#writings from lazarus

[ksqwildwest]

Happy 5 (?)th Year Blog Anniversary!

Hey everyone, it's been a while since the last part of this series and I promise it's coming. I took a writing class this semester and I've learned a lot, even though I didn't have the time to work on my own stories.

I just realized, it's the 5th anniversary of this blog. Like, as I'm typing this. Wow. Somehow, this all lines up really wonderfully.

For the final project in that writing class, I decided to do something with the wild west story. Unfortunately, it's not fully written yet and I'm struggling to get it done. But, here's a snippet of what I have written! I'm hoping your comments and enthusiasm will give me the energy to finish it up over the next few days.

This rewrite is aiming to double the length of the original story and adds new insights, descriptions, and dialog! Let me know what you think of it so far!

The First Sunday (2025 Edition)

Bring Bring Bring Bri-

Karl groggily rolled onto his back as the dreadful contraption called an alarm clock stopped ringing. Sleep sings its siren song trying to lull him back into its clutches. He blearily looks at the clock, his eyelids closing against his will as he struggles to read the time.

“Thirty minutes until church,” Karl mumbles to himself, “you got to be there on time. Sheriff Thompson said so. You can be a morning person. Up we go.”

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, shivering at the still cool desert air. The hardwood floor of his hotel room is unpleasantly cold on his bare feet. He bravely shuffled over to the chair where he had set his shirt to air out overnight.

He’d worn the shirt during hand to hand combat training with Thompson only two days before. It had been drenched in sweat and sand while Karl had been tossed around like a ragdoll. Thompson had told him that hand to hand combat was a vital part of being sheriff.

“With all due respect,” Karl had said, “you need to duck through doorways and I don’t think I could fully wrap both hands around your biceps. I am best described as a stringbean. Maybe we-”

Thompson had flipped him onto his back and knocked all the wind out of his lungs. “Lesson 1: Always be ready.”

He lazily pulled on the shirt, not bothering with the buttons. He could feel the desert sand still clinging to the fabric even after being scrubbed for what felt like hours. It was his only shirt though, he hadn’t had the time to pack any others when he’d left home.

As he reached over to the dresser for his holster and gun, his hand met only empty air. The fog began to clear from his brain. He checked the floor around the dresser and in the top drawer. Nothing.

“It didn’t grow legs and walk away. So where did it-”

He turned around and spotted his gun and holster on the other side of the room by the desk. It was held by Jack Kenoff. A bandit that Karl had met and challenged to a duel on the first day in town. And was supposed to be dead. Karl had seen Jack get shot in the head along with the two other bandits. Mason, one of those other bandits, was standing behind Jack and loosely held his own gun.

A chill raced through his veins, unrelated to the morning air.

[bluerosefox]

Her Astrophel and Sterling

hmmm

Hmmmmmmmm

You know what.

You know those AU's where the Batfam finds or learns about either hidden or thought to be dead Al Ghul Danny! with a deaged/daughter Dani (Ellie) (I should know, I created a few of those storylines) but what if, now hear me out, what if instead of them finding Danny first its Talia.

Do I want Talia discovering her thought to be dead son to be alive? Yes. Do I want her to find him while investigating Amity Park when the League gets reports of 'Lazarus creatures/water'? Yes.

DO I WANT HER TO KNOCK ON THE FENTON'S DOOR, fully ready to pretend/honey talk her way into the house to uncover what the Fenton's know, ONLY TO MEET A LITTLE ELLIE?!

YES.

Ellie whose eyes and hair look like a copy of her Beloved but she can see bits and pieces of herself as well. Talia knows the child in front of her was not fully her's though but everything makes sense when she hears a voice, a voice she hasn't heard in ages but as a mother just knows, speak out.

"Ellie! I thought I said do not answer the door my Sterling."

"But Daddy, yous was busy fighting the hotdoggys!"

Talia's eyes widen when she finally catches sight of familiar black hair and blue eyes.

and she could only lightly whisper a old nickname she hasn't dared uttered in ages, a name she secretly gave her son due to his love of the stars "Astrophel..."

[glow-worms-are-believers]

A Princess’ Crown Jules

“…and that’s how I got my powers from Lazarus rain,” says Circuit Breaker as they are both winding down after a sparring session. 

It was a semi-regular thing since Dani first visited Nevada, and met the hero when she helped in taking down one of Circuit’s rogues. And ever since she’s been visiting when she’s in the area. Today they finished the spar a bit earlier than usual and they ended up sharing backstories back and forth all casual-like. Which is why this last tidbit rams into her like a goddamned sledgehammer. 

Lazarus rain.

