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qin-qin16 · 3 months ago

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cw.: Dream x Reader, hurt/comfort, gn!reader, reader has a bad coping mechanism, depressive thoughts, Dream is here to comfort you, he is just a sweet and good boy, comfort end, but the beginning is kinda angst…

note: I ask for suggestions and decide to write one of them! Thank you @emeraldhazeidentity for the ideas! And sorry for the delay!

Your body has always been at odds with itself, whether mentally or emotionally; this time, the problem was your feelings. They were vile and unwanted, creeping into your chest like rats and gnawing away any desire you normally had to get out of bed. And just like those rats, your body only huddled further into the nest that was your sheets on the mattress, a pile of shame and crumbs left from your last meal.

And even though you wanted to stop feeling all of this — this inadequacy at being competent in anything, the constant envy of never being among the best despite your efforts… All of this simply wore your body out, leaving it in a state of inactive exhaustion that began as mental fatigue and spread like a plague throughout.

However, it wasn’t because of your static figure or turbulent mind that you wanted to stop feeling all of this, no. It was because of Dream.

Oh Dream, he was a true angel sent from heaven into your life — and like any angel, you wanted him to stay untainted; your rotten feelings would only taint him, hurting his kind, golden soul. He had already suffered enough at the hands of others; you didn’t want to be just another person to take advantage of his kindness and heroic aura.

You didn’t deserve that — being wrapped in such warm energy — much less to be so selfish as to want Dream all to yourself, even though the thought of holding him in your arms during these lonely times was a recurring one.

No, a small voice at the back of your mind whispers, Remember what Ink said once? That anything negative could hurt Dream? This weak mindset of yours only draws more and more of those bad, toxic feelings towards him, and just like every time you found yourself hiding under the covers, the voice was right — was it your subconscious trying to bring some reason to you? Or was it just some kind of dissociation episode?

Truth be told, you didn’t care. That voice was usually right in the end, so why question its existence or purpose? Gradually, your fingertips grew numb, as if your body was sinking deeper into this spiral of feelings, while your chest felt so empty — a contradiction you had long stopped questioning.

Your mind goes blank from the sudden warmth resting on you, like a cozy blanket you didn’t realize you needed after covering yourself with all the ones on your bed.

The mattress dips slightly near your body; someone must have sat down next to you and probably covered you with an extra blanket. You flinch for a moment as you feel a gentle touch on your shoulder through the covers in a back-and-forth motion.

Someone calls your name, but it sounds so distant, muffled; as if softly guiding your mind back to your body.

“What happened, dear?” Oh, it’s him.

In a faint, flickering glow, your soul shimmers beneath your skin, casting a dim, cold light — and you can’t help but hear the soft, distant laughter coming from the other side of your hiding place.

“Oh, dear…” Dream, your cherished Dream, coos, momentarily pausing his gentle touch on your shoulder.

Close to your face, you see Dream’s fingers tentatively emerging from beneath the blanket, inching closer to you — until they lift the blanket just enough for Dream’s face to come into view, with a smile that, though small, radiated the light of the most beautiful stars you’ve ever seen.

"Hello, my darling." he whispers, sliding under the covers, "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

You don’t need to apologize for anything, but you can’t find the strength to say it; your body remains curled up, still numb from the deep sadness — even the presence of your angel wasn’t enough to chase away those dreadful feelings.

"I shouldn’t have left you alone." The hand that was holding the blanket over both of you moves to your face, gently caressing your cheek as the blanket falls over you two.

"I didn’t…" you start to speak, your throat tightening, "I didn’t mean to upset you." you finally admit.

Dream shushed you, leaning in slowly to press his face against yours in a tender gesture, "You could never upset me, never."

And then you feel that warmth again, the same warmth that had settled on you moments before — realizing that this gentle, comforting warmth was simply Dream’s presence close to you, wrapping your body in a warm embrace.

For a moment, you let yourself be carried away by the wave of tranquility that radiated from him, closing your eyes and feeling Dream relax even more against you — leaving a lingering kiss on your cheek before moving down to your jaw, placing another kiss before returning to his gentle nuzzle on your face.

“There’s a world out there waiting for you…” you murmur, hoping that his presence isn’t just a fleeting dream.

“The world can wait a bit longer.” he responds.

And as clichéd as it may sound, it was enough to bring a small smile back to your lips and to help your body finally emerge from its state of inertia. One of your hands strokes the back of Dream’s neck, drawing him closer into your tender embrace.

Maybe it was okay to be a little selfish and hold him in your arms for as long as you needed.

#dream sans #dream x reader #dream sans x reader #sans x reader #sans x yn #dreamtale #Undertale #sans #I FINALLY DID IT #divider by #@pommecita #qinqin stuff 💖

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visceravalentines · 8 months ago

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the driver

it turns out I am chewing on them every moment of every day. I'm sure this fic will permanently satisfy the hunger of course ✨🌷🙃

2.3k words. character study happy ending post-credits type beat where everyone lives and drives off into the sunset together. pre-slash but Randy is so down bad he doesn't know how to cope. nobody do the math on mileage or drive time I made it all up Minnesota isn't even real

They’re about 50 miles over the Missouri border when Benson asks him.

“You think you could drive, man?”

Randy looks at him sharply, not sure he heard him right. He must not have heard him right.

Benson glances over and his eyes are bloodshot beyond belief, the skin beneath them dark and hollow. His crow’s feet have multiplied. “I gotta sleep, Randy, or we’re gonna end up in a ditch.”

After a beat of careful consideration, Randy nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I could–I can drive.”

The car lurches to the right as Benson pulls over immediately, puts it in park and slumps in his seat. His head falls back against the headrest and he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fuck.”

Randy watches him with an intent he can feel but can’t parse, hasn’t been able to parse all day and the night before and the day before that. He stopped being scared, really scared, a while ago. Fear still gnaws at the edges of him, jittery and mean like rats in the walls, but it’s not the same.

He’s no longer afraid Benson might kill him. He’s afraid he might decide he doesn’t need him anymore. And those are different things.

Benson’s big hands drop into his lap. He stares blankly through the windshield at the half-set sun, exhausted.

Randy has the urge to touch him. To clap a hand on his shoulder, give it a little shake. He plays it out in his head. Yeah, man. I’ll drive for a while. Don’t worry about it. Get some rest.

His hands stay clasped between his thighs.

“Don’t really know where we’re goin’, so I guess you can just pick a direction,” Benson says. “Anywhere but back that way.” He shoots Randy a pointed look, but the point is dull and bleary.

Randy nods. “North. I got it.” You can trust me. I know that sounds like bullshit, but it’s not.

Benson pours out of the car like his bones are dissolving. He stretches mightily, arches his back and groans loudly, and Randy flinches and doesn’t know why.

He gets out and the breeze hits his face, smells a little like home and a little bit different. He gazes down the highway, tracks it all the way to where it disappears beyond a sun-washed hill. He’s never been this far north before, never been out of Louisiana except for a family reunion in Florida one time.

He wonders, for a second, if maybe they could see them all. All fifty states. Benson’s car might not make it that many miles. But it would be something. It would be cool.

“You sure you’re good?”

Randy turns, squints into the sun. Benson is lit from behind, face in shadow, but Randy can feel his eyes, the way they probe like fingers at his mouth, his neck.

“I’m good.”

Benson taps his fist against the roof of the car. “Super.”

They trade sides, cross paths in front of the bumper. Randy slides into the seat and it’s still warm from Benson’s body. He feels like he's sitting in his shadow. He's been wearing his shirt for two days now, the smell of stale cigarette smoke working itself into his skin. It's like he's being assimilated, wrapped in a cocoon of brash words and an army green jacket. He presses his spine against the backrest and folds his arms around himself without thinking about it.

