#but hey new chapter

[capriciouswriter207]

Neither ever nor never goodbye

Chapter 12.3: That which can't be ignored (ch 36/66)

Grian returns to Scar and Joel with a glowing echo shard. Both are drawn to it.

Story summary

The fog of the Evermoore grants the witch Shelby a strange shard that seems to call out to her.

A mysterious rift in the middle of his base leads Grian to call for exploration.

The wizard Gem returns home with her brother, to see the broken world they’d left behind and to find any survivors among the ruins.

Everything is connected, and nothing is what it seems.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

The Construct of Time, Chapter 07

Pairing: HotchReid

Written For: The HotchReid Valentine’s Day Trope Challenge, Trope Assignments = Historical AU, Time Travel

Summary: The year is 1924, half a decade after the first World War, and a few years before the Great Depression would devastate the nation. It is a time of contradiction: the modernist uprising of science and innovation, met with a traditionalist, fearful desire to cling to the past in a fast-evolving, urbanist society. And on this morning in Washington D.C. an unmarked package is left outside the office of Aaron ‘Hotch’ Hotchner, P.I., with a note simply telling him to find the rest, and a substantial price tag attached. What he finds in this package is something he has never seen before, hundreds of years old, and he barely knows where to start trying to find more like it. Ultimately he is pointed towards someone that may just have a clue what to do with his charge: a Classics Historian working in the basements of the Smithsonian, Dr. Spencer Reid. Together, what they discover sends them on a break-neck chase across the city, searching for a mysterious collection of powerful artifacts, and the people that are trying to sell them. Forever changing everything they know about the world, the people in it, truth, lies, love, and the fragile construct of time.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (to be determined)

Chapter CW/notes: FIGHT SCENES; blood, knives, stabbing, guns, shooting people, typical brawling fight scene. Injuries that look very grave (but aren’t, breathe easy my friends) as well as alcohol and smoking, as per the era. We’re closing in on the end here, folks, so we will see if I actually manage to finish this story this month. That’s the goal. Next month I have... a different fic starting. 👀 Hopefully. Written in a rush, apologies all around, hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 3121

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

–

Chapter 07: Allies and Oppositions

–

.

By the time they reach the secluded back alley streets of the lower District, the sun is already making the sky bruise and bleed arrays of colors. It’s hard to imagine that just that morning they’d left the Smithsonian when the same sun was just beginning to rise. How Spencer is still on his feet is merely another miracle Hotch can’t even begin to fathom. 

Inside the cigar lounge, the late afternoon crowd littered along bar stools and poker tables is the same as the day before. Even Emily hasn’t moved from her seat at the end of the bar, a new dress and lipstick color, dark eyes catching Hotch’s and then sliding easily back to Spencer’s presence just behind him. An artfully raised eyebrow and knowing smirk hidden behind her martini glass. She could make all the assumptions she wanted, Hotch ignores her and ushers the good historian through the establishment. Spencer looks very much out of place – but he doesn’t make himself smaller, or shy away from the suspicious looks thrown their direction. He stands tall, following Hotch dutifully, with an air that he has every right to be there. Same as anyone else. From his completely unbothered expression and the best poker face Hotch has seen in a long while, he is very convincing. Nothing to see here. Mind your business.  

That is, until Rossi announces their presence. 

“Aaron! Twice in one week? People will talk,” he exclaims, teasing, yet hurrying to greet them at the door before the usual litany of patrons could offer their own. He only stalls his movements when he spots Spencer. “And you brought company. You spoil me. Come, come, into my office.”

The door shutting behind them is as much a statement as anything ever could be.

“Dave, this is Dr. Spencer Reid of the Smithsonian. He’s the expert I mentioned to you. Dr. Reid,” he emphasizes, turning to Spencer and catching the young man’s amused gaze. Knowing full well why Hotch had put so much effort into calling him by his moniker. “This is David Rossi. He’s an… entrepreneur.” Dave does not have the decency to hold back his bark of laughter. “We met when I was still a prosecutor for the District Attorney’s office.” 

