve got something to prove.”

“Hey, ladies!” one of the men in front jeered. “What are a couple of pretty girls like you doing out so late?”

Swan’s rules echoed in Mercy’s ears as she put herself between Rembrandt and the gang. “You shouldn’t be wearing your colors in Warrior territory,” she snapped, head held high. “Or anywhere in Brooklyn. Take them off and get back on your boat home.”

“Oh, yeah? Why don’t you come over here and make us?”

Rembrandt grabbed Mercy by the hand and bolted.

“Get ’em!”

Mercy could barely keep up with her. Rembrandt ran without looking back, without thought, moving solely on autopilot as she led Mercy over fences and through twisting alleys. She glanced over her shoulder once to make sure Mercy was still behind her and that was it. They were almost home. They were so fucking close to home. They turned past an old warehouse and Mercy knew it was a straight shot from there. They just had to keep running.

A car skidded around the corner and screeched to a stop, cutting them off. Another pulled up behind them as the gang members on their feet caught up. They were stuck. More gang members piled out of the cars. The Warriors stood back to back, fists raised, ready to fight if they had to, but they were no Swan. They were no Ajax. Mercy felt Rembrandt trembling pressed against her as the gang members closed in around them. She felt the handle of Ajax’s knife digging into her back. She didn’t know what to do. She looked around, searching for a way to escape, unable to even hear her own thoughts over the taunts and laughter from their attackers. 

On the side of the warehouse, there was a fire escape, the kind where the steps went all the way down to the street. There was a break in the tightening circle of people around them. 

“Aw, look at that,” one of the men snickered. “The baby’s scared!”

Get home alive.

Don’t let anything happen to Rembrandt.

Mercy spun and shoved Rembrandt up the fire escape. One of the gang members grabbed her leg, and she fell forward onto the metal steps but Rembrandt kept going and that was what mattered. As she tried to kick the man down the stairs, she watched Rembrandt hit the second floor landing.

She watched a gang member come down from the top and grab Rembrandt by the collar. How the fuck had he gotten past them?

The man lifted Rembrandt off her feet, trapping her against the railing. She clung to his arms and tried to scratch and fight and break free but it was no use. He sneered at her. 

“I didn’t think this would be so easy,” he growled. “Thought you’d put up a better fight.”

“Wait, wait, stop, put me down!” Rembrandt shouted.

“We got down through Brooklyn no problem. Killing a few Warriors should get Coney Island for us, huh? Easier to get through the rest of the city without having to come over on that fucking boat.”

Mercy finally kicked free and charged up the stairs. “Get away from her!”

“Stop, stop, stop!”

“That peace meeting was a fucking joke.”

“No-!”

He threw Rembrandt over the edge. 

Mercy’s knife was in her hand. She leapt up the final steps. With a wild, inhuman howl, she plunged the knife into the man’s back. 

It stuck in the meat of his shoulder. It got him to the floor but it didn’t kill him. Pity. Mercy sent him tumbling down the stairs. She looked over the edge to where she was sure Rembrandt would be lying dead on the concrete…

But she wasn’t.

Rembrandt had landed on a big pile of trash bags on the curb. It was better than the sidewalk and Mercy could see her gasping for air, eyes open, but she still hit hard and she wasn’t moving and the remaining gang members were closing in on her. Mercy flew down the stairs to where the man she stabbed was lying in a crumpled heap. Grabbing him by his hair, she yanked his head up.

“Hey!” She put the knife to his neck as his buddies froze. “One more step and I will cut his fucking throat!”

Most of them stayed put. A few backed away, back towards the cars waiting for them. Mercy pressed the knife into his skin until beads of blood darkened the edge of the blade. That got them moving. All but two got back in the cars. She dropped the man and maintained the space between them as they grabbed him under his arms and dragged him into the car. With a cloud of smoke from the squealing tires, they sped off into the night.

Mercy dropped the knife and flew to Rembrandt. She got her arms under her, pulling her out of the trash heap, which probably wasn’t the safest idea without checking to see if she’d injured her neck but Mercy was moving on adrenaline. She sat Rembrandt against the wall and snapped her fingers in front of her face, trying to get her attention.