Benson yanks open the door and snaps him out of it. He sits forward and feels under the seat for the lever to slide it up a few inches, touches something sticky, makes a face. Benson’s got longer legs than he does, even though they're about the same height. Benson is big in Randy's mind. Or maybe Randy is small. Does Benson think he's small?

Like he can read his mind, or thinks he can, Benson shoves his seat way back. “Jesus, Randy, you’re allowed to take up space,” he mutters as he pushes the backrest almost horizontal.

No one’s ever told him that before. Does Benson know no one’s told him that before?

“Don’t wreck my fucking car.”

“I won’t.”

“And don’t get pulled over.”

“I won’t.”

Benson nods once like a punctuation mark. “Good boy.”

Randy exhales heavily.

He buckles up, hesitates as he sets his hands on the wheel. Ten and two. He slides them together to meet at twelve, where Benson always grips the wheel with half a hand, pointing at things, eyes anywhere but the road, talking with his whole body. Then he slides them back to ten and two, at least for now. One thing at a time.

He signals before he pulls back onto the road even though there’s not another car in sight. He presses the gas gently, like he’s wiping a smudge off someone’s cheek. And just like that, they're back on their way.

Benson’s car is old as shit and runs like it’s doing him a favor. It takes Randy a minute to get used to it, the resistance of the pedals and the way the wheel is about as sensitive as the bottom of a work boot. He’s careful with it, not because it’s old or unreliable, but because it’s his. Because he’s trusting him with it.

He’s the driver now.

Benson moves in his periphery, fast and sudden like he does, and without meaning to Randy jerks, jerks the wheel. Benson gives him a look, reaching around for something in the backseat. “Sorry,” Randy mumbles.

“Just be cool,” Benson says with his jacket in his hands. He balls it up to use as a pillow, shifts around, settles in and shuts his eyes.

Be cool, Randy repeats to himself. Be cool, be cool.

“Are you…going to buckle your seatbelt?” he asks. He’s been waiting to ask. Now seems like the last opportune moment.

Benson opens his eyes and looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “What are you, a fuckin’ cop?”

Randy feels his face flush. He looks away. “Sorry. Do whatever you want.”

“You know if you slam on the brakes and I’m layin’ down like this I’m goin’ through the windshield, seatbelt or no.”

“Do whatever you want,” Randy says again. “I’m just…trying to be safe.”

Benson grabs the seatbelt, yanks it across his chest, clicks it into place with attitude. “Happy?”

Randy glances at him and away, almost smiles in spite of himself. Yeah. “Yeah.” For once, he thinks he might really mean it.

Benson grumbles and closes his eyes. He fidgets for a while, bullies the jacket into a different shape, but soon he falls still and quiet. Randy figures he has nothing left in the tank after the events of the last thirty-six hours, nothing more to give to Randy or anybody else.

He drives like the backseat is full of fine china, nice and easy, until Benson starts to snore. It's a cute snore, kind of nasally and pitched higher than his voice. He slams the door on that thought the moment it arrives, shoos it away and casts a guilty look over at Benson.

He’s never seen him look so at peace. There's a tension missing from his face, a furrow between his brows that Randy only registers in its absence. He wonders if he has nightmares like Randy has nightmares. Probably. Probably worse. But there’s no sign of them now; he’s too wiped out.

Now that he’s not waving a gun around and yelling, he resembles the old Benson. The guy who greeted him at the start of each shift with a casual wave and nothing to say. The man who moved like he was in a dream, seemed checked out completely until you caught his eye and realized he hadn't missed a second of what was going on around him. Not even the little things. Not even Randy.

As the miles wear on, he wonders which Benson is more real, the quiet one or the loud one. Maybe they’re two sides of the same coin. Maybe everyone has someone else inside of them, raw and bright, harder to swallow. Randy always figured he was the only one slumming around with that particular burden–the monster of his guilt, his anger, feelings too big to unbottle lest they rip him in half–but maybe he was wrong. He's been wrong a lot the last couple days.

It doesn’t probably matter which is more real because he likes them both: the Benson who once followed him out the back door under the guise of a smoke break to make sure he was okay after a particularly egregious run-in with Chris, and the Benson who beat the shit out of his own personal boogeyman in the parking lot of an elementary school until his hands bled. Randy understands both of them. Feels a connection to both of them. Knows he can count on both of them when it matters.

Randy leans back and feels it then, feels it all, the world shrinking behind them, the past pinned to it like a poster on a corkboard, the dying sun to his left and the man on his right and Benson’s fingerprints worn into the leather of the steering wheel. And it's exhilarating, it's amazing. It's freedom and possibility. Hope, even.

And he desperately, deep in his bones, wants to be someone Benson can count on. When it matters or doesn't. He knows he isn’t a fighter or a talker, but he cares. He cares so fucking much sometimes he wants to bite through his own tongue. Maybe that could be worth something. For the first time, sitting in the driver's seat on the run from the law, he thinks maybe that might be enough. He might be enough.

He has Benson to thank for that, too.

He hasn't felt like this since he was a kid. Maybe ever. Light. Free. The way the highway unfolds in front of him forever makes him feel like maybe he could fly. He kind of wishes it would rain and he can't say why. Only that he wants the air to smell like wet asphalt, like dirt.

And he wants to thank Benson. He doesn’t think he can, like, he can’t just say it. Thanks for killing all those people. It really opened my eyes. Thanks for scaring me shitless, I needed that. No way. He’s gotta be cool. Find some other way.

He reads the names of towns he’s never heard of on the highway sign. They’ll have to stop somewhere eventually, right? Get a motel room or something. Benson deserves to sleep in a real bed. Randy would love to sleep in a real bed. Probably they’ve got to lay low a little while longer. Probably two states north isn’t far enough.

Benson drives like a grandma. Randy hasn’t said anything, but he figures they could be at least to the border of Iowa by now if Benson wasn’t so hung up on driving three miles under the speed limit and calling it “flying under the radar,” even as cars peeled by them on all sides.

But he’s the driver now.

He realizes this is something he can do. A way to repay him, just a little bit. Randy didn’t get them into this mess, not exactly, but he can get them far, far away from it. Safety, serenity. A place where no one knows their faces. He can find that for Benson. He can take him there. He can make sure he wakes up somewhere better than the shithole behind them.

He eases his foot down on the gas, coaxes the needle on the speedometer up and over 80. The car huffs a protest, but it obeys.

Good boy, he thinks, and he smiles.

Benson stirs just after they leave Iowa. It’s still dark out, but the horizon is starting to bleed pink. He sits up slowly, stretches, nearly elbows Randy in the face. “Fuck,” he groans, “what time is it?”

“Breakfast time, almost,” Randy says. “Just looking for somewhere to stop.”

Benson blinks around the sleep in his eyes, peers through the window into the dark rushing by. “Where are we?”

“Wisconsin. Or maybe Minnesota. I’m not…a hundred percent sure.”

Benson furrows his brow. “Jesus Christ, Randy. You break the fuckin' sound barrier?”

“No,” Randy says calmly. “Everyone speeds on the interstate. You just keep an eye on it, it's fine.”

Benson gives him a long look and for a second, Randy thinks he might be mad. But then he breaks into a grin, chuckles, shakes his head and stretches again. His shirt rides up and in the dark of the dawn Randy can just make out the triangle of hair on his stomach. He bites his cheek.

“Speed Demon Bradley. Who’d’ve thought.” Benson yanks the backrest up, sits back and looks out with fresh eyes on new scenery. “You got a destination in mind, captain?”

Randy does. Has for the last few hundred miles. “Yeah. I was thinking…maybe Lake Superior?”

“What's so superior about it?”

“I don't know, it's…really big. Like…huge. I just thought…it would probably be pretty. I’d–I’d like to see it.” With you. I'd like you to be there too.

