#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

[somegrumpynerd]

Actually it turns out I had more thoughts about that post that I forgot about lol

Would Nightmare actually give up his boys? Yes and no

If it was just a black and white situation of they're miserable, they don't wanna be here, they have somewhere better to be, then yes. He would leave them out to wherever they needed to be despite his own feelings and very quickly realise afterwards just how much he'd gotten used to the noise and company. I think he would get a little clingy with Dream about it, which I'm sure Dream would find very weird after everything but not unwelcome, he did miss his brother after all.

(If he couldn't attach himself to Dream's side for whatever reason, I think he might just sit in his castle and go insane. Or maybe he'd just spend all day at Ccino's trying really hard to project that he just likes the atmosphere and isn't lonely as hell)

But the thing is, most of them don't have somewhere better to be. Horror has his au, and Nightmare would keep up the supply of food even if Horror said he wanted to quit at this point, so he would understandably let him return home. Killer, Dust and Cross effectively don't have aus anymore though, and they tend to get into self-destructive habits when they're left to their own devices. (Obviously bringing Color and Epic into the mix to make sure Killer and Cross are taken care of eases matters, but Dust doesn't really have any friends outside their group he could go stay with - that Nightmare knows about at least).

The flipside of this is that his boys may not necessarily want to be given up. I think if Nightmare got really in his head about this he could easily end up convinced this is the right thing to do without ever asking them if it's what they want, with potentially terrible results. He's established such a pattern of always returning to find Killer when they get seperated, that if he never showed up Killer might just keep sitting there and waiting for him greyfriar's bobby style, refusing to leave because he's certain his boss is coming back.

[theartofeggs]

@gremmed

tagged u so you'd know when i posted ur request lmao. I love it when Kylar's on the bottom. wish they didn't fight it so much in-game like just let me pamper u bbygirl. anyways it seems my dice yearn for trans men rn

Thanks for participating in my ask event! When a fic contains the PC as a main character, the PC will exclusively be referred to as "you," except from other characters, who will refer to the PC by their gender or some other defining characteristic. :) Brings me back to my "x reader" fic days. ahhh what nostalgia

The event's ended by now, but I'll finish the current requests I've gotten!

Synopsis; Kylar gets railed into oblivion

Prompt: Kylar x PC (Smut) / CW: kidnapping, dubcon (not really), breeding kink, PC = evil-type crazy, babytrapping but they both want to babytrap the other so uh? - Kylar = AFAB & male, PC = AMAB & GN ((mostly) dice rolls) + bonus F! Sydney, M! Whitney, and M! Robin (only mentioned)

Welcomed Payback

The chair you've been strapped to is rather uncomfortable. The least Kylar could've done was make sure it was a chair with padding or something instead of some wooden old rickety one that felt one wrong move away from just snapping under you. Oh well. At least he put you in a different room to whatever's causing all that ruckus upstairs. Though, you almost wish he did, considering that it keeps scaring him away from you. You're a bit fed up with him just coming and going. Him feeding you fruit by hand is just about the most contact you've gotten with him so far. All he's done other than that is draw you some and sing a couple out-of-tune love songs he made himself.

Did you purposefully get him to go crazy and kidnap you? Yes. You weren't ashamed to admit it at this point. You've been a bit enamored with him yourself ever since he introduced himself, probably more than he was with you. You didn't think anything of helping a bully victim out of a beatdown, but when you saw how he looked up at you, like he witnessed the descent of a god, something in your brain was clicked on. Considering he wouldn't talk to you for the first few weeks of your attempts at getting to know him, you ended up going a different route and doing quite a bit of digging to find out more about him—you first befriended Sydney and lulled out any and all stories she could remember about Kylar when he was little, then moved on to breaking into more than just a couple government archives to flip through Kylar's, and his family's, past documents.

You knew where he lived before he ever followed you back to the orphanage, and, honestly? It hurt a little, to see how he wanted to be part of your life so bad but didn't seem to want you to be in his. So, you thought you'd nudge him the right way. You noticed he was prone to getting jealous, seeing how his expression would change whenever you'd chat with someone else during lunch, and you thought it'd be easy to use that against him. You'd flirt with anyone and everyone the moment you felt a familiar tingle on the back of your neck, and then relish in the dark, envious looks he'd give the hickeys on your neck when you saw him next. You weren't a big fan of sharing your body so casually with other people, but it would be well worth it if it meant you'd have Kylar in your hands at the end of your endeavors.

Robin was probably the only one you actually felt bad for. When Kylar had given you a little owl plush that so obviously had one of its glass eyes replaced with a camera lens, you had gotten an idea. Though, you struggled to find the right person to use for it. Sydney came to mind first, initially, since you were already close with her and you could smell her crush on you, but figured it'd be too much effort considering how deep her connections are to the temple. She'd totally try to get you to join. There was also Whitney, but Kylar's already watched you suck him off at least a dozen times, so there wouldn't be a big surprise factor with him. A random stranger wouldn't do either—if it did, the videos and photos of you online would've been plenty. But then, you remembered Robin.

You had successfully wooed him, flirting with and lewdly touching him every chance you had, until he finally visited you in your room at night. All it took was a week of tender words, and it made you pity the poor man, but you found you didn't care too much as you grinned up at the owl plush on your wardrobe, right when Robin was busy staining your innards with his cum. The feeling of him inside you was revolting to some extent, but you had washed out his cum the moment Robin had fallen asleep. To your delight, Kylar was waiting for you outside the very next morning. He looked far from pleased, a distant look in his eyes, as he lifted up a long tube with something metallic shining within. You looked directly at him and bared your neck, eagerly accepting the tranq dart as it sunk into your flesh.