Dani may be young but she’s seen lots of things on her travels, and with Lazarus water no longer being an unfamiliar term, Lazarus rain is no big stretch to make out. She still gives herself a bit of time to absorb it.

“Your power over the Still Force,” Dani confirms. “The power over all things inertia and entropy?”

“Yeah,” Circuit Breaker says raising his head a bit from the ground to look at her curiously.

Dani inhales and steeples her fingers “There’s good news and bad news,” she starts. And then, she brings her hand to her mouth and looks into the distance, searching for a way to say this.

“Bad news: you’re at least a little bit dead.”

Circuit Breaker sits up and stares. “What?”

Dani tries for a smile. “Good news: you’re also a good bit alive too!”

[menolly5600]

Dick Grayson, Ghost Superhero

👻🦇👻

I just found out and needed to share, that the Injustice version of Dick Grayson died and became a ghost superhero. He took up the Deadman mantle. He has flight, invisibility, intangibility and possession as his powers.

So all the basic Danny Phantom ghost powers.

The Injustice dimension had the Batfamily develop almost identically to the mainline dimension before the Joker broke Superman by killing Lois and his unborn child.

So, you know, it's DC canon there's a nearly mainline ghost Nightwing-Deadman out there being a ghost hero in another dimension.

And the Infinite Realms connect to other dimensions and timelines.

DC is out here writing DP x DC fanfiction for us and not realizing it.

And since this is one of the many alternate versions of Dick Grayson, you can have a fic with him and living Nightwing (and Danny Phantom in the mix) at the same time!

This stuff writes itself!

Tumblr, do your thing. ❤️

[friendlynaborhooddisapointment]

yk what im thinking? the fentons are 100% crazy enough to be Waynes. so what if they were? Jack could be Thomas Waynes' great-grandfather's brother who lived at Wayne Manor with his wife and kids. and they still open the portal with danny in it, so hes still a halfa. but either Jack and Maddie find out and they stick him in a stasis tube to try and fix him (what if they were also the people who figured out how to make the court of owls dead guys????) or Danny got stuck in the portal when he went inside and it doesnt open until the bats find it.

when the bats find him im thinking either they know (as well as danny) that hes half dead (the stasis tube) or they dont (stuck in the portal) and they find out all the fun stuff together. but, if they know hes dead already and so did danny there could be more creepy ghost shenanigans that could happen before they found the laboratory. which is v important

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #23

✦

Bleed Me A River

What if Danny became/is the Lazarus Pits?

Hear me out.

During one of his timestream missions for Clockwork, his human form is accidentally discovered by a young Ra's al Ghul and is therefore captured to see what makes him tick. He does unspeakable things to Danny to figure out how he's both alive and dead until Danny's form just can't take it anymore. He destabilizes and melts into a pool of sickly glowing ectoplasm.

So Danny is literally trapped in an endless cycle of agony and rage over his current predicament. It worsens with each person that's brought back to life literally with his own blood, siphoning bits of him away one by one. At some point, he's long forgotten what it was like to have a physical form, what happened to make him this way, and even forgets his own name.

However, due to the circumstances of how he was turned into a halfa, his very being is basically an unfinished portal itself -- explaining his ability to swap between forms and the glowing rings, but nobody can actually travel through it, etc, etc -- and with him so wounded to the point of destabilizing, its like an endlessly bleeding cut, ectoplasm constantly leaking out into his surroundings. The pool of ectoplasm just grows and grows until its the size it becomes in modern day, even splitting off into other pools hidden underground that haven't even been discovered yet.

Things continue like this until one day, the mangled body of a teenage vigilante is dropped into his waters. The boy's memories flash through Danny's mind and jump-starts his own to forcefully remind him of just who he is.

Jason's body and experiences are so similar, so compatible with Danny that when Jason leaves the Pit, he unknowingly takes Danny with him. Danny sits in the back of Jason's mind and slowly but surely gathers and puts back together the pieces of the person he used to be.

He's not happy. He's pissed.

Unfortunately, that fury bleeds over into Jason's mind and makes him highly irrational and violent.

How is Danny supposed to fix this? How is he going to separate himself from his unwilling host without hurting him? Are other pieces of himself reciding in other people who came in contact with his waters? If so, who has them? Who knows.

All the while, the remaining Lazarus Pit slowly starts to stagnate and lose its effectiveness, no one the wiser.

✦

More to the prompt in the tags!

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

6. “Not to be dramatic, but I’m back from the dead. Hope y’all missed me.” With Virgil and Remus?