He glances over and Benson is staring at him with an odd look on his face.

“...what?” Randy says.

Benson starts nodding, frowning thoughtfully, then reaches over and thumps Randy on the chest. “Then let's go see it.”

The impact echoes through his heart and lungs. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah. Randy makin’ decisions.” Benson claps his hands once, loud. “I like it. You wanna go see some big fuckin’ lake? I'm all for it.”

Randy fights a grin and doesn't know why, so he stops, lets it come, feels the stretch of it across his face. “Cool.”

Randy looks over and thinks he’s beautiful. Bloody knuckles, bad attitude, and all. He lets that thought linger for one, two, three seconds before it blows out the window like a wayward receipt.

“Cool.”

Benson rolls down the window and sticks his head out like a dog. The air whipping into the car smells nothing like home. His hair blows back and he squints into the wind, the early sun kissing his cheeks pink.

“I can take over,” Benson offers over his shoulder. “I’m guessin' you need a break.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Randy squeezes his hands on the wheel at ten and two. “I got it. I'm good.”

And he really means it.

#the passenger #the passenger 2023 #randy bradley #benson the passenger #the passenger 2023 fanfiction

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housewarningparty · 2 days ago

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in mourning tat my saturday ritual is over so dropping by to share random lore about the current lol/lor version of Vi (shes pathetic) to cope further:

genuinely kind of a fucking loser LMFAO. she has a dig she makes at jayce being a lab rat in the cardgame, and he basically just counters being like "WOW YOU FINALLY GOT A FUCKING JOB HUH"

theres a little yordle dude, veteran investigator, in lor whose lines basically indicate that one of his job roles is "try to get vi to actually do her work and keep her out of trouble". he literally threatens to report her to caitlyn if she keeps fucking around and vi is just like 'but sheriff cupcake cant be mad at me!!!' in that 'im just a little guy' tone

she immediately gets mad when another enforcer card is like "i have orders for you from the sheriff". god forbid her girlfriend make her actually do her job

one of her 'entering the field' lines in lor is from league ("im doing this my way"). cait, if on the field already, responds with the most exasperated "WE are doing this OUR way" like. she is sooo over her shit

any time jinx is played on either enemy or ally side, she gets so angry its so funny. shes so pissed her sister is there she is sooo annoyed. patrol warden is another enforcer card (where jinx has clearly vandalized their splash art) and when they tell vi there's been a vandalism at the docks, shes SO MAD because its jinx ("WHY THAT LITTLE-").

to say nothing of her "EVERYTHING REMINDS ME OF HERRR (eats cupcakes on the ground sobbing)" joke line they added in her brawler skin in lol. she is such a fucking loser. my god

like, modern Game Vi has the exact same energy as "your lesbian friend's loser GF who she very graciously gets a job at the same place as her, except now half of her time is spent trying to keep her GF from getting fired." she has all the energy of 'im just here bc my gf is here and sometimes i get to punch bad guys.' its such a funny direction for her that shes absolutely not good at anything besides the punching part of her job (and the repariing hextech per her old lore, but thats it). im coping so hard right now im coping im coping i love Vi LegOfLeg

This is so funny, I love all of this. Arcane Vi is such a lightning rod for torture and despair which is certainly entertaining in its own way but this also seems like such her vibe. She deserves to be a hot slacker trophy butch for Caitlyn that everyone else puts up with and/or mildly resents bc of the obvious favoritism going on

Also "WE are doing this OUR way" is so fucking funny.

#hi stag i missed u stag ive been loving your league posting stag ❤️❤️❤️

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overandunderland · 9 months ago

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"Look at the color of his skin Clawfang, dark and rich! You know what they say about the taste of those from above?"

Owen's mind reeled, not just at the danger he faced but also at the Rat's casual bigotry. It was absurd and terrifying all at once, a nightmare conversation he never could have imagined.

"True, Snarltooth. A rare delicacy this one." Clawfang agreed–his yellow teeth bared in a grotesque grin.

"–We should eat quickly though, can't risk more of his kind coming after us."

Greetings Overlanders!

What's up y'all, W.P.P here, (He/Him) and I'm currently looking for Beta Readers/Editors/Fans of The Underland Chronicles by Suzanne Collins. To read/engage with and possibly even shoot some feedback on My Fan Novel/Fic.

It's a canon compliant Sequel-Boot of sorts and follows after Code Of Claw.

Ok, pretty cover but what is it about?

Three years (gotta get our boys in that Classic High school setting huh?) After The War of Bane. Fragile peace exists in the Underland. But as is The Underland, one knows peace never lasts. Especially built on deception. When a conspiracy is exposed and the ghosts of beliefs thought lost to Time pervert the ideas of coexistince. Prophecy calls yet again for its Salvation. When you ignore and attempt to reject fate, it tends to mess back. Now, calling for The Seeker. A being who's destiny is forever tied to Bartholomew's hand of war and tribulation, to return The Warrior to The Underland, to save the realm together. However, there maybe key players, manipulating destiny from the shadows. One that will change Gregor's entire view of Prophecy, Regalia and Owen's life forever.

Woah, OC Alert 🚨 Who's Owen?

Here comes the ✨Boy✨ 🎹

Meet you: Owen. "The Seeker"

15 year old Bronx native. A boxer, thanks to his dad. And quite the cook, thanks to his mother. It was their deaths, and the way the police handled them, that killed any respect for authority the boy had left. Owen is a resilient and resourceful teenager thrust into the extraordinary world of the Underland, where he faces trials that challenge his courage and determination. Despite his initial reluctance, Owen demonstrates a strong sense of compassion for others and a willingness to confront his fears head-on, although it takes him A MINUTE to get there. He possesses a sharp wit and a penchant for sarcasm, which often serves as a coping mechanism in the face of adversity. He's also 🏳️‍🌈 Queer 🏳️‍🌈.

let's talk Virtues and Vices?

Determination: Owen demonstrates a strong sense of determination, as evidenced by his resolve to survive and navigate the challenges presented to him in the Underland.

Courage: Despite facing daunting and unfamiliar situations, Owen exhibits courage by confronting his fears and taking action to protect himself and others. Albeit not without some coercing.

Compassion: Owen shows compassion towards others, such as when he expresses concern for the citizens of Regalia and reflects on the consequences of his actions on innocent lives.

Adaptability: Owen demonstrates adaptability by adjusting to his surroundings and learning to navigate the unfamiliar environment of the Underland.

And his vices?

Impulsiveness: Owen's impulsiveness is hinted at through his sarcastic remarks and tendency to act without fully considering the consequences of his actions. This impulsiveness could potentially lead him into trouble or exacerbate conflicts. It is this that sets off the entire Prophecy to begin with.

Self-Doubt: At times, Owen exhibits self-doubt, particularly when he questions his ability to fulfill the expectations placed upon him or doubts his capacity to make a difference in the face of overwhelming challenges.

Guilt: Owen struggles with feelings of guilt, especially regarding the unintended consequences of his actions, such as the destruction of the Prophecy of Time in the Underland. The source of his guilt extends from not being in the car when his parents died. Survivors guilt.

Owen definitely suffers from bouts of Imposter Syndrome and feelings of inadequacy, especially when comparing his experiences to Gregor's.

Oh God, it's not OC X Canon, is it?

Hey now! I'm not throwing any shade at OC X Canon shippers, I have a few ships in other fandoms that are essentially that. But no, Gregor & Luxa's Relationship while will be rocky in it's rekindling, are endgame. Also Gregor isn't remotely Owens type. No, Owen will have his own Underlander romantic interest. In fact, Meet you:

Aiden: Luxa's personal guard, Archer, confidant, and best friend.