It was bad. Rembrandt was bleeding from a huge gash on her head. She was pale and her eyes wouldn’t focus. Mercy spotted a slice through her shirt on her side surrounded by a rapidly expanding red stain. Her arm hung limp, and Mercy was a thousand percent sure that a shoulder was not supposed to be in that position.

There was so much blood.

“Rembrandt, Rembrandt, hey, look at me,” she begged. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Rembrandt barely had the strength to shake her head. “C-Cleon,” she gasped. “I need Cleon.”

“Okay. Okay, we’ll get you to Cleon. Come on.” 

Mercy slung Rembrandt’s arm over her shoulders and helped her to her feet, her heart twisting as Rembrandt tried to muffle a cry of pain. She struggled to walk, but with Mercy’s help, they began making their way towards the Warriors’ apartment. The whole time, Mercy kept talking:

“You’re gonna be fine. You’re okay. You’re gonna be totally fine, I promise. We’re almost home, Rem. You’re doing great. We’re so close.”

They crossed the street onto their block. Rembrandt tripped over her feet. Mercy couldn’t hold her up and sank to the ground with her, cradling her in her arms as her eyes closed and her head fell back. Mercy didn’t know what else to do, so she screamed.

“Cleon! Ajax! Help! Somebody, somebody help!”

--------

Part two is going to be out tomorrow, I just needed to split it and put the first part out today because it was getting way to long to be one part. Out on Ao3 under the same title, same username as Tumblr

[mewintheflesh-2]

More Nightsky Headcanons :) Mostly About Winona, Mikey, and Nikey.

(Got some whump in this one.) (is it whump?) (I think so idk)

Winona likes to call Mikey Sky-Boy in a taunt kind of way, but a “I love you, idiot” kind of way

Mikey is not good at hiding his emotions as I’ve discussed, so sometimes he’ll just look at Winona in like any formal-wear and he just “Uhhhh, uhhhh einwidheiwneieneie hi” and his face is like red as a tomato and Winona’s just like LMAO Arceus I fucking love you

FOREHEAD KISSES all the time, hand kisses, they’re very comfortable with moderate PDA, but they’re like all over eachother when they’re mostly alone. Constantly hugging, holding hands, you know the drill. They’re so fucking adorable

Mikey is pretty decent at flirting, but Winona is always on top of her game. Flirting between the two almost always starts with Mikey saying something pretty good, and then Winona just knocking him to the ground metaphorically with something he could’ve never even guessed, something that leaves him absolutely stunned in the best way possible. He wants to someday find something he can say that will make Winona feel the same way.

Also, the outside of Team Sky’s base is decked the fuck out with wind chimes of all kinds. The area it’s in gets a shit ton of wind, which has also resorted in the base being partly wind powered.

anyways back to the Nightsky

Nikey often finds himself holding his own hand when he’s alone just to have some sense of what he used to have with Winona

Despite him very much being cursed, people outside his close proximity only know it to be a rumour. He prefers to keep it that way and will very much dock the pay of anyone who is too persistent to know.

The skin around the cursed eye is like… really gross. Like Marvel’s Spider Man 2 Symbiote Suit gross. The green dot below the eye has the texture and material of marble. The red iris can burn through almost any fabrics aside from one, which is exactly what his eyepatch is made of. He is EXTREMELY insecure about how the skin around his eye is and if anybody brings it up, he will either A. Threaten to kill them. B. Hurt them physically. Or C. Just leave and then hide away from everything and everyone. Depends on his mood.

There was a point in time where he got deadly sick for like a week, almost died, and nobody knew because everyone assumed he was just self isolating again. He didn’t think of his sickness as much at first, just a small cold, he’ll just wait it out. But as it went on, and he began to feel worse, he began having intense physical symptoms, began to be unable to stand even with a cane. He began to rely on dry snacks in his house as he couldn’t do anything to cook for himself, which only worsened his condition as it was mostly unhealthy food. He was lucky he even had any water in his room in the first place, otherwise he surely would’ve been dead long before anyone found him.