Spencer nods, clutching the strap on his satchel, murmuring a greeting of the Old Country that Hotch couldn’t have pronounced if he’d tried. Dave smiles wide, at that, and orders them all a round of scotch. Spencer’s quick look to Hotch has a knowing glint, the words ‘Crime Boss’ coming back to him in flashing neon letters.

“It’s a pleasure, Doctor Reid, but we’re all friends here. No need for formalities. Come in, sit down, take a load off. You look like you’re about to topple over.” Spencer nods again, opens his mouth to say something when Dave waves him off. “No need, I’ve pulled all-nighters before. I think you might need a pick-me-up instead of a libation.” And in true David Rossi fashion, picks up his phone and calls his bartender on the other side of the establishment. They could see him answer the call through the office windows. “Anderson, a Caffè con Panna for our guest. Grazie.” 

“You could have literally opened the door and said it to him,” Hotch chastises, even toned. 

“Privacy is half appearances, Aaron,” Dave chides back. “If the door opens and closes so fiverously then anyone could walk in. Now, help me out over here,” he nods to the bar stand behind his desk, and Spencer sits where he was instructed. Indeed looking like if he hadn't sat down he would have simply fallen, the couch about to swallow him whole. 

Hotch hovers over Dave’s shoulder as the man gets a polished silver tray set up with their scotch and ice. “Do you need me to hold your hand while you overpour our drinks?” he drawls. This was a little ridiculous, even for Dave.

But the older man merely smiles that wry smirk, as if he knows more than most. “Don’t think it’s my hand you want to be holding.” Hotch goes stock still, and David doesn’t even acknowledge the strong set of the Inspector’s jaw. “So – how did you meet him?”

“You remember Sam Cooper?”

“Of course,” Dave chuckles lightly. “Gentlest hand-cuffing of my life. Such a charmer, that Cooper. Proper officer of the law.” Hotch glares at him. “Oh relax. You were too, once upon a time.”

“I still am.”

“Fairly certain you weren’t allowed to run amuck all over the city just to impress some young thing with a Ph.D. and pretty eyes.” Dave’s knowing look gets obnoxiously more pointed as Hotch’s blood pressure spikes in anxious panic. “You two crazy kids have been having a time of it, haven’t you?” He presses a scotch into Hotch’s hands, and picks up the tray to ferry the rest. “Better get to brass tacks, then, so you can carry on wooing. God, I should have known. No wonder you never married.” 

He leaves Hotch standing there in shock, places the tray down and allows Anderson in to give Spencer the freshly prepared Italian espresso and cream. It smells divine, but even that isn’t enough to shake Hotch from his stupor. Just how obvious were he and Spencer being? Everyone they talk to seemed to know what was going on, or what was about to being going on – 

Professionalism. Come on, Hotchner, you’re a skilled and seasoned professional, an expert in your field. Act like it.

 .

“So I spoke with my eccentric friend,” Dave says, swirling his scotch in his glass and leaning back in his high back chair. Looking for all the world like he hadn’t said anything seconds before. Hotch sits very slow and careful next to Spencer, keeping a modest amount of space between them. If Spencer notices, he doesn’t say a word.

“You worked that quick,” Hotch points out, keeping his attorney-honed, Harvard taught impassivity firmly in place. 

“What can I say? It’s a slow week,” he shrugs.

“Ironic, since ours has been busy since the get-go.”

“Some folks are just born lucky,” Dave smirks. “So, like I said – the auction you’re looking for? Found out it was set up by an old friend of mine.”

“Now, when you say friend,” Hotch pries, and David Rossi gives him an oil slick smile that falls away just as fast as it appears.

“I do mean friend. We haven’t done business together in so long I don’t know how I would even go about it, now,” he admits. “His mindset has shifted quite a bit since I first met him. Decades ago. No jokes, young man,” he points at Hotch, who just gives him a look. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but you were thinkin’ it,” Dave mumbles at him. “I found the where-abouts of the building and what’s on the auction block, sounds right up your alley, but not a date or time. Yet.” There’s a heavy promise behind it. “I didn’t plan on you reappearing in my office only a day later. You two move fast.” 

