#with some editing it could be a fanfic

[tinyowl12]

If all of your friends are tired of you rambling about Meronia 24/7 (or if like me you have literally no real life people to fully entrust with this obsession), here is your cue to bother ChatGpt

Sure, the responses it gives are rough around the edges, but there is some light definitely shining through

**Alternative Ending: Mello and Near Work Together**

As the story progresses, Near and Mello find themselves growing more and more aware of the limits of their individual strategies. Initially, their rivalry had been fierce, with Mello pursuing a more chaotic approach and Near opting for cold, methodical reasoning. However, as they both begin to unravel the complexity of Kira’s plan, they realize that to defeat him, they need to combine their strengths.

After L's death, Near initially assumes the mantle of L, but he soon realizes that Mello's reckless and intuitive methods could complement his own logical approach. Mello, after his time of frustration and independence, recognizes that his intense passion and willingness to break rules can actually be an asset when it comes to defeating Kira.

The two decide to form an alliance, carefully balancing their contrasting approaches. Near, while still the calm strategist, learns to respect Mello's impulsiveness, which often leads to breakthroughs. Mello, in turn, begins to appreciate Near's careful planning and rational mindset, realizing that sometimes structure is needed to achieve his chaotic goals.

The two begin working in perfect harmony, with Near keeping the investigation grounded and focused while Mello injects unpredictability and a touch of humanity into their pursuit of Kira. Their collaboration begins to bear fruit. Kira, realizing he’s being outmaneuvered, starts making mistakes.

The turning point comes when Mello’s old connections come into play, and he uncovers a vital piece of evidence that Near had missed. In this critical moment, Near’s usual cool demeanor cracks for a moment, and he expresses genuine gratitude to Mello. Mello, typically sarcastic and brash, responds with a rare and sincere smile, a side of himself that only Near seems to truly see.

As the investigation reaches its climax, Near and Mello’s bond deepens. The more they work together, the more they begin to understand each other. Near, for all his calmness, begins to realize how much he admires Mello—not just his intellect but his courage, his unwillingness to be constrained by rules. Mello, for his part, begins to see the person behind Near’s cold exterior—the drive, the passion, and the quiet longing for connection.

In the final confrontation with Kira, their teamwork proves to be unbeatable. Near lays the perfect trap, while Mello’s sudden intervention ensures that the last piece of the puzzle falls into place. The world is saved, and Kira is finally brought to justice.

After the dust settles, Near and Mello sit together, reflecting on their victory. They both share the same understanding—they couldn’t have done it without each other. The rivalry that once defined their relationship has evolved into something much deeper, more complicated.

Near, usually composed, hesitates for a moment before admitting something he’s long kept buried. "Mello, I... I don’t think I could’ve done this alone. I needed you."

Mello, who’s never been one to hide his emotions, chuckles softly. “You’re welcome, Near. I needed you too.” He looks at Near with a softer, more vulnerable gaze than anyone has ever seen from him. “Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you’re not just some cold, calculating machine. You have a heart... and that’s what made you so damn effective.”

Near looks at Mello, his cheeks tinged with the slightest blush, an expression rarely seen on his face. “Maybe... maybe I do,” he admits quietly.

From that moment, their relationship changes. The deep bond they formed through their shared experiences, the trust they’ve built, and the way they’ve complemented each other’s strengths, eventually blossoms into love. It’s not the fiery, all-consuming kind of romance, but something quieter, steadier, and just as powerful. They become inseparable, not just as partners in the pursuit of justice, but as something more.

As they sit together in the aftermath, they begin to explore this new dynamic—one built on respect, mutual understanding, and, yes, love. Their feelings, which had once been buried beneath the weight of their rivalry and the darkness of the world they inhabited, emerge into the light. In each other, they find solace from the burdens they've carried for so long.

And as the years pass, Near and Mello continue to work together—partners, equals, and in love. They both knew that their bond was forged in the fires of rivalry, but it had transcended into something far more meaningful: a love as complex and deep as their minds.

---

This ending takes the rivalry between Mello and Near and transforms it into a partnership based on mutual respect, trust, and eventually, love. Their contrasting personalities, once sources of tension, now complement each other, creating a dynamic that pushes them both to be better. Instead of the tragic loneliness that often defines their characters, they find a deep connection in each other, bringing both their professional success and personal happiness.

[crispyliza]

I've got you all figured out fanartists

[thatcheeseycandle]

T2024: Day 5, Exhibition | TC-LRAU

The New Hall would fill with the sounds of conversation and excitement faster than building it, another year, another round of visitors from all over the region, every spot in there would be filled with all sorts of steam engines.

Each batch of engines that came would represent the railway they’re currently owned by, the more well-known ones coming to the exhibition.

All kinds of steam engines there; from narrow to standard gauge, and from 19th century to new builds, a big and broad roster of engines.

But before we get to them, we’ll focus our attention on the person who’d tap their mic twice lightly, clearing their throat as they caught the attention of the spread out crowd.

“If I could have most of your attention, visitors and contributors, old and new, I’d like to thank you all for coming here to see another moment of history in motion.”

The man started, as the sounds coming from the crowd would die down as he spoke.

“I am honoured to be passed down with the role my father, Seth Harken once had. Continuing the legacy of, not just of his love for engines of all types and how much he's done for both engines and humans, but his own personal legacy. To all of us, including myself.”

His gaze softening, he'd straighten his posture as his grip on the microphone tightened. Taking a quick glance at his watch.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

“But, in his words, let the hour begin!”

Tock.

As a cacophony of whistles blasted in the air, echoing across the halls, the event would officially be in full motion.