He couldn’t call for help either. His voice was too quiet and hoarse to call out for the bodyguards standing guard right outside his house. He began to experience extreme delirium and even when he was breaking things inside his house in an attempt to call attention to someone, anyone- to help him. The guards just assumed he was having another episode. Constant burning inside his body, jolts of pain coarse go through his body like lightning any time he moved. He couldn’t sleep either, which only worsened his delirium and caused more intense hallucinations. Hallucinations of people he loved, people he lost, whether by death or otherwise. Hallucinations of people he killed.

It wasn’t until he crawled to his front door, scratching and clawing, unable to stand up to reach all the locks he had brandished on the entrance to his house, that someone finally opened the door and saw the horrible state he was in. His hair was a mess, his skin was dirty, he was barely clothed, and his eyepatch was missing. He began to be treated on sight by his personal doctor, who was called for an emergency to his house. But his condition was far too severe for that to suffice. He was taken to the nearest hospital and put into emergency treatment.

Turns out, the reason he had fallen so deathly ill was due to a deadly poison known as “Parasect G” which is known to kill any recipient within the next 24 hours after consumption. The doctors said it was a miracle Nikey had even survived for as long as he did, especially with how he was handling it. The doctors also found that his body had been suffering from long term and deadly amounts of intense stress. They ended up keeping him in the hospital for months to get his body to be even remotely healthy.

Nikey hadn’t realised just how exhausted and in pain he’d been for the past 5 years. And when he found himself alone in his hospital room, all he could do was cry. He’d been so… tired. All this time he was so tired- and now he was feeling it, all at once. He just wanted to curl into a ball and dissipate into pure light. All he could do now… was make the most of his hospital-ridden state, and just take the time to just… rest. Weeks after recovery, Nikey found himself vaguely wishing that it had taken him out. Or that he could atleast be that close to the brink again, because atleast then, he could be taken to the hospital again, and have time to breathe again. He has a purpose, he’s the ruler of the world, and yet… he feels so lost. Like he’s waiting for something that’ll never come, that he doesn’t even know what it is. But he’s holding out for something.

And he will get that something. Whatever it may be.

[ghxst-system]

VENT POST

TWs for this: NDEs, CSA + COCSA, Attempted infanticide/murder + similar

wouldnt normally put this here but im struggling a lot right now

i tend to remember traumatic life events when im under immense stress and a trigger occurs [not always, this is quite rare but has happened a few times that its significant enough]

for almost 2 years ive known about an event of COCSA that occured when i was very young, since my mother told me about it

in the past year or so, ive processed more of the events surrounding it and learned and remembered more

but more recently it got darker.

i remembered that my mothers best friend at the time had tried on multiple occassions to kill me. that she, her boyfriend and her son had collectively abused me

all while my mother did nothing and probably didn't even notice or care

right now i can remember at least 3 events where she tried to kill me. as well as her son attempting this. they tried drowning me twice [explains why im terrified of baths and paddling pools], smothering me and some other things i dont want to explain

all of this occured when i was really young and so the memories are choppy [doesnt help that i have DID]

but the memories have gotten to a point i cant even look at my mother [who i live with] without feeling sick, panicking or dissociating

because if she knows? thats disgusting of her to tell me for years that im fine and had a happy childhood [REITERATING SHE KNOWS ABOUT AT LEAST 3 EVENTS OF COCSA]

but if she doesnt know? how the fuck could she let that happen?

how could she let me stay with that woman. let me be around her?

she claims she didnt know she was abusing her son, so i find it unlikely she knew i was forcefully involved

right now i just cant process the guilt of the fact i lived when i should have died and the grief i feel for the alters that hold this trauma

i dont know, sorry for putting this on my blog but theres nowhere else to put it

-Violet [Hy/Hymn]

[gelu-the-babosa-multiversal]

Hice cambios, correcciones y agregue el segundo capítulo.