But, now that you were here, you couldn't help but find it a bit boring. The most entertainment you've gotten was Kylar's occasional visits and the nigh-constant rumbling above your head. For the past few hours, you've exclusively been humming the nonsensical tune Kylar had sung to you and fiddling with the rope tying you down. At this point, you would've settled for an awful soap opera on whatever old TV this decrepit manor still had lying around.

When Kylar came into the room next, you were already fully untied and just leisurely sitting in the chair, eyes closed and leg bouncing. "M-My love, d-did you not like the ropes? I-I'm sorry, b-but I put t-them on for a r-r-reason. Y-You'll run away if I d-don't keep you here." Kylar grit out, expression dark, as he stepped closer. He was probably on his way to tie you up again. Good. "Hm, but I didn't, did I?" You purred as he came up beside you, brushing a couple fingers up the length of his forearm, though you weren't too pleased to have his sweater between you and his skin. He paused, looking conflicted, and you took the opportunity to grab him and pull him onto your lap.

His face flushed a pretty red and he began to squirm, his hands grabbing onto yours as you kept his hips glued to yours. The clothes in your way would be off soon enough. You could be patient, just as you've been these past months. "A-Ah, d-did you want to do it that bad? I-I'm sorry, I haven't been a g-good boyfriend..." Kylar groaned as you grinded up against him, and the sound alone made you want to cum already. "What nonsense. You're the best I could ask for. Far too good for me." You murmured sweet platitudes as your hands slipped beneath his clothes. He shivered, and you began to rethink taking them all off. Maybe you'd just rip them where you needed to and let him keep the rest on—the room seems a bit cold for him.

He wriggled in your grasp against and you decided this was going to be a bad position to fuck him in, given he was already moving about like he was uncomfortable. So, naturally, you slid onto the floor below and carefully laid him down beneath you. Honestly, it might've been cleaner to fuck in a random alleyway, given the state of this room, but you weren't going to be picky all of a sudden. Your beloved was beneath you and waiting, legs and lips parted just for you, just like you wanted him to be. He leaned back up to take your lips in his, his tongue eager to explore your mouth as his hands ran across your back. You didn't even flinch when he tried to stick it down your throat, and gave him the same intense treatment.

You pulled your pants down and ripped a new hole in his at the same time, swallowing the bashful squeak he let out. You palmed him through his remaining underwear, your cock throbbing when you felt a pair of drenched folds through the thin fabric. You already knew he was trans, so it wasn't a surprise, but you truly had to thank whatever divine being made this man just so perfect. You wouldn't be able to count how many times you came just to the thought of getting to fuck a baby into your Kylar—because he would be yours if you put your kid inside him, right?

Kylar, to his wondrous credit, seemed to have a similar thought process. When he felt your fingers against his slick, he spread his legs even wider and shuddered erotically, only to pull away from your heavenly kiss. "Y-You should put it in. A-And not pull out, e-ever." He all but whispered the command, and you were more than happy to comply. You ripped another hole in the last remaining barrier and dug in with no further warning, relishing in the erotic yelp he gifted you, alongside all the other sounds he made as you began to thrust into him.

His insides were soft and gummy, massaging your cock as you slammed your hips against his. Any time he gripped onto you, you'd move in a particularly rough way, and if he whined, you left a new mark on his hardly exposed neck. He clung to you and didn't bother with keeping quiet, babbling all sorts of lewd things as he grinded up into your crotch at the peak of each thrust. At some point, you had to forcibly hold his hips still to keep him from accidentally shifting too far from you. It had the added bonus of giving you more leverage to ravage his cunt, though, so you were happy with the arrangement, even if Kylar cried about it.

Kylar came suddenly around you, soaking both your crotches with a thick cream, and you slowed for just a moment to give him some time to recuperate. When he began to whine again, you picked up the pace—drilling into him as fast as you could. As your own climax drew near, an unkind idea popped inside your head and made you pause. With a smirk, you slowly began to pull out of his swollen pussy, stopping only when Kylar's legs wrapped around the back of your hips and forced you to stay inside.

His face was still a delicious red, but his expression was dangerous. What a pretty boy. "C-Cum inside. N-Now." You chuckled at his cute attempt at being mean and happily resumed your gyrating, cumming with a drawn-out moan as you pushed your hips as deep into his as you could. "G-Good." Kylar hummed, clearly pleased with himself. You were far more pleased with yourself than he could've been, honestly. Hopefully after this he'd give you a tour around his house, and you could start planning on where the nursery would go.

the end >,o words : 1,742

[hyakunana]

A Steadfast Ally

Chapters: 1/1 (1408 words) Fandom: 仮面ライダーギーツ | Kamen Rider Geats Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Series: Part 1 of Geats Sponsor Swap AU

(Part 2)

(Part 0)

[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.

[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.

[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.

[sorrygotthesesacks]

Does size matter?

I mean, in this case, at least…

[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)

[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

[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)

[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

[artschooldemon]

Chapter 5 is coming along well

(I say with this most likely becoming one of the longest chapters I have written so far at nearly 6 pages and plenty more to come)