16, (what the hell are they feeding them nowadays down there, he's a brick house.) Aiden is Queen Luxa's personal body guard and closest friend. During the years after The War of Bane. When he discovers his family had planned a coup d'etat against the royal family, including catching his father about to kill Luxa, he draws his bow, taking his life and testifying against his family's quest for power. He's jailed for a time before Lord Vikus takes him in admiring his loyalty to the current crown and grooms him to protect Luxa, and to be there for her for when he eventually passes. He's arrogant, showboaty at times, and abrasive, especially when it comes to The Overland Boys. More specifically "The Mouthy Imp" known to him as Owen. He and Luxa are fairly close, to where rumors amongst Regalian council, and teen girls, are suggesting they are to be wed. Yeah, good luck with that ladies. 💅🏽

Oh so he's like Henry?

Some pretty decent comparisons and contrasting elements can be made between the two of them.

Both of them are/Were close to Luxa

Both of them can be described as Arrogant.

Both of them technically betrayed their families and believed they did so for a good reason.

Where as Henry was desperate for power, Aidens only motivation is to maintain peace for the Royal family and the Kingdom Of Regalia.

Personally, I don't believe Henry came up with his idea of Allying with King Gorger on his own. Nor do I think he's the only one after him who thinks that way. Listening to the Return to Regalia Podcast has helped provide some really dope questions about the landscape, geopolitical or otherwise, that are like alluded to, but never really expanded upon. That I wanna use this book to answer. Oona and the Gang have been a godsend for fic writers who are fans of the series.

If *insert character* isn't in it, I'm not reading it. 🤬

Guys, Of course Ripred is gonna be in the bo- Look, it's Canon Compliant alright 😅. Ive been listening to the series on Audiobook on loop for the last few weeks as I've been writing. I want to make sure I'm not misunderstanding each characters voices, and how they think and speak. Remembering who was where when this or that happened. But Let's discuss some returning characters!

Boots: Now 6 years old, Boots has become quite the little person! Her affinity for taking animals hasnt gone anywhere, her most recent hyper fixation being a show about Australian talking dogs. A show Gregor has to admit, has it's moments.

Temp: The gangs back together! Thanks to his association with The Princess, Temp has become highly regarded amongst Crawlers. You and Boots will love the Set piece the Crawlers built in her honor.

Hazard: Now as old as Gregor was when he first arrived, The Halflander has been elevated to a role of diplomacy and interpretor liaison for dialogue between Underland Inhabitants. He carries a sword, for defensive combat. A sign of unavoidable circumstances, even with his fathers dying wish. A rebellious streak may in fact land him in potentially fatal trouble.

Howard:Luxa's Cousin and medical prodigy, makes him one of the most skilled Healers of all in Regalia. He's made it a personal mission to learn to Heal every species known to them in the Underland. As of late, he finds himself frequenting visits and courting with one of Regalias nanny's in the Nursery.

Dulcet: Dulcet is one of the nannies that works in Regalia's palace. She was the one that took care of Gregor's sister, Boots whenever they came to the Underland. She was one of Gregor's favorite Regalians. Sweet but embarrasses easily. Nowadays, especially around a certain Regalian healer. She isn't too sure, but he's been quite sweet to her as of late.

Mareth: Mareth has a good heart. He never stopped caring for those under his protection, and even for those that weren't. After his leg was removed, he still maintains his humor and kindness. He'll stick knock you out if you wild out too much. He and Perdita saw Aiden's training through in it's entirety. He's moved emotionally to see Gregor Return, however bittersweet it may be. Designated to be a bit more hands off, he still finds time to train the young soldiers of Regalia. His improved prosthetic affords much more mobility since his last interaction with Gregor.

Luxa: Hardened by her assassination attempt, the loss of her family and Gregor. Luxa is finally approaching the full cusps of uncontested power in Regalia. Her actions such as memorializing a controversial figure, as well as her Bond with Ripred has caused much dissenting opinions amongst factions of power in Regalia. There is a particular fear from her grandfather that she may be doomed to repeat history. Will Gregors return, spawn a change in Luxa? And is it safe to even find out?

The rest of Gregor's Family also make an appearance! Lizzie, Grace and Gregor's Dad. (Going with Dr.Elliot/Eli for short) all come back and influence the story in some Capacity.

Why is Gregor White/White Passing?

Gonna level with y'all, I didn't really know about Tumblr like that. I'm a mixed race poc myself, and definitely lack Eurocentric features. I just was honestly basing his look off of what I've seen in the covers and alt editions of the series. Hell, Homie is even BLONDE in the Russian edition. Me and my partner also are a little too far into the story to match him up with the Headcanon of Tumblr. That being said, I do love POC Gregor, and will be maintaining that his dad is a person of color as well. Just have Gregor as yt passing presenting. It could also provide a bit of conflict between He and Owen. As Gregor's first descent is a lot more welcoming, Than what Owen goes through his first time down, starting from his initial fall.

So do The Warrior & The Seeker immediately hit it off?

Yeaaaaahhhhhhh-no. Wouldn't be much of a story if the two became immediate besties. I couldn't imagine being too thrilled with the guy who's fault it is that you're even in this mess at all. Now who exactly I mean by that is what makes it fun. They need each other to make it through the quest. Over time however, they learn about each other, and how they can truly help one another. Eventually becoming close as their journey reaches its end and inklings of a new ones raises it's head. That being said, when he learns of Gregor and Luxa's relationship, or their past together. Is full team Gregor and Luxa. With Owens dating pool being non existent above and below (so he thinks) ground. He becomes invested in the possibility of Love blossoming at all, mostly to see Luxa pull the stick from out- know what, it's better to read it.

But the video though, what's that about?

For Nostalgia sake, as well as Accessibility reasons, I've been screening several actors and VA actors who would be down to do an audiobook! So it will be releasing as audiobook as well!

Hobbies aren't cheap but I love the series so much that I don't see why not 🤷🏽. I fell in love with the audiobooks so it'd be pretty cool to see it again.

In the same manner as Star Wars novels, where not every book is written by the same author-

I want readers to feel as if the baton was passed from Suzanne to yours truly 😅.

So Overlanders! Fans! If you're looking to beta read, I'm looking for Beta Readers ✨

Hope to hear from you all!

Fly you high! 🦇

Breezy Edit: Hey y'all, it's Breezy again, Just want to let y'all know, according to some of y'all what we're looking for are "alpha" readers. But beta readers still apply 🫰🏽💙

#gregor the overlander #the underland chronicles #return to regalia #ripred the gnawer #ripred the rat #ares the flier #fanfic #underland #Gregor #suzanne collins

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artemisia-black · 2 months ago

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i'm not entirely sure if you have talked about this before (if so i'm very sorry!), but what would you consider the (long term) after-effects of Azkaban on Sirius and how would he go about dealing with those?

Also kind of related but not really related: if Sirius had lived, do you think he would have picked up responsibilities connected to the Black family eventually?

There’s no need to apologise - even if this had been a repeat ask♥️I love getting asks (legit my favourite part of being on this hellsite). I only get annoyed when people are rude.

I see trauma as the key after-effect of Azkaban. Over a decade of isolation, constantly surrounded by Dementors, is literally designed to be soul-destroying. He’d be dealing with intense PTSD—flashbacks, hypervigilance, probably nightmares—and an underlying sense of dread that never really leaves him. He’d also carry a deep sense of guilt and helplessness, especially over not being able to protect Harry or save James and Lily. That guilt would be ever-present.

On top of that, he’s missed not only his 20s but almost half his 30s—those crucial years where we typically start to find ourselves, process our childhoods, and become truly comfortable in our own skin through our life experiences. He’s missed the chance to build a career, develop hobbies, and create that circle of friends and acquaintances that most people develop during this time.