Lealo quien quiera y dígame qué les pareció! No habrá traducción ya que estoy bien cansado lol

Además, hice que Huxley viera el interior de Boulder así que me gustaría saber si me descripción de ROBOT-GORE está bien.

[fangirls-fanfiction]

I just finished up chapter two lol

Story below undercut:

"Will you quit crying?"

The Devil dragged a sobbing Queen Dice into her office, looking her over just to make sure all the fire was completely out. Aside from a small ember on the top of her head, everything seemed to be fine. Though what wasn't fine was Dice's clothes being burnt and smoldered, along with a good portion of her hair burnt much shorter. She was a downright mess.

"I don't know what you were thinking—" The Devil scoffed as she closed the bedroom door behind her. "What were you expecting to happen when you got close to Hellfire?!"

"I— I— "

"Do you have any idea what could've happened if I hadn't gotten there in time? You could've died! Or worse!"

"... W— Worse than dying...?" Queen Dice asked.

"The point is that I told you to stay put!"

"I— I know... I should've listened... I'm sorry..."

"Damn right."

The Devil rolled her eyes, quickly changing the subject. She put the small flame out atop Dice's head, taking care of the rest if the fire.

"Are you alright?" She asked, impatiently.

"I was— I— I was nearly burnt to— To— To smithereens by y— Your Hellfire, do you think I'm— I'm ok?" Queen Dice hiccuped as she spoke through her tears, though still managed to sneak in the snide comments.

"Hey, I don't need the sass." The demon snarled back at her. "Now, let's get you cleaned up."

"What— What am I gonna do?" Dice sniffed, looking down to her ruined dress. "This was one of my m— Mamas favorite dresses..."

"Well, I think you could used a new style anyway. A show woman like you doesn't wear things like..." The Devil gestured to her dress. "That."

"But... B— But I've always worn dresses like these... If— If my mama were to find out I disobeyed her, she would— She— She would— "

Queen Dice was cut of by a loud groan from the Devil.

"For Hellfire's sake, following your parents' rules is so... Boring." The demon rolled her eyes. "What's life without getting to choose things for yourself, huh? For Hell's Sake! You're a grown woman, you don't need your mommy's approval."

Queen Dice thought for a moment, but didn't say anything.

"So what do you want to do? You can wear that stupid dress, or you can try to think for yourself for a change."

Lucifer sighed, noticing her rather unsure expression. "Look, why don't we start with the hair? Hm? Why don't we cut it all at the same length, and if you don't like it, I'll turn it back to normal. Deal?"

"O— Ok..."

"Great, now let me see."

Hesitantly turning around, Queen Dice gave the demon a better look at what she was working with. Though to the demon's horror, it was going to be a rather tough battle.

"I'm going to have to cut a lot off of this to make it even."

"What are you, a hair stylist?" Queen Dice asked.

"When living on this miserable planet for so long, one must have different hobbies." The demon explained nonchalantly.

"Besides stealing souls?"

"Yes, besides stealing souls. Now, hold still."

With a simple wave of her hand, a pair of scissors and a comb appeared in the demon's hands and she got to work. Queen Dice flinched as she cut her hair. The scissors being about level with her shoulders; quite a bit was being cut off indeed. Dice began crying again, obviously trying to keep her emotions at bay but letting a few hiccups slip through.

"I said hold still." The demon tugged on her hair slightly.

"S— Sorry." Queen Dice wiped the tears away.

"Can't you do things right the first time you're asked to?"

"So— Sorry..."

"Stop apologizing."

"S— I mean... Ok..."

Rolling her eyes, the Devil continued. A few minutes later, the demon finished, putting the scissors and comb aside.

"Turn around, let me see."

Dice's curls were much more pronounced with the shorter hair, giving it less weight and more freedom for the locks to curl every which way. The poor girl's hair looked an absolute mess. She'd hate for Dice not to feel confident about her new haircut, especially to prove her point. So she thought up a way to make it look better at its current shoulder length compared to the long length it was.

"Hold still."