——

“Why so worried, dear sister?” Came the comforting voice of the Stirling Single, N. 1, separating himself from the group consisting of Flying Scotsman and Black 5s, glancing curiously at his younger sister.

To which said younger sister would flinch at the sudden call, her train of thought breaking. Though glancing at him with a warm smile once she recognized who it was.

“Ferris, hello.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Milly, what's the matter? Is it those Midlanders again?”

She'd chuckle softly at such a claim.

“You say that as if you weren't mingling with those Black 5s, dear brother,” she says as she glances at said Black 5s, overhearing their conversations mixed with jabs at each other and general gossip, not dying down a single bit considering the Flying Scotsman was practically the host of that session.

“Well, I wasn't exactly mingling. I was simply offering up advice.”

“Advice about mentoring the newest edition to the LBSCR? It seems your reputation as a mentor yourself is still kept up, well, you're more like a fath–”

“Oh hush, they'll hear us!” Ferris’ face would flush with red a bit in embarrassment, reversing into the buffers behind him as Emily held in a laugh, even with the decades that flew by, she still wondered why he hid things like this from those he loved.

She will admit, even if it was rare, he tends to be quite the silly engine when being straightforward about his clear affection towards all the engines hes taken under his wing, or cab, and right now is one of her favourite examples.

She’s seen how much he’s rubbed off on the Atlantic, they’re practically father and son as the humans say. It’s quite heart warming, like how some of the shunters back before the grouping era had picked up on Ferris’ mannerisms. It’s very amusing.

“I know that look of yours Milly, what’re you planning to pull on me now?”

“Oh please, if you had known said look, you would’ve known it wasn’t that.”

“Then what on Lady’s name are you plotting in that scandalous mind of yours?” He jabbed jokingly at her, though would be met with an Emily who’d gaze out in front of her thoughtfully.

“But not in a Great Western manner, it is similar to how the humans would cope with lost. If you recall how my fireman in the 80s had coped with the news of his aunt’s unfortunate passing with his religious beliefs as I recall, then it is similar to how I’m thinking now.”

‘Well,” she sighed before she started. “I suppose it’s just the faint yet vivid presence of our siblings, our colleagues.”

“Ah.”

“I see.”

In all honesty, she didn’t mean to drag down the mood this quickly, but she can’t exactly help it.

Looking back at it all. It’s most likely the toughest run to have experienced, from speeding through the glorious sight that was the River Trent to then having to take in all the neglect the rest of them had to face. Though thankfully it was willingly, since the remaining of them had agreed to it before being locked away-

“Well, I suppose I’ll place down that note for myself.”

“If it helps, Emily, I could recommend a relief crew from the Mid-Norfolk. They’ve been quite the help for myself and mostly to others, an example being that Thompson.”

“Mayflower?”

“Yes, him. He’s been in need of it for quite a while from the looks of it, I will admit.”

“Just contact my crew with yours, ask for a Mr. Onix, and they’ll come right away. Though it will depend on how far and busy they are when you do so.”

“I see-”

The sudden buzz of a radio would echo in Emily’s cab, her firebox starting to warm up again as her fireman threw coal inside it. Good gosh, why did it have to be now?

“Well, I bid you farewell for now, Ferris. I hope to see you soon after this run.”

“Same goes to you dear sister!” He replied as the both tooted both of their whistles at eachother, watching Emily leave with a wheesh of steam.

——

“Now that was a blast!”

“A blast of whistles you mean!”

The three would burst into laughter as they arrived at their designated spots within the new hall.

A little flow of people would form around them, murmurs of conversations blurring together and curious people eyeing them in either surprise or admiration, or both! Either way, the engines would simply chat among themselves as if they were the only ones in the room.

Though there would be one engine in between those atmospheres, st always taking a glance behind them, as if waiting for something. Something, someone.

Time moving slower than a tank engine trying to pull an express consisting of eight full coaches on their own.

It was painful, in simple words. It was crawling from the back of their mind to consume their thoughts. 

Not the greatest thoughts to go through your mind during a wonderful time like this.

No, no. They just need to be calm. He's received the overhaul, he's been checked out, hell you were there in some of those sessions, he'll be fine.

Just enjoy the moment, enjoy the momen-

“Nadi?”

They'd snap out their train of thought, looking to wherever the voice came from, to which they'd get a bit embarrassed at. Well shit.

“Yea- Ah, what is it?”

“You were staring at that 9F, the Black Prince, are you okay?”

“Well, Betto-”

“Do you have a crush on him?”

“The fuck? No, of course not!” Nadi’s smoke deflectors slid back as they glanced at Lyd, as she rolled beside them on the narrow-gauge tracks next to the standard-gauge tracks the three were on, quite baffled at this sudden claim. Considering how the Black Prince is more of a brother than a lover, it was odd.

Though they couldn't exactly blame Lyd, Nadi doesn't talk about other engines much often, other than the ones they usually speak of.

“Besides, why would I have a crush on him?!”

“Well, why would the Flying Scotsman have a crush on that King Arthur class? Hmm?”

“Okay fair point, but stil-”

Suddenly, a familiar whistle would blast through the atmosphere, cutting off the four's conversation. Considering their brakes would be applied by their crews, Lyd would reverse to see who it’d be.

Though as she did, her eyes widened in surprise as she took a glance at their nameplate, now recognizing who it was.

“Oh, Leslie!”

——

Oh how loud it was here, well, at least it wasn’t as chaotic as Sodor. It’s just louder than it.

He’d reverse into the coaches behind him as the shunter behind them uncoupled from the coaches and let out a little “peep!” of a whistle, to which he’d whistle back at them.