He would try to cope by staying active, throwing himself into the fight against Voldemort and focusing on protecting Harry.

Plus, he’s so self-sacrificing that he’s literally out there eating rats for Harry (which, let’s face it, is not a balanced diet). A huge part of him wouldn’t want to dwell on himself, preferring to put others and the cause first.

As for picking up responsibilities connected to the Black family if he had lived, I don’t see him carrying on their legacy, but if there’s access to political office, I can see him using his influence to combat some of Voldy’s laws. I can picture him stepping into roles where he could dismantle the very structures his family stood for. He wouldn’t embrace the Black legacy, but he’d definitely weaponise it for the causes he believed in.

#sirius black

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deedala · 11 months ago

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🎇 Happy New Year Friends!! 🎇

From the Diary of Virginia Woolf: January 2, 1931: Here are my resolutions for the next 3 months; the next lap of the year. To have none. Not to be tied. To be free & kindly with myself, not goading it to parties: to sit rather privately reading in the studio. Sometimes to read, sometimes not to read. To go out yes—but stay at home in spite of being asked. As for clothes, to buy good ones.

For today's return to WTW, i thought it might be fun to celebrate the ways in which we survive and manage to find peace and happiness in our one precious life here on Earth. And so...

-----------------------------------

✨W e e k l y 🌟 T a g 🌟 W e d n e s d a y✨

Name: Deanna 🌱

Location: oHIo🌽

Astrological Sign: Scorpio 🦂

What's a TV show or movie you plan to re-watch this year? obvi i'm in a constant state of re-watching shameless but otherwise right now im thinking maybe some bob's burgers, some futurama, austenland...

Whats a book or fic you will probably re-read this year? ooohh you know...the usual suspects tbh: cooperative gameplay, itqd, faffy, love is a ballfield, none the wiser, the menagerie... AND...*IF* DA4 is gonna actually come out soon I'll probably re-read my fav stories from Tevinter Nights!!!

What is a song you will likely continue to play on repeat? uuhh right now its still chappell roan's whole album and hozier's unreal unearth. im sorry for cheating on my own question and basically naming like 30 songs lol

What's a tasty treat you look forward to eating more of this year? i dont think i managed to eat enough chocolate chip cookies last year, i should eat more. also i haven't had an andes mint in forever??? need some of those STAT. oh my god i totally missed out on girl scout cookies last year too!!!

What's a time sink that you will continue to sink time into this year? scrolling tumblr ofc!!!

Did you pick up any habits in 2023 that you plan to continue? not really?? maybe kind of reblogging my own posts more and trying not to feel bad about it??

What's your toxic trait? leaving petty little thoughts in my friends DMs while they're sleeping 😛

What is a coping mechanism you will continue to indulge in this year? ✨disassociation✨

Tell me something you like about how you look! my skin has been pretty nice lately, good job skin. (do you guys remember that old vine of the broken toy that would just say "sssskkiiiiinnnn" when squeezed?? i remember lolol)

Give me at least three adjectives describing things you like about yourself. loyal, generous, thoughtful

----------------------------------- Now for tagging nuggets: additionally I want to thank @mybrainismelted and @jrooc for helping me with this post!! @michellemisfit @mmmichyyy @darlingian @too-schoolforcool @juliakayyy @gardenerian @heymrspatel @heymacy @gallawitchxx @metalheadmickey @mickeysgaymom @thisdivorce @transmickey @tanktopgallavich @lingy910y @suchagallabitch @shippergirl121fic @the-rat-wins @thepupperino @energievie @callivich @lee-ow @purplemagpie @sleepyfacetoughguy @softmick @vintagelacerosette @sam-loves-seb @crossmydna @creepkinginc @suzy-queued @rereadanon @iansw0rld @milkmaidovich @sickness-health-all-that-shit @palepinkgoat @auds-and-evens @ardent-fox 💖

#weekly tag wednesday #tag game

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jaylienpotter · 1 year ago

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Peter Pettigrew headcanons!!

Has heterochromia, one eye brown and another green, big round eyeshape

Sandy blond hair

Round chubby face, plus sized, the shortest out of all the boys (including the Slytherin Skittles)

Gets some freckles during the summer

Has a gap tooth and button nose

Had a lot of acne in his early teenage years but stopped drinking milk and his skin got a lot better, eventually very soft (apparently he was lactose intolerant)

Bites his nails since he was a kid

Eats as a coping mechanism for his (somewhat high) anxiety

Had body issues for a while but through talking about it to Lily, both of them learned to love who they are and how they look, as well as to be kind to themselves

Asexual and in the aromantic spectrum (completely aro and repulsed by romance / demiromantic who had a crush on James and then on Benjamin Fenwick, depending on the fic)

Has no patience for the stupidity of his friends (yet does nothing to help the situation, finding it entertaining) but is very patient with their struggles

During pranks, he's usually the distraction or lookout, since he's very attentive and sneaky, able to go anywhere unnoticed as a rat animagus

Knows everything that happens in that castle. E v e r y t h i n g

Detail-oriented

Gossips a lot with the girls (especially Mary)

Never loses a bet, nor a game of chess

Smarter than people think, he's simply uninterested in academics and dyslexic

Comics enthusiast, has a collection (favourites are Marvel)

Funniest of the Marauders

Plant dad, his favourite subjects are Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures

Friends with Prof. Sprout and Hagrid

Has a love for frogs, gets a toad during Hogwarts

Terrible alcohol tolerance and gets awful hangovers (usually involves puking), always says he'll never drink again and never goes through with it

Despises the smell of tobacco

James's neighbour and childhood friend, looks up to him

Will let others step over him yet jumps ahead to defend Remus or Sirius if they're getting made fun of or insulted

Hates horror movies that are unrealistic, pays more attention to the characters' dumb bad choices than the scary parts (will complain about it)

Has an okay relationship with his parents however claims they're overprotective

Gets along with his sister even though she's a squib (will fight anyone who speaks badly of her)

#peter pettigrew #peter pettigrew headcanons #marauders hc #marauders headcanon #marauders era #the marauders #marauders fandom #marauders #harry potter marauders #dead gay wizards #dead gay wizards from the 70s

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sandcobangevent · 26 days ago

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The Whole of the Moon

by rabid'n'cheese and @ratinavan

Being a lycanthrope in the war was rather… unique. Both in terms of being rare and also not at all a simple feat. The origins of the ‘disease’ were said to have spawned sometime around Ancient Rome, most likely deriving from the myth of Romulus and Remus. From there, it slowly spread throughout the globe, making its way to the United Kingdom just before the Black Plague hit in the mid-1300s. During that time, it was believed that Lycans were just another animal capable of spreading the plague - similar to the beliefs of rats, cats, and dogs. This caused the culling and ostracisation of Lycans in most major cities, forcing them to seek shelter in the north and other countryside towns. Due to the thinning of their numbers, it is now far rarer to meet a full Lycan in the modern day - even if you did, they may not disclose it to you.

The superstition around Lycans had not entirely faded from modern beliefs, causing somewhat of a stigma to form around them; ‘Dirty, unhygienic, and aggressive’ was the most popular opinion. The one thing that the media never seemed to get right though was which parts of the wolf mentality would transfer over into the human body, and how little of the human mind would be lost when in lupine form.

Doctor John Watson was many things (a medic, a soldier, a son) but, currently, he was a rather large dusky-blond wolf stalking the perimeter of his regiment's camp. He knew how to be kind, he knew how to behave like a normal human and, most importantly, he knew how important it was that he protected his brothers in arms - his ‘pack�� . They had accepted him despite his differences, which was more than he could say for almost anyone back at home. The only notable exception was Stamford ( ‘Stammo’ as he insisted his friends call him), and yet that was only because his cousins were also Lycans. Still, better than nothing John supposed. Being an only child with a single mum was never going to be easy, but this was only made more evident when his father - Harry Watson - was KIA. His dad was his only full-Lycan relative and he was killed before he could ever teach John how to cope with the other half of himself.