She took Dice by a couple of locks of hair in each side of her face, pulling her hair out of her eyes. Those beautiful, emerald green eyes. The demon stared, tilting her head to one side for a moment. She really did look nice with the shorter hair, even with her longer hair Dice was a very attractive lady. A very very attractive lady. Especially her green eyes. They complimented the purplish-pink color to her hair so well, especially with this short hair. A familiar feeling began to grow in the pit of the demon's stomach.

Though, realizing she'd been staring for too long, the demon let go of her hair

"Turn back around for a second."

Doing as she was told again without even a word, the only sound Queen Dice made was a small sniffle as she seemed to be still crying.

Summoning a hair clip, the demon did her best to pull back Dice's hair to keep it out of her face. Satisfied with her work, a mirror appeared, the Devil facing Dice towards it.

"How is that? Do you like it or do you want to change it back?"

Queen Dice stared at her reflection, blinking. She seemed surprised, intrigued even. She stared for so long that the Devil was convinced she hated it.

"Look," The demon sighed. "If you don't like it, you don't have to give me the silent treatment."

"No!" Queen Dice turned around to face her. "I love it. Thank you... Boss."

The Devil's narrow gaze widened slightly, her ember eyes staring at Dice for a moment. That feeling in her gut returned unexpectedly, this time accompanied by a weird sensation in her chest. Though strange, it wasn't a feeling that the demon particularly hated. It felt nice. Scary, but nice. Perhaps it was because— No, it was a simple thing that she'd never experienced before;

She'd never been thanked before. Not that she regularly did nice things but in the occasion that she did, she didn't usually receive very positive feedback. Why, just the other day, some dumb baby had dropped its favorite toy without the mother realizing. Feeling rather kind that day, the Devil decided to return it to its rightful owner... Only to receive a blood curdling scream and a smack across the face from the mother's purse in return. Mortals were just too quick to jump to conclusions when it came to the ruler of Hell.

The demon's neutral expression returned with that thought.

"Whatever." The Devil rolled her eyes as she began to walk away. "Go get yourself cleaned up and come back to my office." She stopped as she opened the door for Dice. "I have a special job for you; if a self-proclaimed, show-woman such as yourself can do it right."

"Wh..." Queen Dice decided to ignore the comment. "What 'special job' do you mean?"

"If you're such a connoisseur of music and dance, then you're going to use that to get me souls. A lot of souls."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Get yourself dressed, you look like you just crawled out of a house fire."

"Ok..." Queen Dice walked out the door, the demon slamming it behind her.

Once she heard Dice's footsteps far enough away, the Devil sighed loudly, slouching back to her desk.

"C'mon, Dev, get ahold of yourself... You can't do this to yourself again..." She told herself as she sat down in her comfy chair behind her desk and leaned her chin on her hand.

"It's never worth it when you're the Devil..."

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

Queen Dice let out a deep breath, knocking on the door of her new Boss' office. Her nerves were a wreck. Especially after a near-death experience, making a deal with the literal Devil, nearly getting burnt alive from Hellfire, and getting this new haircut and style in roughly the same week— She was particularly tense.

Though after wearing this new suit her boss had so generously given to her, she found a new sense of self. All her life, she was just another Dice from that family of hers. But looking in that mirror, her name meant something. It gave her a new found confidence.

But that confidence was quickly lost when she knocked on her Boss' door. What was left slipped through her fingertips when the door opened.

Offering a smile at the demon, Lucifer only seemed to glare at her as she opened the door wider and walked off back to her desk.

"So, Dice," The Queen of Hell started, sitting on her rather comfy-looking chair. "About that job I was talking about?"

"Yes?"

"You're a Dice, right? You've lived your life on the stage. And you've got talent like no other."

"Y— Yes? You know about my family...?"

"Let's just say that I've gotten to know your father pretty well." The demon smirked.

Queen Dice blinked, grimacing at that thought, though not saying anything.

"Not in that way." The Devil frowned, seeming to read the woman's mind. "I mean that he's made quite a few deals with me. Where'd you think he got all his money?"

"Hard work and dedication?"

Old Scratch rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"Anyways, about that job."

"Yes?"