As he glanced to the sign that read-

“We’re at Redworth! No- No, I’m not fucking with you I’m serious!”

“Sounds like she’s fucking with you, old chap.”

He will admit, he did miss them. He missed how comforting they were to him, that light feeling that swirled in his firebox whenever he interacted with him. It was an odd feeling, in a good way, and it seems to run in their family as the same feeling has started to resurface in recent years since the 2000s started.

“You’re older than me!”

Gordon would hold in his laughter as he heard his crew jab at each other a bit. The two have been with him for about, nearly a decade as he recalls. Wow. Though they’ve technically been with him for nearly two, since they go back into the late 90s as his crew. Being the brother and cousin of his crew before them.

As much as he’d like to go into detail of this feeling, he just couldn’t find the right words to. It was similar to this feeling he had felt before, it was the bond between him and his siblings, though that didn’t fully match up with what this odd, swirly feeling he felt with them, with his crews.

Though unfortunately he wouldn’t be able to further his research and guesses into it as the sound of a whistle blasted through the air, his hearing being pierced like a bullet shooting through paper. As he glanced to his left, the whistle would be muffled as it fades out by the sound of pistons pumping, surprised at who it is as his eyes widened.

“Hello there, little brother.”

“Ah, ah. That’s my phrase, little brother.”

“A phrase that’s originated from me, Scotsman, or would you like me to refer to you as one of the elderly considering your memory might not be working too well?”

Scotsman would slide back his smoke deflectors, revealing his jokingly ‘offended’ look as he took a glance at Gordon.

“Oh says the one who’s beyond a century old!”

“You’ve literally just become a century old, little brother. And you do represent a century.”

“Oh fuck off," he muttered jokingly, unconsciously letting his american accent slip out as it mixed with his natural one.

After a slight pause between the two, they’d burst into light laughter as they sped down the line side by side, blasting their whistles in a duet as they wheeshed steam, doing what they love. Their purpose.

[tourettesdog]

So this may have happened last night while playing World of Warcraft with my guild raid of over 20 people

[cozylittleartblog]

"woah i can't believe you've read blue sky!"

hoho. my dear followers. i have done more than read it. do you have any idea what you are dealing with.

[actual-changeling]

Focusing a bit more on their ptsd lately because I want to and I can, this is set a few weeks after they got to Jackson so still pretty early on. Completely fluffy though, promise!

-

There is nothing worse than being alone in a crowd with no one to have your back.

Ellie's hypervigilance is in absolute overdrive after Silver Lake whenever she isn't too dissociated to perceive anything at all, and leaving the house becomes a choice between constantly looking around and driving herself half insane trying to look for something, anything dangerous and gritting her teeth and pushing through it while her brain screams at her that the worst things imaginable are seconds away from happening.

Both options are terrible, both leave her shaking and on edge, and any loud or unexpected noise makes her jump even when it is three streets down and completely unrelated to her. Going outside isn't safe, isn't fun, so she doesn't, and she is acutely aware that it's a problem she will need to solve one day, but for now her skin is stretched less tightly over her bones and the back of her neck only gives her the occasional jolt of paranoid electricity.

It doesn't even fully occur to ask someone for help when there is a movie at the theater she really wants to see that night, she thinks about it all day with a heaviness in her heart that almost has her put on her shoes and go anyway, but then the bell ringing for lunch has her almost falling out of her chair and she settles with the sour taste of defeat on her tongue. She would ask Joel to go with her, but they both know he is just as jumpy as she is, especially with her around in a closed space, and yeah it's a problem, but for now it is what it is, and she doesn't ask.

However, while she forgot about the obvious solution, Joel didn't.

That evening, Tommy comes over, which in by itself isn't surprising, that man is more at their house than at his sometimes, but he doesn't take off his shoes like he always does and waits for them in the hallway instead. She leans against his side in the greeting half-hug they tend to do, his arms around her shoulders, and the weight of it in her neck does the same thing Joel's hugs do - they absorb the panic and let it run through them into the ground, redirecting the lightning jumping across her skin. Ellie looks up at him and her face lights up before Tommy even gets the words out, putting two and two together and vibrating with excitement so bright she can't even feel stupid for not thinking about it herself.

"Ready for movie night?"

"Are you sure?"

Asking him that feels like she is stomping on a christmas present before even opening it, but her fingers are twisting in her shirt and joy is a warm, yellow sun in her chest, and she needs him to wants this as much as she does or she will feel bad for dragging him along. His hand settles on the back of her head and her gaze flicks between him and Joel, who is watching her and her only.

"Are you kidding me? Alien? Of course I'm gonna go see it, it's one of the best fucking movies ever."

There is a few seconds of silence and dizziness shoots straight into her head when she forgets to breathe, but then she falls forward and squeezes Tommy so tightly she can hear the air rushing out of him before letting go to put on her shoes. She is so focused on getting there before everyone else so they can get the best spots, planning out the quickest path to the building (although there really aren't that many options, more like three and a half possible routes), she only realizes Joel is shrugging on his jacket too when she turns to say her goodbye for the next few hours. There's a familiar tightness in his jaw, and she is pretty sure there's at least a knife somewhere on him, but his eyes are soft and she realizes that Tommy isn't just an additional anchor of security for her.

Paranoia grows all over her skin, a deep-seated itch she can never scratch enough, but Joel is right next to her and she can hear Tommy's footsteps behind her, and it is enough to keep it subdued enough for her to handle. They all silently come to the agreement to sit near the side rather than in the center, neither of them fully comfortable with being surrounded by people like that, and having space on one side, Joel on the other, and Tommy behind her makes it easy to forget about everyone else once the movie starts.