Title: On a Stormy Sea of Emotion

Word-Count: 1.7k

Summary:

"Not to be dramatic, but I'm back from the dead. Surprise!" Remus shoots a pair of finger guns, droplets of blood spraying out from his finger tips, "Hope y'all missed me."

The cloaked figure, the target of his finger guns, does not move. Their facemask, elegantly carved to mimic a raven, stares Remus down apathetically.

Remus laughs, clasping his hands behind his neck as he leans against a building that makes up the alleyway of their standoff, "C'mon, old man. I clawed myself out of the grave and this is how you treat your 'beloved son, departed from the earth too soon?'"

OR: a Superhero AU featuring Jason Todd coded-Remus.

Pairing: parental dukexity

Warnings: Superhero AU, Death mentions, blood mention, vomit mention, implied self harm, pstd flashback, morally grey characters, angst with ambiguous ending

Thank you for the prompt! This infected my brain all last night and today, hope you enjoy <3

-

Killing isn't that hard of an action, really. There is a million ways to kill someone. Guns, knives, poison or the way Remus liked it--using your bare hands. It wasn't always the most effective, but when your target knocks your knife out of your hands--well, then you gotta go for the jugular.

Remus hums as he picks up his knife, examining it. The blood dripping from its blade landed on his gloves, coating it with a metallic stench. One time as a kid, he received a paper cut and out of curiosity, he stuck his finger inside his mouth to taste his own blood.

It just had a copper tangy taste, not very appetizing. But well, he's never tried someone else's blood, what if it had a different taste? Would a greedy drug lord's blood taste too greasy? Tainted by their lack of remorse and regard for the suffering and lives destroyed in their avaricious pursuit of wealth?

He is almost halfway to enacting on such an impulse, when something shifts behind him. He turns around swiftly, his knife meeting nothing but air. But there is something there, or rather someone.

Remus cackles, his eyes darting around his surroundings. There, in the shadows of the nearby dumpster. He lowers his knife, putting it away for now.

His heart clangs loudly against his ribcage as his ears began to clamor with a loud ringing noise. This moment has always been inevitable since the second he decided to remain in this hellish city.

Remus is many things, but he is not a fool nor is he a coward. He is exhilarated this moment has come at last. Not terrified.

"Hello daddy dearest," He calls out, "it's been a while."

His words are enough to draw out the cloaked figure from out of the shadows.

"Not to be dramatic, but I'm back from the dead. Surprise!" Remus shoots a pair of finger guns, droplets of blood spraying out from his finger tips, "Hope y'all missed me."

The cloaked figure, the target of his finger guns, does not move. Their facemask, elegantly carved to mimic a raven, stares Remus down apathetically.

Remus laughs, clasping his hands behind his neck as he leans against a building that makes up the alleyway of their standoff, "C'mon, old man. I clawed myself out of the grave and this is how you treat your 'beloved son, departed from the earth too soon?'"

He already knows the truth; maybe there was a time this man had regarded him as a beloved son. Back when Remus had been a quiet, subdued child, perfectly manageable and obedient. But that time had long passed.

"I know I probably should've stayed dead but you know me! I'm not great at following rules."

Virgil Storm, or in this case, "The Raven" still doesn't do anything. It is a little unnerving, actually. Remus had expected there to be harsh words thrown his way, or perhaps even be pinned into a chokehold by this point in the interaction.

The Raven doesn't kill. During his first bout at the whole being alive thing, that been a contentious point between the two. Yet, would an abomination like Remus count as a living being?

"And," Remus says abruptly, shifting his weight against the wall, "you can't kill me. You can try, but like. It won't work. I jumped off like a twenty story building--went splat! Like a bug, it was really messy, but I didn't die. Um, you can take a DNA sample to prove it's me--"

"Remus?" The Raven speaks at last, his voice garbled and gravelly from the voice modifier of the mask.

"Yeah, it's me. I mean, we both know Prince Boring doesn't have the guts to pull off a prank like this," Remus smirks, "I'm sure he's happy that I haven't been around to play screamo when I have the aux or fill his backpack with severed Barbie doll heads."

The Raven's cloaked figure starts staggering towards him. Remus moves to stand upright once more, his body tensing. He can take the punch, it'll hurt but it won't leave any bruises. Remus has done enough experimenting to know he can't be physically harmed anymore. At least not permanently in any way that matters.

But rather a punch thrown his way, the Raven's arms seize hold of him. Not around his neck, but around his body, as the Raven leans around him, his cloak wrapping around Remus like a blanket. He is...hugging Remus? What the fuck?

A cold pricking sensation hits Remus, spreading out through every inch of his body. But he does not move to resist the Raven's embrace.