Lycan heritage worked like any other phenotype, John presumed. Two Lycans would have a child that was also a full Lycan; A Lycan and a human would have a half-Lycan, and the chance of producing a full Lycan just deteriorated. The primary difference between a Lycan and a half-Lycan was the transformation. Half-Lycans got it significantly easier - only gaining the enhanced senses and heightened aggression levels on full moons - whereas Lycans went through the shift to lupine form. This process could be delayed or mitigated so that no physical change would occur, but this was only possible for a couple of months before a forced shift would take place.

John hadn’t missed a shift since he was young, the first full moon without his dad. It was always a bonding activity for them and doing it without him felt wrong and made his skin crawl. The wolf mourned for the loss of their father, but John would not let himself shift. It wasn’t until around three cycles later when young John was taken ill in the run-up to the full moon; a fever, a cough, and the worst muscle cramps he had ever dealt with. By the time the moon began to rise, John seriously considered asking his mum to take him to the hospital. Before he could crawl his way out of bed, he felt it: the slow grinding shifting of his skeleton trying to rearrange itself inside of his skin. The transformation . He tried his best to stop it, to hold it back, but he had prolonged the wait for too long already and the wolf wanted out .

So lost in reminiscing, John had failed to sense the presence approaching him until a cold hand fell upon his flank. In an instant he spun to meet the threat - teeth bared and hackles raised, ready to pounce until the sight of a familiar uniform caught his eye.

“Woah, woah, Watson! Sorry to startle you mate, but it's the end of your watch.” One of John's comrades, of course, who else would it be? He dipped his head low and butted against the man's thigh in apology before trotting back off to his tent. ‘Not a great look for you mate, snapping at your team.’ John thought to himself as he padded onto his cot, ‘You don’t want to give them any more reasons not to trust you.’

As the dew shone on the grass and a low fog settled in the air come morning, the regiment began to move out. John was left scrambling to get his kit back on whilst only half awake from the previous night. ‘God,’ he thought, ‘I really am getting too old to be doing this shit all the time.’ A sentiment he had held since the first time he shifted during deployment. The toll that the shift took on a Lycan’s body could take them anywhere from a couple of hours to a couple of weeks to recover from. For John, it mainly resulted in bad muscle aches which were easily able to be brushed off as general army strain.

The explosion was true devastation. Pain. Blinding pain shot through every limb. The wolf screamed along with him. Somebody help them. Please. Help him.

When John awoke an unknown amount of time later, it was to the clinical sounds, smells, and sights of a hospital. With how raw all of his senses were, it was overwhelming. He struggled to hold down the bile that was trying to creep up through his throat. He had always hated going to hospitals, not because he was ‘too tough’ to get treated - his dad had taught him better than that - but because of the sheer overstimulation they caused him with his heightened senses. The lights were too bright and they buzzed; everything smelt of bleach; alarms were going off everywhere all the time and never in harmony. You might wonder why he became a doctor if hospitals affected John so violently. Well, for one, army and field hospitals are infinitely less overstimulating. Far less equipment means far less noise, and there’s not much you can do to sanitise a war ground, especially not bleaching the floors. The primary reason, though, was John’s inability to stand by and watch others get hurt. He was a very empathetic man and it showed in his actions.

The next couple of months whilst John recovered were horrific. Not only was he in pain from the injuries, but he was also honourably discharged from the army, he had to deal with the nurses and their endless pitying gazes, his long-time girlfriend broke it off with him, and all of this whilst repressing the urge to shift in a bloody hospital. To say John Watson was stressed was an understatement of grand proportions.

When the day came that he was finally released from the hospital, a whole new wave of issues came to the forefront. Now that he was single, he was no longer living with his ex, meaning he needed to find somewhere to stay and fast . The other thing on his mind was that John Watson, ex-captain of the Northumberland Fusiliers, was in desperate need of a pint. All of this stress had been piling up for almost three months at this point and the only cure was going to be a pint or three down at the Volunteer - doctor’s orders (it’s him. He’s the doctor. It’s his orders).

As he entered the pub, John was hit with a wall of noise - ‘The footie must be on…’ he thought, ‘wonder if it’s Swindon.’ His lack of usual enthusiasm over his favourite team could most likely be attributed to having spent the past however long in Ukraine, followed by being blown up, followed by three mind-numbing months in the hospital. However, just as he was scouting for somewhere to sit, a pair of eyes locked with him and a booming voice met his ears with an excitable “Watson!”

Stammo, right there in the flesh, just as he was about to resort to drinking his solace away. “Ayy, Stammo! What’re you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? Mate, what’re you doing here? I thought you were off fighting in Ukraine?” Stammo pushed his way over and clapped John on the shoulder. It hurt, but he managed to not let it show too badly.

John really didn’t want to rehash any of the past few months, “Well, I’m not anymore, walking wounded nowadays. Currently crashing on Lukas’ couch but I’d much rather find a place to stay on an Army pension - a cheap flashare or something, but it’s turning out to be impossible. Plus, y’know, I’ve got more than enough reasons for people to not want me as a flatmate.”

“Oh really? Actually, mate, you’re the second person to say that to me today; I reckon you two might be perfect for flatmates,” he says casually as if he hadn’t just dropped a massive bomb on John’s head. Well, at least this one wasn’t real…

“What? Like, another…” John gives Stamford a look, being a Lycan is still not really something you want to admit to, especially not in a pub.

“Well… Why don’t you meet him, c’mon, I’ll take you there.” Little did John know that this would be the starting point for a whole new him.

“Sherls?” John shouted across the flat. It’d been almost a whole month since 221B had become his new home and John had never been happier. Not only did he gain two new friends in Sherlock and Mariana, but he also had a safe place to live and a new job that he loved. Currently, John was harassing Sherlock to get ready as they were supposed to be heading out to the moors - investigating a so-called ‘hound’ in the middle of the night during the cold winter was not exactly something John was looking forward to, but this was going to pay their bills for months.

“I’m not going, Watson. This case is not worth our time, especially not for your podcast.” The detective was sprawled across the sofa under his weighted blanket looking rather reminiscent of a sickly Victorian child. Sherlock had been rather unimpressed with this case since its conception. ‘Why would we go all that way, Watson, when it is simply the delusions of a man.’ John thought that sounded rather insensitive, but Sherlock never had been one to save face over opinions.

“C’mon Sherls, if it’s really that simple, we won’t even have to spend the night.” He had wandered back into their sitting room, attempting to bodily move the limp detective from his nest. “I don’t particularly want to go either, but we can’t leave a man in that state without even trying to help him.” John’s legs had been aching throughout the past couple of days, and he thought he might have been coming down with a fever that morning but it seemed to have passed.

“You care far too much for your own good, Watson.” Ouch. That hurt. But he wasn’t wrong. “Fine, we’ll go, just so it can clear your conscience. Don’t expect anything too interesting, if I were you, I wouldn’t even bring the mic.” Well, it was as good as he was going to get. John hummed in agreement and went back to trying to get his shoes on without hurting his legs any more than they already were.

“Why are you so insistent that we go if you’re clearly in pain? Aren’t you always the one making sure I don’t exacerbate any injuries?” Any hope of hiding these things from the detective truly was futile. Some small wince or twitch of his facial muscles must have given him away.

“Because, Sherlock, all I have is some sore muscles - practically nothing compared to the stress-induced frenzy that Henry was in when we were introduced.” With slightly more effort than was usually needed, John rose from tying his shoes and headed for the door. “Now c’mon, Sherls, we’ve got a train to catch!”