The double meaning was not lost on any of them. Spencer coughs and looks down to hide how his face burns red. Hotch just glares at Dave, unimpressed. 

“Oh, come on. It’s funny.”

“Hilarious,” Hotch drawls. 

“How often do I get to poke fun at you and your life choices,” Dave questions glibly.

“About every single meeting since I’ve met you.”

“Then you’d think you would be used to it by now, wouldn’t you?”

Hotch catches Spencer smiling with his head still ducked down, snagging his gaze when he looks at him accusingly too long. Spencer exhales in a laugh he can’t contain. “Traitor,” Hotch murmurs. Spencer bites his lip to keep from smiling any wider.

“So when do you talk to your friend again?” Hotch asks, knowing full well that whatever information Dave had exchanged by phone was probably tapped and had to be kept brief. Only meetings in person got any real meat when it came to hitting up a source. 

“We’re scheduled to have lunch at the Plaza tomorrow. So if you can hold your horses until then, I’ll have more for you.” 

“Fair enough,” Hotch requiesces. “But that’s not the reason we came calling today.” Dave makes a ‘go-on’ gesture with his scotch glass. “We just got a phone transcript that talked about a charter flight taking these museum artifacts to the Middle East. And they’re leaving from your airfield.” 

“Putting me to work today, aren’t you,” Dave rumbles, draining his glass and sitting up behind his desk. Pulling out a large leather-bound book and flipping through to a couple half-filled pages. “All my planes are out of state or out of country, so I’m not sure who in their right mind thinks they can use my airfield for smuggling.” 

“It’s a small cargo charter called Quantico, headed to Qatar–” Hotch trails off as Dave looks up at them careful, slow, a distant look in his eyes that masks his shock well. Hotch had seen it enough, both in and out of a courtroom, to recognize it well. “What?”

“...I know about that flight,” he tells them. Even and calculated. “That’s my plane.” 

“Yours?” Hotch is now just as shocked. 

“Who else do you know names their planes after cities nearby? It throws air traffic control for a loop every time, and makes the wire-tap transcripts look downright squirrely.” 

Hotch gives him an unimpressed look.

“The plane, Dave?” 

“I approved that charter a week ago. It’s long gone,” Dave tells them, shutting the leather tome.

“But, the conversation was only a few days ago –” Spencer says, confused but only so much. He looks like he’s trying to connect dots in his head, eyes moving and reading things that aren’t there. What Hotch wouldn’t give to see how his thought process works. 

“They must have been trying to cheat the paperwork, throw off the feds,” Rossi suggests. That’s what he would have done, obviously. “Or you, if they knew you’re looking for their loot.” 

“Yeah, maybe–” Hotch rubs a hand along his jaw, not convinced in the slightest. It just wasn’t adding up, not in the way he was used to. The timelines were all messed up, and usually the timelines are what held the key to the case.

Little did he know, this time would be no different. 

 .

—

 .

No one expected the Cigar Lounge to be ambushed. 

Who would be stupid enough to butt up against the David Rossi and his associates? What could possibly be that important? Hotch could only think of one thing, and it frightens him to the point of blinded action. 

Shouting proceeds the gunfire, cutting off their conversation abruptly, but ricochets just as terribly. Sends the patrons up and moving, half none the wiser until they see the sheen of the lamplight off of gunmetal. A man in the most nondescript suit Hotch has ever seen bursts into the lounge first, three more identical goons right behind him, flashing military-grade weapons as long as a man’s arm. All dressed in the same suit. Brooks Brothers must be having a sale. The first man doesn’t fire a gun, just cuts across the lounge to Rossi’s office like no force of God could stop him. 

He bursts through the door, determination a dead look in his dark eyes, and Hotch is on his feet before the goon even draws his pistol. Throwing off his sport coat, black gun holsters stark against his shirt, strapped around his arms and back, but there’s no time for him to draw his own firearms. He’s across the office in an instant, years of boxing at Harvard (one of the school’s favorite pastimes) taking over as he throws a jab and hook combination that certainly makes him feel more competent in the moment than he should be. 