"I'm sorry," His adoptive father murmurs, "I made so many mistakes, I was afraid but I shouldn't have allowed my fear to control me in the way that I did--"

"Aren't you paranoid?" Remus whispers, "What if I'm not actually Remus? What if I'm just a shapeshifter pretending to be him? Or--or something else?"

"But I know you're you. Do you really think I wouldn't have investigated the assumed grave robbery of my son's corpse?" The Raven counters, "I already have a DNA sample I collected from your confrontation with the Dragon Witch analyzed."

Of course, of course Virgil already had a DNA sample. To any sane person, this might've been a horrifying realization. But for Remus, who spent ten years under the man's roof, this was perfectly normal behavior of a man obsessive enough to run around as a nonpowered cloaked vigilante.

"Remus, you have every reason to hate me or even Roman," The voice modifier pitched upwards in an odd high tone, "but would you'd be willing to come home for at least Janus's sake?"

Remus forgets how to breathe for a moment. There are many reasons why he hasn't sought out his family. He isn't sure if he is willing to accept Virgil's apology, much less risk seeing Roman's face again. But Janus is different. He has always understood Remus in the ways the others never did.

Despite Janus being Virgil's "man in the chair" as it were, he has never operated with the same morals. Remus will never forget the time some henchmen broke into their secret hideout while Virgil and Roman had been away on a mission. Janus had not hesitated to put lead directly into their foreheads.

"I'm afraid I don't indulge in the same mercy as your father," Janus had said, tidying up the mess they'd left behind, "It is my duty to preserve the safety of those I've been sworn to protect, even if comes at the lives of others."

The Raven is a vigilante that is shrouded in mystery. There are rumors that circulate the streets that the Raven is inhuman, a being that moves swiftly and strikes without warning. Some even dare to whisper about the unfortunate ends that some of the Raven's victims have met. What they don't know is that last bit is all of Janus's doing.

It's why Remus has never understood Virgil's hypocrisy. He'll turn a blind eye to Janus's actions but Remus, roughing up a thug a little too harshly? Oh no, no, no, that was the most heinous thing Remus could ever do.

(He wonders what his adoptive father thinks of his actions not only tonight, but the past few months. Isn't this everything his father feared and more? Putting aside the whole "not being dead" thing, isn't this enough to make him irredeemable in the Raven's eyes?)

"Janus?" Remus hesitates, "would he be willing to make his tea?"

"For you, I am sure he is willing to prepare a full spread of pastries along with a pot of tea. He has...missed you a lot, Remus."

Remus's stomach rumbles. He hasn't eaten in weeks--not since he realized his body technically doesn't need food to survive. But he does need Janus's pastries. Those pastries are never a want, but a necessity.

"Okay, I'll go." Remus says, craning his neck to meet the Raven's gaze, "but only because I'm hungry."

Somehow, this causes a snort from his adoptive father. The closest thing resembling a laugh that the Raven will ever do. When he is not the Raven, and is simply Virgil--sometimes the man will actually laugh. Even so, that snort is the closest thing to a laugh that Remus has heard from the man in close to a year before his death.

Remus's legs buckle beneath him, almost bringing the Raven down with him. But it's not from the shock of the old man laughing. No, it's more likely his body protesting his week long streak of not sleeping.

It seems even though he doesn't require as much sleep as before, he still requires a certain amount of it. Or at least, that is what makes the most sense in his hazy racing thoughts.

"I've got you," Virgil whispers, his words unfettered by the voice modifier, "you're safe now."

Arms gather underneath him, as a long Kevlar cloak is draped around his wiry figure. An unwanted memory drifts to the surface; a time where his kid self demanded to be carried home and the Raven obliged without complaint. Roman had trailed after them, begging to be carried as well.

Janus had taken one look at their return (Roman clinging to Virgil's back like a baby koala while Remus was cradled in his arms) and simply raised an eyebrow. But it was clear through his stifled breathing that he found the entire thing comical.

Remus doesn't want to fall unconscious. He'll deny it, protest it with a wide grin and a cackle, that death doesn't scare him. But he is terrified of pitch black darkness.

He fears a confined undetermined space that is meant to seal him away deep in the ground. He fears wood splinters underneath his fingernails as he chokes on dirt as he continues to dig upwards, driven by an urge to survive--to break out of the ground to blessed, fresh air. He fears staring at a gravestone and just laughing until he started vomiting clods of dirt.

What if Virgil is lying about Janus? What if he decides to bury Remus again, this time in a coffin made out of titanium or reinforced concrete--dooming him to a living death?