She jumps when someone accidentally kicks over a chair, and Joel gently squeezes her hand whenever she crushes his during the few times her brain tries to convince her everyone in the room is out to kill her, but they all make it through the next few hours without chewing on their panic the entire time. Tommy's quiet comments from behind her make up half the fun, and on the walk back, she paces circles around them while talking a mile a minute about a conflicting mess of a thoughts she cannot sort through in her excitement; Joel watches her just like he has been doing the entire night, and she doubts he heard a single line from the movie. The tension in his jaw has dissipated, though, and her lungs expand without resistance.

They stop right between their two homes, and for the first time since arriving in Jackson, Ellie feels almost sad to go back inside again. There's a moment of silence before she wraps herself around Tommy in another hug, her thank you a muffled whisper against his chest before she leans away, and it is hard to tell whether she is thanking him for having her back or for being family.

"Any time, sweetheart."

Both, she decides, and they all know without having to say a single word.

There is nothing worse than being alone in a crowd, but she is no longer just by herself, and although she forgets sometimes, there will always be someone to have her back now.

[syntia13treeman]

Case files 02.01

what I think happened in:

Case 02.01, the case of "Portrait of Daria Gray" or "The artist becomes the canvas."

Daria's story is pretty straightforward. What we know about Daria: she's a struggling left-handed artist who used to wear a lot of hand-me-down clothes from her sister, and she doesn't like the way she looks. At some point she decides to get a bit of a makeover and, among more mundane things, she starts shopping for a new tattoo. She finds a deal too good to be true (it is) offered by one 'Ink5oul'.

Ink5oul is sketchy as hell, and definitely has something supernatural going on. The tattoo they gives Daria (with no input from her, WTF! - paintbrush, floral patterns and glittering symbols) hurts much more than it should, but also heals almost instantly.

Looking at the tattoo (which is 'perfect') fills Daria with sudden desire to paint an autoportrait (which comes out 'perfect'). And once that is done, looking at it again makes her realize she can adjust herself (and make herself perfect).

So she takes her painting tools, most notably a pallet knife, right to her own face (and soon pretty much every other body part) and gives herself an impromptu plastic surgery. Which goes on uninterrupted for several days (???!?!!?!) until her room-mate Sarah comes home. Poor Sarah walks in on Daria while she has a knife stuck in her jaw, understandably freaks out and punches Daria, at which point half of Daria's face collapses under her hand like putty.

Having no idea that her room-mate has been touched by the spooky, Sarah comes up with the only rational explanation she can think of, which is that Daria poured some acid on her own face (which is very comic-book logic, but maybe Sarah paid more attention to Batman than chemistry and biology class as a teen).

So now Daria has severely disfigured face, and also is officially considered suicidal and a danger to herself and must go to therapy. (Honestly, she needs therapy).

There are two things, aside from the obvious, that grabbed my attention here:

The voice. Narration in the first case was that of a pretty normal email - a little bit rambly, a little bit disjointed, referencing things that the recipient would know about that we can only infer. The second case had a perfectly average forum thread. This case... also starts out with pretty realistic voice - right until the moment Daria stats talking about the tattoo. Then suddenly this story gets ridiculously verbose. The way she describes the studio, the tattooing process, the tattoo itself, the painting process and finally the 'adjustments' - the details, the wording - there's no way a regular person talks that way. Not in real time, not about a traumatic event that they very much don't want to talk about at all. So where is this coming from? I think it's the ink. Until proven otherwise, I'm going to assume that Ink5soul's tattoo somehow infused Daria with power to 'express herself' perfectly in whatever medium she's using - be it words, paint, or her own flesh.

Invasion of privacy issues all over the place. First Daria's tattooing session is streamed for who knows how many Ink5oul's fans without her say-so, and then her be-damned therapy session gets intercepted by some weird basement government branch. Daria glosses over the former and doesn't know about the latter, but they are there. And there was that private email in case of 'Not-Arthur' too. I wonder how present this theme will be in rest of the show. One thing I can bet on: if one of the cases doesn't deal with a conspiracy theorist yelling about government spying on them, I'm gonna eat my hat. (And the poor paranoid guy will be 100% right, just not in the way they think).

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Violent Delight Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Rating: M Status: One-Shot Characters: Naia (F!Tav), Araj Oblodra Ships:Naia/Araj Additional Notes: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Blood, Background Naia/Shadowheart, Flirting but in an Evil Scientist way Word Count: 2.7k Summary: Araj makes a proposition. Against her better judgment, Naia accepts.

read below or here on ao3

It’s unnerving, how easily Naia can move through Moonrise Towers. Convenient, yes, of course- but unnerving, all the same.

She clutches her bag closely to her side, putting her utmost effort into appearing cool and confident as she sweeps out of Balthazar’s rooms, still half-expecting to be caught and questioned at any moment. The guards watch the gray-skinned tiefling as she goes, but it is with little interest; she has been verified as a True Soul. In their eyes, she belongs here.

The belief, she admits, is not even a particularly misguided one. Balthazar did send her here, did put her on the lead to understanding more of his research, and it would be a lie to claim that his teachings on the deeper levels of necromancy were received without a small, begrudging amount of admiration. That admiration gnaws at Naia’s stomach with an echo of guilt…but it does make it easier for her to play the part of a willing student in Ketheric’s loyal army.