As much as John didn’t want to admit it, Sherlock may have been right when he said not to bother with this case; it had been nothing but dull so far. Now, despite the setting sun, they were both still out following Mr Baskerville around his estate as he pointed out the prints of what looked to be any large dog.

“Do you have a groundskeeper, Mr Baskerville?” Sherlock probed, although considering he had his ear defenders on, he most likely wouldn’t hear the reply.

“Just- Just Henry’s fine, Mr Holmes.” The poor man had been trying to convince Sherlock to call him Henry pretty much since we arrived at his front door. Not sure why he was still trying to do so, but I had to give the man props for his persistence.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Mr Baskerville.”

Henry let out a rather large sigh, “Yes, Mr Holmes, I do have a groundskeeper. But!” He exclaimed, which I thought might have been the most passionate he’d sounded all evening, “My groundsman doesn’t keep a dog this big, just his beagle, Maxwell.”

“Yes. Quite.” Sherlock looked displeased, “I could’ve guessed that by all of the racket it makes.”

“As I was going to ask, are you aware of the genetic traits of your staff, especially the groundsman?” What the bloody hell was this madman getting at now? Did he forget that Henry is a billionaire, not a biologist?

“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, Sherlock,” he gave a hum in recognition, “but why on Earth would Mr Baskerville know that? God, why would the staff themselves even know that!” As the question left my mouth I was secretly hoping that Sherlock would have some big, convoluted answer; partially so I could witness those amazing deductions again, but mainly so I wasn’t made to look a fool… again.

Sherlock gives me a look, the one he always uses when something should have been ‘obvious’, “Because, Watson, some of the people in Mr Baskerville’s employ may well be Lycans .” Fuck. “Well, if they are, we should be able to find this mystery hound by the night's end if my calendar is correct.” Fuck. Sherlock’s calendar is always correct. Sherlock’s everything is always correct.

Fuck. Shit. Bollocks.

He forgot, he can’t believe he forgot.

The full moon, the most important day of every month for his entire life and he forgot. This month marks the third in a row of him not shifting - longer than he’d let it get before, longer than doctors would recommend. Now not only did he have a new roommate who he’d known for less than a month, but he also had no idea how said roommate would react to the knowledge that John was a Lycan.

It’s fine. It’s all fine. He’ll simply not change this month either and deal with the consequences once they’re back at Baker Street with his own room and a door that locks. Simple. All John has to do is pretend that he’s human and not even consider the option that he might be forced to change regardless of his wants.

Oh God, why did he have to think about that?

So what if he changes unwillingly? They’re already out in the middle of nowhere, surely he can manage to sneak away without anyone - mainly Sherlock - noticing. He’ll just hide out in the moors until the morning before heading back to the Baskerville estate. Simple.

Simple? Yeah right. This investigation was turning out to be anything but simple.

It was now approaching midnight and Sherlock still had them out in the grounds looking for traces of Lycan activity. “It shouldn’t take too long, Watson. If you’re that bored, you can head back now and I’ll continue on my own.” Now, if you were any sane, normal person in John’s situation, you would have seized that opportunity with both hands and left to find somewhere secluded for your transformation. However, as John Watson was more protective than any man his size had a right to be, he refused to leave Sherlock alone in the middle of nowhere when there could be an enemy around any corner.

Lycans can be classed as “Humans, but with a bit extra.” according to John. They had all the same features and behaviours as humans, just with some additional Lupine ones. This meant that you could still get serial killers, drug lords, and other assorted criminals within Lycan communities.

Knowing that, there was no way that John’s pack instincts would allow him to leave Sherlock unguarded with a possibly dangerous Lycan on the loose. That didn’t mean that John perceived Sherlock as unable to defend himself, no - he had seen the man’s boxing skills, he believed he was capable - but Lycans had an undeniable advantage when transformed. Their teeth could render flesh from bone, true predators at heart. So, John stayed.

Now that John understood what was happening, he didn’t understand how he missed the signs earlier: the fever, the aching muscles, the sore legs. They were all the same signs he experienced when he was younger, the month after his father passed. With the moon beginning to gleam over the tops of the trees, John could feel the beginnings of his transformation taking over. As Sherlock was busy listing off deductions faster than John could string a coherent thought together, he managed to slip a hand out of his jacket pocket, only to see that his claws were growing and a layer of fur was spreading down to his hand from under the jacket sleeve. This was not good. He needed to find a way to hide his transformation from Sherlock whilst also ensuring the lanky man’s safety.

“John?” the voice of the detective made him jump, unaware that the deductions had stopped and Sherlock was staring at him with concern.

“Y-Yes? Sherlock?” John managed to choke out around a cough.

“Are you…alright? You seem rather distracted. Do you need a high-five ?” Oh, the detective thought John was upset with still being out at night. In his rush to reassure him, John nearly went to acknowledge the gesture before remembering his partial transformation.

“Oh, uh, yeah mate. I’m fine.” He tried to put on a genuine enough smile that Sherlock wouldn’t get too concerned. “Actually, I think I’m gonna go take a leak in the trees. Henry won’t mind… will he? I mean, animals probably piss in the trees all the time and there’s no way-”

“It’s fine, Watson. Stop rambling before you have an accident.” Sherlock cut him off. “Do you want me to wait here, or will you catch up?”

“I- uh, I’ll catch up, mate. No need to stop your investigation for me!” With that, John scampered away into the forest with as much dignity as you can have when you’ve just told your best friend that you’re going to go piss in the forest.

After making sure that Sherlock had continued on his way, John made quick work of removing his top half of clothing: jacket, hoodie, shirt, and vest. Hey, don’t judge - you try being self-conscious about your body and living in the UK - cold times, man, cold times. It was clear from then that there would be no stopping this transformation, his claws were already fully formed, and the hair that he had spotted covering the backs of his hands was also covering his entire upper half and dipping down below his waistband. John was a pretty hairy guy to begin with, but there was a definite difference here and he was more than surprised that Sherlock hadn’t noticed it earlier.

After stripping down, John stuffed his clothes into the backpack he had brought with him. As much as he didn’t like transforming out in public - especially not in the nude - he had no other choice if he wanted to have any clothes left to wear once the night was over. Once that was done, the night turned into a waiting game. The relationship between the human side and the lupine side was what dictated the length of time it took to fully transform; the better your relationship, the longer the transformation would take to cause the least amount of pain, but if you ignored the wolf, it would want to take hold as fast as possible. A bad relationship is usually found in those who undergo the transformation as little as possible - something that John is guilty of recently - so he was expecting this to be a short but painful next few minutes.

He was correct, the next several minutes were complete agony for John, only managing to keep his groans and grunts at bay by sheer force of will. He couldn’t let Sherlock hear him, otherwise he’d come looking. By the time he could see straight again, he was back to that big dusky-blond wolf that hadn’t seen the light of the moon since they were back in Ukraine.

Both John and his wolf both shared the same pack devotion and fierce loyalty which was the main reason John didn’t have to put much effort in to convince the wolf to track Sherlock. They both recognised him as ‘pack’ and knew they needed to protect him if there was supposed to be another possibly dangerous Lycan on the loose.

Catching back up to Sherlock was easy enough, the detective’s scent was well known to the both of them. It was only slightly disheartening to see that the detective didn’t appear to be worried at how long John had been gone for. John supposed he probably hadn’t noticed as Sherlock was prone to spending hours in his own head.

A couple of hours passed like this, Sherlock looking for something seemingly only he knew, and John following behind in the treeline. Nothing terribly interesting happened, John even had time to let his wolf do some hunting of the local wildlife whilst the detective was thoroughly distracted - chasing deer, rabbits, and other small game. Once the wolf had taken its fill, it pushed John back to the forefront of their mind as they approached Sherlock once more.