"No," He mumbles, attempting to grasp tightly to Virgil's cloak, "I don't--"

But his eyes flutter shut against his volition, and he can only hope that they truly did miss him enough; that the words carved on his gravestone were genuine and sincere.

Remus Seagrove

20XX-20XXX

Beloved Son, Brother, Friend

Dearly Missed and Departed from the Earth too Soon

[prometheus-folly]

It was only after her statement that Alex bothered to turn around. Even in capture, she was methodical in her level of control. Nobody held a candle to her achievements, and she was the one with the power, even behind layers of bullet-proof glass separating the two. Dressed in white, as she always seemed to be, there was no fear or trepidation held within her air. One hand rested on her elbow, shifting her weight to her right hip as she stared Cass down, eyes flickering over her like a vulture after her next prey.

Only a noncommittal hum escaped her at the snarled words, a head tilt as she considered it. Slow and methodical once again, she controlled the flow of conversation by deciding when and how to respond to questions given. Cass tensed, and the corner of Alex's mouth turned up ever so slightly. They'd hit the mark, grasped at it, and refused to let it go.

"Oh, but I don't believe I am. You're just like the others. Brave — arrogant, really, but it's admirable — and yet you fear someone kept in a cage."

"We all pay a price. I just happen to surpass it."

@constellationcursed from here

[ksqwildwest]

This Is Madness

----

Phil rarely regretted his line of work. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had truly, deeply reflected on his work and regretted it. Mostly about the way he went about approaching a target and making a careless mistake or causing unnecessary extra death.

Usually, he would take that regret and turn it into determination. Working harder. Practicing longer. Being better at his job. The paycheck was worth every sleepless night spent swinging a practice sword or following around strangers to practice his stealth. Worth every concerned glance from Wilbur, every argument with Tommy, and every missed moment with his wife.

It was all for them.

That's what he always believed. That he would never - could never hurt his family. The thought made his skin crawl, and his stomach flip. Not even for all the money in the world.

His latest and final job had shaken that belief down to its core.

C- Karl Jacob. When had he become family?

Before they helped him run away, that much is clear. Younger than that. Maybe when he took the blame for a vase that Tommy had accidentally broken when he was a young child. Maybe it was when Wilbur tried to teach him how to bake a cookie from scratch and the two ended up nearly setting fire to the oven.

It- It couldn't have been that first day on the job. Waiting in the too-perfect-Jacobson-garden for the parents to arrive from a meeting. Feeding the flock of crows that followed him around like lost puppies.

A tiny gasp from behind one of the trees almost had him scolding Wilbur for following him to work again. Almost. Instead, it had been a young boy with a book clutched to his chest and curiosity in his eyes. Flighty, the energy of a young child being condensed and trapped by a suit and some manners, it took nearly an hour to draw him out of his shell.

He had asked so many questions. His book was all about birds, and Phil was proud to say he learned so much from Karl in the thirty minutes they had to themselves. He even allowed Karl to gently touch his feathers. The birds warmed up to him too. One of the bravest even let him pet their head. It was shocking that one child could hold so much wonder in their eyes.

Maybe he did become family the moment his parents strutted in. Watching such a bright child shut down in fear so quickly was heartbreaking. The casual dismissal and degrading from them was so shocking that he couldn't actually process it before Karl was sent away to his room. Maybe that's why he accepted the honestly underpriced job they were asking him to do. Why he stuck through the genuinely insulting comments he heard coming from side rooms and guests about him.

Yes. That sounds right.

He couldn't say no to the job. He had to save his wife. But now it was time to save the rest of his family. He couldn't just kidnap him, not with the security he knew Karl was under. He needed more people. A fresh perspective. People that cared for Karl just as much as he did and were far less cowardly about something as normal as death.

A truly impressive string of Spanish curse words floated out from behind the thin walls of the cheapest motel on this side of town.

Thompson hadn't exaggerated Jack's creativity with words.

No more time for moping. Time for action. And hopefully not getting shot by two emotional bandits.

He knocks on the door with three solid raps. He waits a few seconds and hears nothing, like they're hoping he's just a drunk at the wrong door. Or preparing to shoot first and ask questions later. Probably the second.

"Hello," he calls out towards the door, "Mr. Kenoff. Mr- er, I don't think I know your last na-"

He's cut off by the door swinging open and a gun being pointed directly at his head. Ah, make that two guns. He takes his nerves and hours of training and shoves it screaming into the back of his mind. Let them control the conversation. Ignore the guns pointed at his head. This is fine.

"Yer Thompsons pa, right?"