Naia descends the long staircase and makes it halfway through the entrance hall without incident, and the tension within her begins to ease. It was wise to come here alone, she knows this. Ketheric’s guards may not prove so amenable to a large group attempting to navigate the fortress’s upper levels, but she is quick and capable enough on her own. And this way, she does not have to worry about her companions’ eyes upon her as she studiously unravels the undeniably impressive magic woven by Moonrise’s necromancer.

Yet she is also anxious to be done with this place and return to her friends waiting just outside the gates. Mostly, she is anxious to return to Shadowheart, who has sequestered herself within the locked rooms of Shar’s Gauntlet so as to better focus on her trials. This solitude is just one of many worrying tendencies Shadowheart has indulged in as of late, and Naia can only hope-

“You there.”

Naia winces at the voice, but it is too late to duck and run. With no small amount of reluctance, she turns to greet the drow woman sauntering across the hall with a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.

A look of such smugness upon the face of Araj Oblodra cannot be a good sign. Unfortunately, Naia dares not risk ignoring her outright; the drow is the only one in Moonrise who seems to realize Naia’s true loyalties. As of yet, she has not cared enough to announce this to anyone else, but recent events have left things tense between them, and her good grace is surely wearing thin.

Those same events have also thinned Naia’s patience, and despite her resolve to remain diplomatic, her voice is curt as Araj draws near. “If you’re here to ask me about Astarion again, the answer is still no.”

The woman’s red eyes flash with petulant anger, but her pointed smirk remains in place. “How adorably stubborn of you. But regarding my intentions, you are wrong- a feeling which I’m certain you are quite familiar with.”

Naia has no interest in granting this woman the benefit of doubt. “As I told you before,” she hisses, stepping closer so as to shield their conversation from passing soldiers, “he is not inclined to speak with you, let alone do anything else with you. A feeling which I’m certain you are quite familiar with.”

Araj tilts her head, that look finally slipping from her face. “Such a clever little tongue,” she says, a hint of dark amusement still lurking under her tone. “A pity it’s wasted on a creature with no spine.”

“If you’re not here to say anything useful-”

“I speak the truth,” Araj snaps, cutting through Naia’s words. “I’m not here for him. I’m here for you.”

The resulting look on Naia’s face must betray her emotions, for Araj releases a sharply delighted laugh. “Not for that, my darling. Some may find your demon’s nature enticing, but I am a lady of more acquired taste. What I require from you is for a purely scientific purpose, I assure you.”

Naia crosses her arms, her tail swishing angrily against the stone floor behind her. “You still haven’t told me what you actually want.”

“Is it not obvious, for a specimen such as yourself?” Araj asks, cloyingly sweet yet still somehow dripping condescension. “I am a sanguine alchemist. I want your blood.”

Naia stiffens, arms tightening around herself. “No.”

Her quick response earns a scoff from Araj. “You remain too easily offended. This is as much for your benefit as mine. Allow me to draw a sampling of your blood, and I shall distill a portion of it into a potion, which you may have and use however you see fit. A trade more than fair, considering I shall be doing all the work. All you have to do is bleed.”

The answer should, once again, be a quick and decisive no. Yet against her better judgment, Naia asks, “What will the potion do?”

Araj’s entire demeanor seems to brighten, her eyes sparkling at Naia’s reluctant interest. “I don’t know. Each one I make is unique, attuned to the blood of its source. And you…you are more unique than most, True Soul. Are you not curious as to what may come of it?” She licks at her lips; her gaze sharpens into something hungry. “I am.”

If only an honest denial could be made. But Naia is curious by nature, and her attentions are often most caught with subjects that others consider best left alone. The pages upon pages of necromancy research stowed away in her bag right now are testament enough to that fact.

Araj waits through Naia’s internal arguments, but finally rolls her eyes and gives an impatient toss of her hair. “Don’t give me that sour face, darling. It will only take but a moment of your time.”

“Fine,” Naia relents. These potions may be useful; if she observes carefully, she may even be able to reverse-engineer Araj’s formula and process. It is, overall, a pragmatic decision.

Araj lifts her chin in triumph, and Naia is quick to add, “But take one drop more than necessary and I shall rot the flesh from your bones.”

The answering laughter from Araj is almost fond. She turns on her heel and waves for Naia to follow as she sets off to her makeshift laboratory. Naia obliges, and she is relieved to see that the space is empty; if she’s going to do this, she’d rather do it without the Moonrise guards hanging over her head.

Once in the lab, Araj’s bearing shifts, if only slightly. She makes her way to a corner of the room and begins clearing her books and scrolls, her movements sharp and focused. Soon enough, she has assembled a collection of glass vials and alchemical ingredients, some of which even Naia cannot name. Each action she takes in this process is precise and intentional; her fingers are deft as she arranges the glass-encased chemicals, her eyes vibrant as she assembles the space exactly to her liking with gleeful anticipation.

Loathe as Naia is to admit it- and oh, she is loathe to admit it- there is something about the woman that makes her just as intriguing as she is infuriating. Such devotion to her craft can only be admired, and few others can claim to have reached her level of passion for this type of science. While her methods are hardly standard…well, Naia is once more reminded of the research in her bag, and the spells inscribed in her own grimoire. She is hardly one to judge.

Hells, Naia’s begrudging interest is perhaps a signal of danger all on its own. Gods know that her own tastes have always had a tendency towards the ill-advised.

Araj finally steps back from the table, apparently satisfied with its arrangement. She pulls a chair forward and looks to Naia, blood-red eyes gleaming. She must be proud of those eyes, seeing as how she decorates the skin around them with identical red shimmer, emphasizing the striking color. Araj’s smirk sharpens as she catches Naia’s watching gaze, and she waves a hand over the chair in exaggerated welcome.