Hotch disarms the man, pistol-whips him with his own gun, but the guy is built like a brick wall. Barely blinks at the blood dripping down his face. It’s enough of a shock that Hotch doesn’t see the glint of steel wrapped around the man's knuckles. Heavy ringed and sharp edged. Hotch barley softens the blows, a slice across his cheek for his mistake, a few bruised ribs for good measure. His military training takes over, and he puts the man in the ground. But he barely gets a second to breathe, looking up to find that the lounge is now flooded with more goons than he can count. How they are making it past the lifetime criminals in the lobby and Emily at the bar, Hotch can’t be sure. He also catches glints of light and smoke from behind the bartop as Anderson fires off a hunting rifle, pecking off men in trench coats one by one like he’s shooting clay pigeons. Dave needs to give that man a raise. 

The fight is chaos, a blind rush of movement and fists and spiked adrenaline, and it’s only a matter of time before the gunfire enters Dave’s office – they are already trickling in one by one – and there’s one person that Hotch promised Ms. Penelope Garcia he would keep out of a gunfight. Despite the pandemonium, Hotch knows for certain of two things:

He remembers pushing Spencer behind him, towards the back corner of Dave’s office that conceals a private exit. For instances such as this.

He remembers telling Spencer to run, leaving no room for argument. Turns back to fight off the force closing in on them. They were really breaking through into the office, now. The particularly vicious looking man with the bloody face is back on his feet, right in front of him, sudden and moving fast into his space now armed with a steel blade seemingly from nowhere–

Which would mean Spencer should have been at Hotch’s back, safe from harm. The man would have to go through Hotch to reach him. And Hotch was ready to fight with all his might to give the young doctor a head start. 

But that isn't what happens.

Spencer is at his back, Hotch knows this, feels him disappear down the exit stairs – therefore, Hotch should not now see Spencer on the other side of the room. In the middle of the chaos. The alchemy locket’s fine golden chain wrapped around his wrist, armed with the silver tray they’d served scotch on moments before. He hits the man over the head with the tray as hard as he can, the sheen of it matching the knife inches from Hotch’s throat. The blow stuns the man, Hotch knocks the knife aside in the blink of an eye, and before they can recover the office is finally flooded with people. Rossi’s guards, patrons, more of the bland grey suits and angry faces trying to get to Hotch and Spencer. More than one set of beady black eyes zeroing in on the young scholar’s satchel. 

Whoever these men-for-hire were, they had their orders. That much is clear. They are after the remaining artifacts. 

Knives, pistols, fists and boots fly in all directions. Hotch pulls Spencer behind him, again, gets double teamed and a few more nasty cuts for his efforts. But with Spencer trapped behind him in a different corner, now unable to reach the exit door, he has nothing but his body to block the younger man. 

“I thought we said we weren’t going to use the locket again!” he snaps, glancing back. But there’s a haunted look in Spencer’s wide eyes, and bright crimson blood speckled in a spray across one side of his face. Hotch freezes at the sight. “You’re hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Spencer barely manages, and Hotch feels his blood pressure spike.

“No, you’re not! You’re covered in–”

Spencer grabs him by the gun hostlers across his shoulders, and yanks with every ounce of strength he has, tugging him right out of the line of fire from an opponent Hotch hadn’t had a chance to see. Too focused on the blood, on Spencer’s fear – on his patient yet terrified determination. A switchblade pierces Hotch’s side instead of the center of his chest, and the rush of adrenaline propels him forward. Lashing out and knocking the goon unconscious.

Too little, too late.

“Damnit!” He’s bleeding through his shirt, and Spencer is white as a sheet, disbelief and alarm taking over every inch of his expression. There’s blood on his jacket and shirt but no wounds Hotch can see. He needs to get a look at him. If Spencer was grazed by a bullet sometimes people couldn’t even feel it hit them. Not with everything else going on. 

“You alright?!” Rossi yells over the commotion, most of the goons dead on the floor, or wishing they were. The remaining few are being dragged out by the calvary, Dave’s own men-for-hire that are much bigger with more sense to them hauling men to their feet and dragging them kicking and shouting in various languages all the way. “Looks like a nasty papercut.”