Jack's voice is much rougher than when they last spoke. It's a dry crackle. Like he hasn't had any water at all while riding through a desert all day. Or like he'd scratched up his throat raw while screaming or crying. Maybe both? Probably both.

He gives the shallowest nod, and Mason steps just outside the door. His gun moves to be pointed right at his heart. Definitely not survivable. Just- focus on the conversation. On Mason.

Mason has red rimmed eyes and cheeks still shiny from tears. But he must have just finished crying instead of being interrupted. His eyes are aware and focused on every move or twitch Phil makes.

"Thompson told us you've never been to early morning church when you visit. You know about them, but you've never joined. Is that right?"

"I h-" the safety clicks off on both guns. That's fine. One word answers then. "Correct."

There's a few seconds of silence. Don't spiral. Don't disassociate. Catalog what you see. Stay in the moment.

Mason's shoulders droop. Jack's head tilts just a touch to one side. Mason glances down at his gun. Jack bites the inside of his lips. Hesitant. Considering. Calculating.

Jack breaks the silence first. "Why the fuck are you talkin' to us?"

Okay, now or never. Just have to get through one sentence without being shoot. Here he goes.

"I want to help you get Karl-" okay, fingers moving towards triggers. This is still fine. "- back to Lazarus-" Trigger fingers moving away now. Getting better. "-in a way that will prevent his parents from following him back."

It takes a moment for the information to sink in. Mason barks out a single wet sounding laugh. Or a sob. His eyes are dark when he growls out, "Why the fuck would we believe that from you?"

"What reason would we have to trust you when you're the one who took him away?" Jack hisses with a poisonous fury.

Right, he can do this. This is the dumbest thing he's ever agreed to but he can do this.

"My sons would like to help too."

Two clicks. They really are careful around kids.

"Wilbur, Tommy, would you like to come out now?"

He can't turn around. He doesn't want to startle the bandits. But he hears the moment his boys come out of hiding.

"What the-"

"IS THAT A REAL GUN?!"

Jack and Mason immediately holster their guns. Both are looking at him like he's officially lost his mind. Which, fair, bring his two sons with him wasn't a good parental decision. But they would have followed him anyways so he might as well make sure they were safe when they did it.

Jack's mouth twitches into an almost smile for less than a second. Mason nods, not in approval, but more to himself.

"Alright. We'll hear you out."

They get ushered into the room. There's only two rickety chairs, a worse for ware table, and two beds that look better suited for children than any adult to sleep in.

Jack and Mason sit at the edge of the beds. Tommy and Wilbur get the chairs. Phil stands between his boys. He's fine. He just has to explain again.

So he does. He explains the letter and how Karl was found. His wife's sickness and his impending retirement. His regrets. His realizations. His plan.

Jack and Mason listen to every part patiently. They barely twitch at the explanation behind the wedding. They don't ask questions or interrupt. Phil almost wishes they did.

When he finally runs out of words, he takes a deep shivering breath. Please let this go well.

"So," Mason gestures at Tommy and Wilbur, "these two here are gonna be messengers."

"Which only works because the bride is a lesbian," Jack chimes in with a thoughtful expression.

Phil nods and finishes off, "and our plan is to kidnap Karl after the wedding once the security dies down. I'm stuck on how we're going to make sure no one goes after them. Any ideas?"

"Mason," Jack says with mischief in his voice, "you remember how you told me you got out of your old life and into this one?"

"Yah. And you swore not... to-" a spark of something ignites in Mason's eye, "Oh. Oh yah. I can set something like that up easy."

"Are you going to tell us or..." Wilbur's confidence quickly flees as the two bandits turn towards him. Knowing your dad got into dangerous situations and actually watching your dad get into the dangerous situation were two very different things. Being in the dangerous situation was something the two boys insisted upon. Phil was so proud of them for behaving this long.

"Nah," Jack answers easily. "We want to get Karl back, but we weren't born yesterday."

"Words are cheap," Mason cuts in when it looks like Tommy is going to protest, "but actions? Now actions are worth far more then words."

Mason and Jack look back at Phil.

"Right," Phil nods and pulls out some paper and ink, "I've got a lot of actions to make up for. First, let's get you two in contact with Karl."

It's not going to undo his actions. It won't rewind time. But as Phil watches the bandits lightly argue about what to write about and Wilbur and Tommy slowly get pulled into the discussion bit by bit, maybe that's okay. Maybe they'll get Karl out of this town and back to Lazarus, and everything will be fine. Maybe everything won't be fine.

He's trying. He's trying with every fiber of his being. He hopes it will be enough.

-------

This part is done! I hope you've enjoyed this newest part! Thank you to my newest beta reader for reading through the entire series so far earlier today and motivating me to finish this! Please let me know what you think!