“Please, darling- make yourself comfortable.”

That won’t be happening, so Naia settles for dropping herself stiffly in the offered seat. Araj circles her finger through the air in a get on with it motion, and with a deep breath through gritted teeth, Naia rolls up the sleeve of her robe and presents her bared arm.

This is the part she is looking forward to the least- but when Araj’s hands make contact, it’s not as bad as she was expecting. In fact, there’s something oddly comforting in the detached professionalism of the drow’s touch, in the precise press of her fingers as she searches for a vein. Her fingers are cold, and as she trails them down Naia’s arm, she leaves goosebumps in her wake.

Araj is silent as she locates her desired point of study, even as she picks up the scalpel and vial. It’s only when she presses the sharp blade into Naia’s skin that she releases a small sigh of contentment.

Naia herself barely reacts to the cut; this pinprick is nothing compared to other injuries she’s received these last few weeks. Her muscles barely quiver at all as she watches Araj stare at the trickling blood, bright red against pale ashen skin.

“I wasn’t sure you’d have any to give at all,” Araj murmurs as the blood slowly collects into the vial, which she keeps in place with a summoned Mage Hand. “You look half a corpse already.”

“With your proficiency for astounding scientific observations, you might have noticed I am a necromancer.”

“That’s hardly an excuse, darling. I know Balthazar considers himself a genius, but you needn’t go following his example. You’ll decay into a boring old husk and lose the pleasure of this.” The scalpel presses just a little harder, and Naia releases a sharp hiss of a gasp- more in irritation than anything else, she insists to herself.

“Isn’t it a beautiful thing?” Araj continues blithely, her voice sinking into that awful, sensual rhythm of hers. “The bite of the pain…the slow drip of the blood…the fragility of the connection as your lifeblood spills for the sake of another’s pleasure…have you truly never been tempted by the idea?”

“Hard as it may be for you to believe,” Naia bites out, “vampirism has never appealed to me.”

Araj’s dreamy expression shifts into a pout. “No…of course not. That’s not quite your type, is it? But what about that Sharran that used to cling to you? Does she not spill blood for her goddess? Is her devotion so different from my desire?” As she speaks, she studies Naia’s reaction, a single eyebrow raised as a taunting lilt enters her tone. “Where is she now, by the way?”

The mention of Shadowheart does more to affect Naia than Araj’s little blade ever could…but she’ll be damned if she lets Araj see that. “Nowhere that is any of your business.”

Araj sighs, a taunting, pitying sound. “Nor yours, I should think. Those Sharrans always did guard their shrine so jealously. Is that why you’re here alone? Has she gone and locked herself away from you, to better offer herself up to something grander?”

“Do you remember when I threatened to rot the flesh from your bones?” Magic flares in time with Naia's anger, and the air around them grows colder. But Araj hardly seems intimidated; in fact, she chuckles.

“How could I forget?” Her lips curl upwards in amusement at Naia’s answering silence. “Let the Sharrans have their hiding hole, I say. Their dark lady will never deliver on her promises, no matter how much they bleed on her behalf. That is where the gods and I differ. I could show you something truly worth your pain.”

Cold fingers curl over Naia’s arm, and Naia wants both to pull away from the touch and lean in closer. It’s a foolish notion, and more than that it is petty…but Naia must admit, not all of the anger she carries today is pointed towards Araj. Something in her chest does ache at the way Shadowheart has closed herself off in the walls and shadows of that temple.

So when she should withdraw and snap once more at Araj to back off, Naia instead locks her dark eyes on the drow’s face and allows herself to lean the smallest bit forward. “And just what does that mean, blood-witch?”

“Are you interested in finding out, necromancer?”

“…I might be.”

Araj hums, and she shifts ever closer to Naia. Her tongue darts out to lick at her lips, and her fingernails dig just a little deeper into Naia’s arm. Where once she’d been standing above the tiefling as she drew her blood, she’s now practically in her lap, and her leg slides slowly against the skirt of Naia’s robes.

“Isn’t that adorable…” Araj breathes. “All your bluster, and you wish to be the one at my mercy? Are you imagining my teeth at your neck, your blood on my lips?”

Naia wasn’t. But Gods, she is now.

She swears Araj must be able to read her mind, because her eyes gleam even more viciously. Those eyes roam over Naia’s body, taking her in with an air of greed. Silver hair has fallen from where it was tucked behind her ear, and Naia is struck with the inane urge to brush it from her face- yet she also finds herself frozen in place, unable to move even as Araj presses herself closer. Naia’s stomach twists in a heated combination of anxiety and anticipation.

And then Araj pulls away, twisting a stopper onto the vial which Naia had all but forgotten about. “Done.”

A shaky breath escapes Naia’s lips; blood trickles down her arm from the cut left unattended. Araj stows away the small glass vial and returns to Naia’s side in a flash; her thumb traces over the cut, and with a small surge of unexpected healing magic the skin stitches itself back together. The blood remains, and Araj’s touch is not quite gentle as she smears it with her thumb and runs her hand down Naia’s arm, leaving red fingerprints down to Naia’s wrist.

“You were a perfect specimen, darling. What a shame it is, then, that I prefer to be the one bitten,” Araj muses as she lifts Naia’s wrist to her mouth. Her lips press a kiss against Naia’s thudding pulse; her teeth graze and tease at the skin, but nothing more, and then she’s pulling away again with a violently victorious edge to her voice as she whispers, “Were I so inclined, I’m certain you would be delicious.”