“I’ll live.” 

“Good. Get them out of here,” he says over his shoulder, and suddenly Emily is there beside Spencer and Hotch. Her twin thigh pistols no bigger than the palm of her hand, hot to the touch and smoking from gunfire. She and Spencer help Hotch to his feet, despite the older man’s protests (Spencer has blood on him, “For Christ’s sake, Emily!” “And you’re about to bleed out, yourself, Aaron. Shut it.”), and she ushers them both out the back door. Dave slinging Hotch’s long coat about his shoulders, it barely hides the injury as they stumble into the street. Spencer under his shoulder, the closest they’ve ever been pressed together – and it’s sticky blood seeping through their dress shirts that keeps them that way. 

The sun is setting on Washington D.C., and Hotch hails a taxi for the first time in years. Anything to get them across the District as fast as possible. He knows where they need to go – can even possibly hope to go – next, but they won’t be able to stay there for long. Whoever sent a small infantry after them at David Rossi’s place would no doubt be hot on their heels. 

He'd had no idea someone was actually willing to kill them for the puzzle box, or even knew they had it. Now, they'd be the most wanted men in the city.

They are running out of safe places, safe faces, and despite the fact they are so close to solving this case – and Hotch now knows he would do anything to keep the man beside him alive. Job be damned.

.

—

tbc…

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Tagged list so far: @physics-magic​​ @thaddeusly​​ @sideblogforcrimpy​ @anxious-enby​ @t4tpoisondamage​​​​

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[kourota]

being a writer is just thinking that anything and everything is great writing material. people watching while you wait for your bus? writing material. experiencing something that's gonna scar you for life? writing material. getting chased by chickens and running for your life? writing material.

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

part 16 - but I know where to start

“Feeling my way through the darkness, guided by a beating heart. I can’t tell where the journey will end, but I know where to start.” -Wake Me Up by Avicii

Regent Masterlist Part 15

Was it a cop-out to summon Jazz back to the Far Frozen? Yes. Did Danny particularly care? Nope! 

Jason was comfortable, propped up with a book Ghostwriter who had popped by to personally deliver. How the ghost had known about Jason Phantom wasn’t going to question, but he suspected GW kept an eye on the bookworms that passed through the Realms- or at least those close to the “Royal family”. Phantom wasn’t much for reading, not unless it was space-related, but he enjoyed listening to the Liminal man reading out loud. He had a brash voice, accented with a cadence like those from Crime Alley, but it only underscored the passion he held for reading. Phantom didn’t interrupt him once, not even when the halfa pulled out his ecto-phone and texted Ellie. 

(His little sister was in Kansas, spending time with another clone she’d literally run into.) 

Almost another full day's cycle passed before Phantom realized Jason had fallen back asleep, a book resting open on his broad chest and soft snores coming from the man. 

Yeah, he could see how he and Jazz fit together so well. 

There was just something about the Once-Revenant, a part of what made him Jason, that resonated with the Phantom. It’s what made him talk to the man as Red Hood, feel comfortable enough to stay in his company for so long, trust him with his older sister- the person who raised him. 

(Spent her birthday money to get him those cheap plastic glow-in-the-dark stars.) 

(Taught him how to read.) 

(Held him as the nightmares of his death shook him to his core.) 

(Did not fear him.) 

(Not as Phantom, Danny, or Dan.)

(Loves him.) 

(Mourns him.) 

(He would never tell her, but he understood how Dan could succumb to grief.)

(Jazz was his.) 

(His first friend, his true mother, his rock.) 

(She wouldn’t have claimed Regency without that tie.) 

Remix & Original chat 

Remix: Lol hows weenie Original:   jasons x3 ur size pipsqeak                    Remix:  ur point?  Original:  lol hes ok                                 frosty says he got hurt wth shrpnel                        new healed core + shrapnel = bad time Remix:  sucks 2 b him  Original:               so tru        Whre r u? Remix: omw 2 spain barcelona Original: ooh send pics if u need me call Remix: pics or nay gotcha txt u l8r luv u  Original: love u 2

Safely back in the living Realm and tucked away in Jason’s apartment, Jazz and Danny tried to investigate the bomb- unfortunately there was nothing for them to do but wait. 