This was meant to be a Mason or Jack POV part, but I couldn't get it to work until I tried out Phil's POV! He's really going through it right now! Next up: we catch up with our lesbians, Karl, and some cake!

Hope you all have a lovely day!

[mx-dc-batfaye]

Female jason todd who was buried in a fancy dress instead of a fancy suit so she doesn’t have the belt buckle to break out of her coffin but unlike what is typical she was actually given shoes to be buried in and they’re sturdy high heels so female jason todd who breaks out of her coffin in high heels. That is all, thank you

[immobiliter]

me trying to figure out a hsr verse for garrus involves trying very hard to link up the dots so that his story still makes coherent sense-

worked for the ipc for years within their security department

clashed over their bureaucracy and internal politics, became a galaxy ranger, gathered a team like he does in canon. they all died because of sidonis' betrayal, rip

him cutting ties with the ipc likely means there's a price on his head because they are not as forgiving as c-sec

still comes from palaven, this planet will now just have to exist in the hsr universe

meanwhile, me figuring out herta's mass effect verse just involves me going she's an eccentric billionaire who owns a research space station that orbits earth and did i mention she's insane

[nosleeppotions]

There was nothing. Nothing turned to green. An endless sky of green. For the briefest of moments he was light as a feather and could have sworn someone was reaching for him.

But before he could truly take it in there was a burning agony. The sky becomes a toxic green ocean, water rushing into his mouth and nose, stirring him into action as he fights to reach the surface, stiff muscles being forcefully used as his mind finds itself overwhelmed.

As he takes a breath of horrible air he's only filled with one thing. Rage. Blinding rage, the green waters screaming for blood at the back of his skull and only one name in his mind. Makarov. Someone tries to grab him but he shoves them aside, too angry to care as he storms ahead on pure instinct.

He doesn't remember what else happened following those moments.

.

Soap would wake up in an unfamiliar place, cold, alone and bloody. Still angry, the green in the back of his mind still making demands, but he could think. And he has no idea where he is or how he's alive.

[before-i-forget-again-pod]

Sometimes your favorite characters are the ones that just show up because you needed someone to fill a quick role. I accidentally made the silliest fella who is now blorbo number 1, special princess of my brain, and if you think anyone but me is going to be allowed to play them, you’re dead wrong.

…are they just Arule Delatro Levithian III in a different font? Maybe, but mind your business.

[lucius-the-sinful]

writing patterns

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

tagged by @omgkalyppso ! thank you!! <3

1- "Fragile Thing" (D&D, OC's, fingering, penetrative sex, rated E)

He had the soft pad of his thumb pressed up against the warmth of her clit, making small circles and observing her reaction. Sylvanna bit her lip, then peered at him down the length of her body.

2- "The Sinking of Teeth" (WIP) (BG3, Astarion, Astarion and Tiefling OC, biting, blood, Rated M)

Astarion’s gaze flicked between each of his traveling companions thus far, until they landed on the tent of their darling tiefling bard, Galethor. He mulled over his options. The wizard was swollen, yet veered on the side of caution. The assumed warlock was the most likely to not think twice about killing him, followed swiftly by the githyanki warrior. And the cleric… Well, best not to bite the hand that heals you.

3- "Call in the Wind" (WIP) (TES, Dunmer OC's, death, rated M)

A lone dunmer entered the Ancestral Tomb just as midnight passed, carrying in his arms a decorated urn and with a neatly folded banner draped over his shoulder.

4- "Feather Fall" (Part 2 of the Witcher, Poet, King series) (The Witcher, Witcher OC's, Winter at Kaer Morhen, Rated T)

The snow fell from the dark gray clouds, adding to the deep drifts. It also clung to the hood and cloak of a witcher, riding a white stallion along the winding path through the dense mountains.

5- "I Was Just a Kid" (Part 2 of the Bend & Break series) (D&D, OC's, child neglect & abuse, Rated M)

Gale folded his arms over his desk, resting his chin as he gazed out the window, watching the other middle schoolers play whilst he was stuck in detention. He wasn't alone; his best friend, Domiel, sat on the opposite end of the room. Their teacher, a human man with a permanent scowl and sagging skin, was practically half asleep while grading papers. Seconds felt like minutes, the lunch hour would feel like an entire day. 

6- "Ashblind" (WIP) (TES, Dunmer Dragonborn, Teldryn and the Dragonborn, Solestheim, Rated M)

Helón was never good at hiding his emotions, whether it was the smallest tilt in the corners of his mouth or how he crossed his thick arms over his broad chest. Or those damn longing eyes of his as he got onto that damn longboat that'd sail across the damn sea. Away from Solestheim, away from Teldryn, who was left utterly speechless on the docks.