"I want a way to bring in unsuspecting souls. In a town as bland as Inkwell, no one can resist a pretty little lady who dances and sings."

Queen Dice didn't say anything, still she felt the heat rise to her face. Something about her Boss calling her a 'pretty little lady' left her rather speechless and surprisingly flattered.

"A game show. One that no one can lose. Hosted by a pretty doll no one can say no to."

"M— Me?" Queen Dice asked, pointing to herself.

"Yes, you, you blockhead!"

Backing a step away, Dice shut her mouth, nodding.

"A person plays three games— Incredibly easy, anyone, even the most incompetent person can win them— " The Devil continued to explain, standing from her seat. "And after they win, they get to go to the... The..." The demon stopped, seeming to have not thought up the finishing detail.

"The... Mystery... Surprise Room...?" Queen Dice offered on the spot.

"Yes! The Mystery Surprise Room!" Lucifer seemed excited by that idea, putting a smile on Dice's face.

The things that seemed to make the Devil happy were very... Odd. Not everyone was obsessed with getting their hands on every soul in the world. Though seeing that spark of excitement and joy on her Boss' face made Dice want to keep her happy. Please her in any way possible, even if the things that made her happy were very... Unorthodox.

"And do you know what the surprise will be, Dice?" The Devil got closer, her smile turning to a sneer.

"What?"

"That's when I snatch their soul."

"O— Oh..." Dice's gaze fell to the floor.

It felt wrong. So wrong. Just plain evil to lure people in with her charm and talent just for them to get their soul snatched away from them.

"I'm— I'm not so sure if I can— "

"When you work for me, you do as I say. And you do it perfectly. Unless you'd like to know what Hellhounds eat for their breakfast."

"N— No! I'll do it— I'll host the show for you." Queen Dice panicked.

"Good, good... Now you'd better go get some rest. Opening night is tomorrow night." The demon started back to her desk.

"T— Tomorrow?! B— But I can't— How am I supposed to know what to do by tomorrow?! Don't I get a script or— Or— Or something?!"

"You're the show woman, figure it out."

"Buh— But— Boss!"

"But Boss!" The Devil mocked her. "I'm not the one who made the deal. You work for me, you follow my rules."

Queen Dice was close to tears at this point. She hated her Boss. God she hated her. There was no reasoning with her, no matter how batshit insane her standards were, there was no talking her out of it. Still, Dice refused to cry in front of her Boss, she hated to see what would happen if she found Dice crying. No doubt mockery would come soon after. So she held them back, only letting a small, shaken breath slip.

"Yes, Boss." She managed to choke out as she walked out of the office.

The door clicking behind her, a few tears ran down her face. Silently crying, she quickly wiped them away, in fear that a demon or an imp might see her.

Every moment since the beginning of all this, the same question ran through Dice's mind.

Was death really worse than this?

[3katanas]

@auburniivenus liked for a Bleach Starter!

He grunts, the onslaught of attacks causing him to drop to one knee even as panic settles into his heart. Hitsugaya-taichou had sent him to help defend the rear in the sudden attack that had begun with their entire home transforming into some dark, warped city. The Quincy gaining the upper hand once more by changing the very terrain around them. Not that it had made a difference before. The first attack had been brutal to a level he'd never witnessed in his life.

Swords blazing in green fire his gaze lifted, looking out over the rubble as the realization that he was about to die was finally over slowly settled upon his shoulders. The last remaining survivors of his division scattered around him, drawing his gaze to them and then the surrounding rubble. He'd felt Hitsugaya and Matsumoto's spiritual pressure vanish. The sensation had struck fear through his heart even as he continued to battle, exhausting every last inch of his strength.

Rising on shaky legs he took a few steps forward, still unable to accept the darkening of his sight nor the hot sensation of his blood leaving his body. Making it only a few steps forward before collapsing forward, swords clattering to the ground around him as darkness swept in. The last thing he thought was at least she was safe....even as he felt, distantly, as if it were a dream, her spiritual presence appearing like a breath of spring air. One last thought slipping through his mind even as the last visage of his gaze settled upon grinning golden teeth. Inoue.......