On the upside, the Justice League was about to hit the UN full force with all the subtlety of a tsunami and who had front row seats to the drama? 

Yep, the Regent.  Jazz wasn’t exactly thrilled that her presence was requested, even though it was on the path to the desired outcome the Nightingale siblings had fought for, but both her soulmate boyfriend and little brother would be by her side as support. 

The Birds and the Bats Group Chat

Zombie: I lived bitch Spoiler-Alert: Jason!  Fly-Like-A-Dick: Little Wing!  Blood_Heir: Todd. Zombie: don’t sound too excited there demon brat.  Blood_Heir: Never.  Sleep_When_Im_Dead: Where have you been? Zombie: Stayed overnight at my Docs for observation.  Fly-Like-A-Dick: For three days? Blood_Heir: Fail to find that humorous Todd.  Zombie: wasn’t meant to be a joke brat.  I was actually at my Docs.  Zombie: Got a shovel talk from my girlfriends little brother too.                                     Spoiler-Alert:  Whoa GIRLFRIEND!!!! 😱 Jason!  Why is this the first were hearing this??? Fly-Like-A-Dick: Little Wing!!!!!! Quiet_Dancer: 🤗  Zombie:  At least Cass and Dickiebird are happy for me                                    Spoiler-Alert:  Ecstatic! But details! Now.                                                      Zombie: No.                                              Fly-Like-A-Dick: Is she a redhead??? Sleep_When_Im_Dead:  Jasmine Nightingale.                                                      Zombie: Babs.                                               Oracle_of_Gotham:  On it.  [member Sleep_When_Im_Dead has been blocked from the group.]  Spoiler-Alert:  too late!!!!!! Cass  with me! Quiet_Dancer: 🫡 Oracle_of_Gotham: DENIED Batdad:  Welcome back Jaylad.                                                        Zombie:                                           Old man       You and I need to have a talk with words                                              Fly-Like-A-Dick: battle stations everyone!!!

Council of Uncaged Birds

Queen_Regent: Ellie, I want you to meet Jason.  Officially meet him.  WanderingPrincess: eh??? temp said wasnt srs Queen_Regent: Danny No InfiniteStarPrince: Danny YES Frosty said they are  soulmates!!!!!! WanderingPrincess: 🤯😱 wha th fuck!!!1 Queen_Regent: language!  WanderingPrincess: ENGLISH imma get a shovel gotta undead weenie 2 bury.

Template. [user InfiniteStarPrince has left the chat]  WanderingPrincess: coward Queen_Regent: I have many regrets.  WanderingPrincess: u luv us 👻

Lady & Knight chat Lady: Jay remember when I told you I wanted you to meet Ellie?  Knight: She’s bringing a shovel isn’t she.  Lady: I love how brilliant you are.  Knight: I aim to please. 

Lady & Knight chat Knight: you patrolling tonight? Lady: wasnt planning on it Knight: wanna meet me? Lady: same time same place? Knight: you know it

The abolishment of the Anti-Ecto Acts officially happened at three pm on a dreary Gotham Tuesday. Jazz was cuddled with Jason on his couch, dozing off to his heartbeat as he read Pride and Prejudice for the thousandth time. The comfortable silence they had wrapped themselves in only occasionally broken by Jason turning a page was completely shattered when Jazz’s phone rang with the Ghostbusters theme song. 

“Danny?” Jazz answered surprised, “School isn’t out yet, what’s wrong?” She was greeted by Danny’s heaving cries as he replied. 

“Batman, he- he did it!” Danny sobbed, “He saved us.” 

It clicked then. The Dark Knight had completed the task he was entrusted with by a Spirit of Protection, the Once and Future Star King, and unknowingly kept the promise a ghost made to a young Jasmine Fenton. 

One day my son will stop this. All of this. You only need to be strong. Take care of yourself and your brother. I promise. 