7- "Cold Cold Man" (WIP) (D&D, OC's, oral sex, dubious consent, rated E)

“Is that what you want to do? Beg for me?” The words passed through Rarzal’s lips nonchalantly, the same lips Gale had been watching this entire conversation.

8- "Evervale" (WIP) (Original Work, OC's, rated M)

He held his hand against the disturbed soil, a furrow bringing his eyebrows together. The print was unusual for this area, and not the monster he believed he was hunting. His golden eyes, with thin vertical ovals for pupils, followed the tracks deeper off the trail. He looked up, and saw a branch snapped from at least ten feet above the ground.

9- "Fragments" (Mass Effect Trilogy, Kaidan Alenko and M!Shepard, first person pov, alternate ending, rated M)

One moment, there was darkness. The only sound was a high pitched ringing. It faded within moments, and then the pain started.

10- "A Worthy Distraction" (TES, ESO, Fennorian and Vestige OC, Altmer OC, trans masc character, penetrative sex, fluff and smut, rated E)

Fennorian's habit of wasting a large portion of his day in the laboratory was about as surprising as a pony guar dozing in the afternoon sun.

Lord I struggled to find enough writing for these because I am a slow writer, so there's a bunch of wips sprinkled in. I also can never keep it to one line.

tagging anyone who wishes to participate :)

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cor Leonis & Nyx Ulric, Crowe Altius & Libertus Ostium & Nyx Ulric Characters: Nyx Ulric, Cor Leonis, Libertus Ostium, Crowe Altius, The Kingsglaive (Final Fantasy XV), Luche Lazarus, Tredd Furia, Sonitus Bellum, Axis Arra, Pelna Khara, Titus Drautos | Glauca Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fae AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, selkie!Nyx, shape-shifter!Cor, Galahdian Culture (Final Fantasy XV), Galahd (Final Fantasy XV), Cultural Differences, Worldbuilding, headcanons, I Blame Tumblr, Fihrie are the Fae of Galahd, Me messing around with fantasy languages, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Series: Part 1 of Fae AU Summary:

Nyx had thought he had found his place in Insomnia. Amongst humans and fae alike. He misses the home he had been forced to leave behind, like all of them did. But the fihrie - the fae of Galahd - are unwilling to let things stand. They want their people back. As the only fihrie to flee Galahd, it falls to Nyx to be the bridge between two parts of the world, he had never thought could be connected with each other.

[goddess-of-graphite]

The Great Notes App Exodus: Gotham’s Fool

There’s a key that doesn’t seem to open anything. Tim can’t remember when he got it, only that it feels like he’s had it for forever. This is strange, considering he remembers everything else - just not the origin of this key.

He has tried it on every door and lock in Drake Manor. When he started venturing out to take photos of Batman and Robin, he would bring the key and try it on interesting-looking doors, just in case.

When he became Robin, he stopped taking the key everywhere with him. He didn’t want to lose it, and it seemed irresponsible to take up room in his pockets with it when he could fit more smokebombs or an extra batarang instead.

And then Red Hood showed up. Because Jason had come back.

And he was furious.

The Jason that hunted him down in Titans Tower was not one he recognised. He had Jason’s face, and his training, and his memories - but everything about him was twisted, dark and distorted like a funhouse mirror.

As the man-who-was-once-Jason left Tim a broken, bleeding heap, as Tim fell to the gentle arms of unconsciousness, he dreamed.

A plane, the layout that of an open cockpit and a row of seating lining either side of the body, like that of the mission-grade vehicles he’s seen the Justice League use occasionally. Gentle turbulence, the windows dark and empty. The inner walls shiny and black, the seating deep blue. A man with a nose longer than the Penguin’s seated across the wide isle from him, unrestrained by seatbelts, uncannily long legs crossed, leaning his sharp elbows on a table that curved out from his seat. A boy younger than him, with eggshell white hair and large, yellow eyes, dressed in a velvet steward uniform with a cute little hat.

The man’s high voice, words swimming through Tim’s concussion to reach him.

“How curious. A new guest has appeared in the Velvet Room at last.” 

A wide, wide grin, bulging eyes barely contained by a bushy brow. “I believe it is time you start trying that Key once again. You might find that it can open doors it couldn’t before.”

As the dream faded, questions trapped beneath Tim’s leaden tongue, the words trickling into his ears slowly:

“Perhaps you ought to start with the room that has remained untouched since before you strapped wings to your back and learnt to fly.”