She then turns back to her assembly of vials, and her professional demeanor settles into place even as Naia is left half-frozen in the chair. The tiefling swallows and shakes her head, and finally regains enough composure to ask, “What about…”

“Your potion?” Araj responds innocently, throwing a smirk over her shoulder. “It will take some time to prepare. You may return for it tomorrow.”

It’s a clear dismissal, one that leaves Naia’s head reeling, as if she’s just lost a round of lanceboard she hadn’t even realized she was playing. But she rises to her feet, ordering her legs not to shake as she does so, forcing herself back to the state of passive distaste she’d held before Araj sunk her scalpel in.

“Tomorrow, then, if you insist on dragging your feet. I would have thought someone who thinks so highly of themselves would be capable of a quicker delivery, but I suppose even that is too much to expect in a place like this.”

It’s a weak barb, but it’s enough to let Naia leave with some small semblance of pride still intact, and to let herself pretend she does not feel Araj’s smug, crimson gaze on her as she goes.

[yourdragonisinanothercastle]

We're nearly at the end! Only one chapter left and I should be able to post it in the next few days.

(If you like what I write, please consider tipping on my Ko-fi.)

[rosegoldorigins]

So I know a lot is going on this photo... If I can direct your gaze to the red circle with that funky little number in it. Yeah, that's how many Fics I've made based on mcyt (and most of them are SBI related)

(I currently have 46 stories posted to my AO3 account and it barely scratches the surface of my writing XD)

[mishy-mashy]

*looks up "unordinary" for fics here*

*sees nothing*

*opens up existing drafts to drop some stray lines here*

-

A mainly New Bostin-centric fic and OC. Zirian is a main character. Including,

Arlo and Levani are neighbors. Levani is a karen

She spared herself the hassle and had the new fridge delivered to Arlo's door, where his across-the-road neighbor apparently tried taking it as her own, dragging it like some gremlin.

"LEVANI STOP BEING A BITCH!"

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME, BOY!?"

Zirian embodying the trope of [kind to exactly one person]

"Hold on a second," Zirian muttered, fishing out his ringing phone. One look at the contact name and he accepted, bringing the phone to his ear. "Hi, Kels," he murmured in the softest voice ever.

His Turf mates boggled at him. Because what the fuck?

Whoever was speaking on the other side was definitely a female voice. Something about wrangling sheep, subways, and not being able to come to town today.

"Okay. Okay," he whispered to whoever was on the other side of the line. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"'kay. Can you hang up? My hands are wet."

Oh, they recognized that voice. They definitely knew who this was. Country bumpkin, she was.

"Okay. Bye."

He removed the phone from his ear and hung up. Immediately stuffing the phone in his pocket, his glare returned full-force as he rounded on them.

"Now listen here, you little shits-"

Zirian losing to low-tiers when it comes to farmwork. This life is not for him

"Hup!"

CLUCK!

"Up and at 'em, King! We got work to do!"

He let out a loud groan of protest, to the loud, indignant clucking of the chicken that just got thrown out the window after running over his face. Apparently, that chicken getting in the house was a common occurrence.

When he raised his head to look out the window, and saw only pitch blackness, he let a louder complaint. This wasn't ass o'clock in the morning. He didn't even think it was morning.

He could stand her level of craziness. But the amount of labor her lifestyle required was bound to drive him to retirement at the early, early age of 18.

John rising up as a violent King

"Where the fuck is she?! I'm going to kill her and string her intestines as this school’s Christmas lights!"

If someone told her an angsty sophomore would be trying to gut her today, she'd have just called the police and stayed home to sleep in the sheep pen.

Alas, she was not warned. The fact a teacher got thrown out a window was only part of the result of catching John's attention for "training".

Zirian can cook. OC cannot.

".. I killed someone with my cooking," she finally said, at how Zirian froze on his feet after putting the spoon in his mouth.

"..... What did you put in this?" It took a strangely long amount of time for Zirian to compose himself, gulp down the food, and compose himself again.

(It happened to not only include him trying to be polite over retching into the sink, but becoming Catholic for exactly 10 seconds to send a prayer of "What the fuck" to God, but she'd breeze past that)

"??? I followed the box. It said one of the main ingredients was salt." She pointed at the ingredients used to make the macaroni and cheese powder. "And I thought any white powder would do, so I used baking soda."

"And you used how much?"

"Just a cup."

"And the soy sauce..?"

Ah, he saw her use that too? She didn't know he was watching her cook.

"Well, I think of cheese as an umami flavor, and soy sauce is pretty similar, so-"

"You followed the list of ingredients instead of the cooking instructions?"

She looked at the box. "There are cooking instructions?"

"Oh my god-"

[iamthepulta]

Mandatory rest day. I have lots of snacks at the dogsitting location this time around. Debating whether it's a Sit on the Couch and Watch Anime sort of day or a Research for Fun kind of day

[solace-saphylos]

Be Careful What You Ship For - Bully fanfiction

Rating: Explicit (Underage warning)

Tags: POV First Person, Unreliable Narrator, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Comedy, Pining, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Explicit Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Threats of Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Eating Disorders

Ships: Gary Smith / Jimmy Hopkins, Beatrice Trudeau / Mandy Wiles

A self-recounted tale of how Beatrice Trudeau falls into a habit of writing smutty fanfiction about Jimmy/Gary. What starts as an innocent secret soon grows into something much closer to the truth than she ever intended. The vibrant life of Bullworth continues around her, with all of the blistering issues providing ample inspiration. If only she had known the consequences of seemingly inconsequential actions...