She had waited years for the promise to be fulfilled, the sworn promise of the dead to a living child. Jasmine was a patient soul, but she had still been a child that night in Gotham. 

(The Drs. Fenton believing the stories about a ghostly vigilante patrolling the streets, a never aging child by their side.) (Dragging their children with them. ) (Hungry and cold.) (A dead man who swore his son would end their torment one day.)

(She should’ve known it wouldn’t come fast enough to save Danny.) 

How was she to know the ghost was speaking of the Realms inhabitants, not the abused and neglected children of Ghost Hunters? How was she to know that the hope such a promise kindled wasn’t hers to keep?  Jason wrapped his arms around her, the book set aside and her phone gently taken from her grasp to be put on speaker so they could both talk to her little brother. Danny had dissolved from heaving sobs to muffled hiccups, seemingly now that he’d shared the news with his sister. 

“He really did,” she muttered. “He really did it.” 

(The furry fucker actually did it.) (She’d known that he was going to try, but humans are stubborn creatures.)

A/N: Hi! Welcome to an update for the Regent. Just to be fully transparent with each of my readers - The Regent is still on Hiatus.

I have deleted so much of my writing because I don't like the flow/dialogue/pacing. Original ending thrown out and rewritten twice- still don't care for it. Who knew something other than Angst would be so difficult.

(Not me!)

Having said that, this entry is of course beta'd by the wonderful @meditating-cat who has put up with my random messages.

(You are amazing!)

(In all honesty, I wish I could just skip right to the ending because at least I know 100% I can get it just right....eventually.)

Thanks for reading and happy easter!

[kiki-1109]

twitter art challenge thing!!! attempting manga toning was fun 

original template link/credit 

[chick-it-out]

happy bday 2 me [wishlist]

[nixoon-again]

Even if Sonic didn't take his communicator with him, Tails still has other ways to track his location — ways he has not told Sonic about because he would call him an overthinking paranoid but can you blame after all the times he has come close to losing his only family and being able to do nothing about it? Bite him but he prefers knowing the people he loves and cares about are safe rather than taking a gamble and leaving them up to a fate that doesn't have a good track record of steering them out of trouble.  So that's what he does.  He neatly folds the blanket with practiced ease and places it on the couch beside the armrest before making a beeline to his workshop.  When it comes to Sonic, Tails isn't going to sit around and wait.

spreading my tails has sonic microchipped agenda 2024

[thelastunison]

Wakami I wish nothing but the best for you

[ipsen]

tg 119 and re 63

"eto growing out her hair and dyeing it so she doesn't have to look at a face she'll never know" goes hard btw

[jangmi-latte]

dear lilia whores,

i pray for your sanity tomorrow, june 26, 2023.

yours truly,

a rook whore

[kcrabb88]

Kill the Lights

Chapter 13

Summary: When Obi-Wan interferes in the Fives incident, Palpatine decides he's had enough of the Jedi Master getting in the way of his attempts to corrupt The Chosen One. Obi-Wan, catching on to Palpatine's plans, goes missing. When photos and videos of Obi-Wan's torture are made public, Anakin starts to unravel. Quinlan searches the Coruscant underworld with increasing desperation. Dooku wonders if he's made the right choices. Obi-Wan, trapped and tormented, tries to reveal the truth about who the Sith lord is. Schemes come to light. Myths merge into reality. With the Republic in the clutches of a Sith, the Jedi, the clones, and their friends in the senate fight to find one of their best--and save the galaxy's guardians from extermination. Chapter Summary: Obi-Wan endures as his condition grows worse. Palpatine invites guests to the lower levels. The light tempts Dooku. Quin and Anakin unlock a major clue to finding Obi-Wan.

The world spins watercolors. Even with the spice, the pain, all the variations of it, the new ache of the slight fever, the growing throb of that tender bump, becomes overwhelming. He shuts his eyes. Lays there while Dooku wipes down his hands. Cleans out from beneath his fingernails. Feels his forehead and says, you’re a bit warm.

You’re a bit warm.

Qui-Gon's voice.