Ao3 link here

[isca-rambles]

Chenford/The Rookie fanfic prompts/ideas (pt.2)

So I did this a while back when I had a bunch of 'what ifs' floating around my head (prompts pt.1). I have more, so I'm back again. None are groundbreaking and if you've seen them done before, do let me know. I have even more than this but I'm trying to be good and not spam them all at once. If anyone does use them, even just as a jumping off point, also please let me know! Ya girl is not handling this hiatus at all. * Lucy's first time riding solo (I assume sometime between becoming P2 and becoming Tim's aide. We see her riding solo in S5 but that can't be the first time, surely. Maybe after Jackson's death if Nolan isn't on the same shift, since they rode together too.) Maybe a 5+1 fic but I'm not sure. Five times she rode solo by choice? idk. * Tim learning what it's like 'living' with someone with a curly-hair girl. From finding her hair on him during her time as a rookie, to when they're officially a couple. And maybe after their break-up, still finding her hair in his home. It's a weird one, I know. But I mean I shed like a husky in Summer and my hair is not half as thick, long, dark, or curly/wavy as Lucy's. Aside from Rachel, he's mostly been in long term relationships with straight-haired blondes. Could be a 5+1 type fic again. * Wesley, James, and Lucy hanging out – doing their best to fix the world. Talking laws and reforms and social justice. Being adorable while their partners (pre/post canon Chenford) look on in awe and adoringly at their sunshine people. Because I maintain that we need Wes&James&Lucy friendship stuff, stat. * 5 times Lucy did karaoke with Jackson, and the one time she didn't. And I made myself sad. * 5+1 fic. 5 times Lucy shared her morning/evening/day with Jackson, and the one time she didn't. Or something along those lines. I just need more pure platonic love fics with these two. Before she goes UC, after she gets out, the morning of the wedding, the morning she goes back to work after Caleb, the morning he comes home after being in hospital. I just need more of these two caring for each other 😭 * Lucy meets Wallace (one of Tim's many puppies). Either before or after Tim takes Jackson to meet him. Bonus points if it's set after and Tim is there to fix the downstair's buzzer at Wallace's apartment. (1x04) * Why was Lucy 3 ½ minutes late to roll call that one time? (mentioned in 5x06) * Tim and Tamara bonding over wedding planning and Lucy being UC. Jackson and Tamara bonding while Lucy is gone. Jackson and Tim bonding while Lucy is gone, maybe an insight into their day/days in the shop together. All three of them bonding while their sunshine person is gone. (3x14) * Tim finds out about Lucy's fake kidnapping set up by Nyla and Murray (3x13) * Lucy waiting for the Guatemala gang to get home. Waiting to hear from Tim that they're all okay. Sitting in the station or even the hospital, just waiting for them to turn up and prove that she hasn't lost another friend. (4x01) * What happened in the time-skip, after they got Angela back from La Fiera? Grieving people helping each other, being there for each other. (4x01) * Nyla helping Lucy with her gift basket for Angela and the baby. Just being there for her, helping her keep distracted from grief. (4x01) * The rest of Angela's welcome home/baby shower gathering. I just need more of the Mid-Wilshire family being together, okay? (4x01) * What happened in this unused/deleted scene? https://www.tumblr.com/karihighman/696251336685207552/in-the-deleted-scene-behind-the (4x02) * What if Tamara filmed Lucy being a badass with the stalker in the walls and shares the video with the Mid-Wilshire gang? People need to see how badass our girl is. (4x05) * What would Lucy have picked for Tim if she'd won the bet? Being Lucy, it'd have been something he'd have ended up loving anyway, even if he'd never admit it. (4x06) * Tim winning the bet and caving within like 10 minutes because he can't stand when Lucy isn't talking. (4x06) * Lucy and Tabin talking in the car before she drives up and switches into character. (5x07)

* What if Lucy and Tim had been attacked at home, instead of Nolan or Harper? (5x22) * Tim and Lucy acting as bait in his/her home to see if the attackers try them next? (5x22) * What if they didn't stop before that door was opened and the trap triggered? Not angling for MCD, just some good ol' hurt/comfort while one or both are injured or trapped. (5x22) * How does everyone find out about the break-up? (post 6x06) * Tim somehow seeing Lucy's breakdown/rant to Grey in the shop. (6x07) * Someone confronts Smitty over the betting pool (a nice deleted/missing scene type deal sticking to canon) * Tim seeing how beat up Lucy is after the gang war situation (she and Celina look so battered! They all do this ep! My poor babies!) (6x08) * Lucy working on her UC covers in her free time, pre/post detective's exam (mentioned 6x09) * Tim finds out Lucy is UC at Bautista's, pre/post knowing Monica and London are involved in department leaks. The first UC that he's had zero involvement in or foreknowledge of. You tell me that man didn't go at least a little feral/frantic to Angela and Nyla, especially after knowing Monica's involvement? (6x09/6x10) * Everyone being amped over how badass Lucy was jumping from one moving car to another and saving Tim. She deserved some praise/congrats in the show and unless someone mentions it in passing in S7 (hey isn't that Ofc Chen? You hear what she did?), it's not going to happen outside of ficworld. Hell, even just Grey telling her it was reckless while also being so damn proud of his pseudo-daughter. (6x10)

[clenastia]

i dont know why the running joke of this chapter is kakashi fearing for his kidneys. where did that come from. WHY did that come from.

i should probably cut that in editing it's a little ridiculous.

except it makes me giggle every time so maybe i should leave it there.

[number-one-hog-hater]

The question of the night.

Do I go to margaritaville and then go gamba

Or

Do I read macdennis fanfic and set up a general discord for the sunnyblr community