Obi-Wan, eighteen and late meeting his master. Sudden exhaustion. Body aches. Cold he was so ... cold. Cold and sweating.

You’re a bit warm, Obi-Wan. Are you all right?

A hand on his back. Concern in Qui-Gon's eyes. The smooth silver streaks in his long brown hair.

I’m not feeling very well, Master.

“I’m not feeling very well, Master,” Obi-Wan mumbles.

 A pause. Another voice. Not Qui-Gon's.

“I know. Just rest now.”

[everyitachi]

[qqueenofhades]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ivan/Fedyor Kaminsky, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik Characters: Ivan (The Grisha Trilogy), Fedyor Kaminsky, Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Nikolai Lantsov, Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Inej Ghafa, Zoya Nazyalensky, Genya Safin, Jan Van Eck, Jarl Brum, Mei Kir-Azaan (Original Character) Additional Tags: Shadow and Bone (TV) Season 3, Or What It Would Have Been, Post TV Canon, Obligatory Fuck You Netflix, Ice Court Heist (Six of Crows), The Darkling Is Dead But Doesn't Let That Stop Him, Future Fic, Mad Queen Alina, Lots of Fivan Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crows Shenanigans, You Know All That Good Stuff Series: Part 2 of Shadow and Bone Seasons 2 & 3

Summary: Mei hesitates a final moment. She doesn’t know how this request will be taken, but has to work with what she has. “Their names are Ivan Sakharov and Fedyor Kaminsky, Your Majesty. They are both Heartrenders, well known to you and the entire Grisha order. We traveled together for a time, from Ahmrat Jen to Ketterdam, and then were separated in the course of several misadventures. But we were pursuing a deadly weapon, the one that was used against you at your own coronation. It is called jurda parem. If you help me find Ivan and Fedyor, I will tell you what I know about it.”

There is a very long pause. Alina’s eyes remain that same unsettling, hungry black, until she looks up. “Indeed, Mei Kir-Azaan,” she says, and smiles. “I would very much like to take that bargain.”

Sequel to we could stay like this forever [lost in wonderland].

[justplaggin]

hoshikawa celebrating 40k with chuuya in his world cup era

[tortoisebore]

happy (belated) thanksgiving!! here’s one last chapter 9 snippet! 🫶

((if i can just get this stupid chapter to work with me this fic will be wrapped up by the new year. pls god someone tell sirius to stop being difficult))

[virgilisspidey]

"How do you guys want to die?"

It was an innocent question. He doesn't really remember who said it. It might've been Karai, or Raph, or maybe even himself, but he wasn't so sure.

"I want to go all out before I die." Raph would say. "I want to fight beating up a great enemy and take them down with me!"

"I don't really know." Donnie says. "But probably by saving someone."

"Leo's a bad influence on you, huh?" Karai teases. "Probably same with hot head. I want to win."

"But you're dead." April says.

"I still won."

"Well, I want to drown in pizza!" Mikey says.

"That's a disgusting way to die." Raph comments.

"Oh, hush, you."

"How about you, Case?" Donnie asks.

He thinks for a moment.

"I want to die in a blaze of glory!" He says. "I want to make an imprint when I die, make a legacy and all that! I want everyone to remember the name Casey Jones!"

"Way to boost his ego even more, D."

April snickers, earning her an elbow from him. She stuck her tongue out at him in retaliation. Before they get into another petty cat fight, Karai asks the only other person who never answered yet.

"How about you, Leonardo?"

There was silence for a few beats.

"Probably of old age..." Leo answers.

"That's so boring!" He lightly shoves April, making her land on her back on Mikey's legs, her face pinched in annoyance. "Don't you want... I dunno, some sort of honor stuff you ninjas have? That's sorta lame."

Leo laughs at that.

"Yeah... Lame..."

If him and April weren't so busy rough housing like children, they would've notice the vacant look on Leo's eyes. The way he looks up at the stars like he wants to belong there.

"Well... One thing is for sure though, I want to be under the stars when it happens."

(Casey regrets calling Leo's answer lame.)

(Maybe if he just shut up at that moment, Leo would've never did what he did.)