As they lazed about, waiting for the detective to move along, John heard a noise from the other copse of trees across from the detective. His ears immediately perked up and he was on high alert - this could be the Lycan they were looking for. Another noise and this time Sherlock was looking in that direction as well, good, hopefully he will get the hell out of there. If that Lycan has been terrorising Henry, then there’s nothing suggesting he wouldn’t possibly attack Sherlock as well.

As expected, Sherlock did nothing of the sort and instead decided to approach the noise. How can the smartest man John had ever known also be so stupid? Now John was in a difficult situation: Stay where he is and keep his identity secret, hoping that the noise was just a stray squirrel; or charge over to the other side, scare away any potential threats, but risk Sherlock finding out about his Lycan nature.

The choice was taken away from him - though there was never really any choice, it was clear which option he would choose - as a low warning growl emanated from that same area that the detective was approaching. Right, now or never, Watson. You’re not about to let someone ruin this life that you’ve only just made for yourself. So, without letting himself contemplate what the consequences might be, John lunged. He shot himself straight over the gap between the trees and prepared to bite down on the neck of whatever was getting ready to fight Sherlock.

The aforementioned detective let out a rather loud yelp as Watson dove past him, but he had no time to take in anything else before his jaws clamped down tight on the scruff of- wait. This isn’t a scruff. Scruffs aren’t made of metal. So what is this? John dropped the metal contraption onto the floor and sniffed it. It smelled of nothing but his own saliva and the forest.

“Watson!” Sherlock cried. Bollocks, now he was trying to call for backup, probably mistaking John for the mystery Lycan. So John had no choice other than to take off once more.

“Watson! Wat- John! ” Sherlock was giving chase, how funny it was that finally Sherlock was the one trailing behind John for a change. If only it was under better circumstances.

John continued running, jumping over fallen trees and trying to take refuge in small spaces. None of it worked. Sure, it slowed the detective down a bit, but he would not relent. Even when John had managed to find a new hiding spot, Sherlock was still slowly approaching, calling for backup the whole time.

“John, please!” Sherlock sounded… distressed? Was he finally realising just how long John had been gone since answering nature’s call? “I know it’s you, John! I know you’re the wolf!” Bollocks. Shit fuck bollocks and piss. How had John given himself away? Had Sherlock circled back during his transformation and seen him? No, the wolf was too smart to get them caught like that.

Seeing no other option, and hating the distress in the detective’s voice, John slowly emerged from his newest hiding spot and plodded back over to Sherlock. His head was hung low, his expectations were even lower.

“There you are, Watson! Why on Earth did you run?” The detective was panting, evidently exhausted from the chase. “You silly wolf, are you hurt?” Sherlock approached John, arms reaching towards him with open palms. John shook his head, it would have to do for communication until he changed back in an hour's time.

“That’s good, well, at least you managed to solve the case!” John’s ears perked up. Him? Solve the case? But all he did was sit by whilst Sherlock was deducing.

“I can see the disbelief in your eyes, but you did! I had a suspicion that you may have been a Lycan ever since you became shifty once I mentioned the idea to Mr Baskerville-” I huffed at him, “Ugh, fine, since I mentioned the idea to Henry . Better?” I nodded in approval.

“Then it was simple really, once you left for your supposed toilet break, I continued down the path and noticed many paw print tracks from the ‘hound’ which were certainly too big for most domestic dogs. The issue was that I had never met a Lycan in person before, and information about them is rather scarce so, once I deduced that you were a Lycan, I figured I would wait until you re-emerged to use you for reference.” John was sure that he probably shouldn’t feel so amazed when he had just been told that his one secret had been exposed far before he wanted it to be, but he just couldn’t help it. The detective- no, Sherlock was just so brilliant at what he did.

“But before that could happen, you must have heard that growl coming from the bushes next to me. By the time I had heard them and turned to investigate, you were already pouncing upon the supposed threat. Which, in the end, turned out to be this .” Sherlock held out the metal box that John had chomped down on - you could still see the bite marks.

“An reinforced portable speaker.” John visibly deflated. There was no danger afterall, although he supposed his secret was spilled even without that appearance. “Don’t look so down, John, you have thoroughly cemented your camaraderie with me, jumping to save me from danger without even a second thought.”

John butted his head against Sherlock’s waist to encourage him to continue. “Yes, yes, Watson, I’m getting there. So, with the evidence mounting up, I could finally decipher the true culprit: nobody. Well, nobody with an intention to hurt Mr Baskerville.” John barked at him, astounded. “Let me finish, John. You see, once I saw you pounce at the speaker, I could see that your paws were far too big to make these prints. So then comes the question of what did make the prints? Well, if you look to the North-East of the Baskerville estate, you will find a sheep farm that Henry” he sneered at the name, “has given a portion of his land to. What does that have to do with this? Well, the most often companion of any farmer is a canine, a work dog. What do most working dogs have in common? Big paws. I’m going to guess based on size that the farmer owns an Irish Wolfhound, but I may be wrong.” Astounding as ever.

“But then what about the speaker and the growling? Well, as the farm has livestock, there would need to be some defence against predators, hence the speaker. I bet that we would find several more of the same ones if we were to walk the rest of the perimeter. Evidently, the farmer forgot to mention to Henry that he was adding these features, therefore causing the man to get scared when hearing the growls.” John was practically bursting at the seams to shower praise on the detective, but without human form, it would have to wait until later. He butts against Sherlock again and begins heading back in the direction of the manor.

“Oh, and John?” He turned back to face the detective, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

________

Check it on AO3 too!

#sherlock & co #sherlock and co #john watson #sherlock holmes #event #fanart #fanfiction #flash bang #flashbang event

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hazbincalifornia · 20 days ago

Text

Ghostfuckers: Surprise

Another entry in the 'episodes but blitzpreg' fic collection!

Summary: Blitz buries his sorrows- and something else- in junk food.

Ao3 link

He was fine. He was fine! He was peachy-fucking-keen, he was Coping with a capital C, he hadn’t snuck back into the palace and yanked all the fancy silk curtains out of the rods or pissed all over them, so really, he was the picture of restraint.

The ice cream helped. Gallons of it, some of it half-melted so it had to be chugged by the time he actually got to it since sometimes he had multiple containers at once, but it helped soothe his heart and his stomach, and he’d count soothing anything as a victory, especially as heartbreak apparently came with a sore back and occasional upchucking when he let his brain marinate on feathers too much.

(Fuck, he still saw that cockbag with the douchey haircut when he closed his eyes too long, so he cranked up the volume on the tv.)

Granted, the ice cream wasn’t exactly helping his waistline, but it wasn’t like he needed abs right now, considering there wasn’t an owl anywhere in the vicinity to ogle over them. Who cared if his pants were a little tight for a few hours days weeks, he needed the sugar and the spice and the sweetness, even if that creamy goodness wasn’t the same as the sticky white-

(Blitz reached for the spray cheese instead and funneled it directly into his mouth, the tangy chemicals mixing with the distilled peppers that were blended in with the cream. It satisfied something deep in his gut, and that was good. He’d take it, even though sometimes the mixing of flavors and emotions knotted things up and forced them right back up again.)

He found himself rutting against the underside of the carton, hormones oozing restlessly throughout his bloodstream as Millie stepped around the chain. As he flicked away the empty container and reached for some chocolate instead, he heard ‘ghost’ and something in his brain went ping.

(The rest of the day did not go as well as his brain had wanted it to, belly aching from the excessive movement after weeks of barely hauling his ass off the blankets and pillows to piss and the Bethany costume not fitting quite right. Even giving some grace with his food baby, the pricks must have undersized it.)

_____

He squirmed in the seat, feeling newly-materialized fingers trail along the bump in his middle that had for some reason decided to hitch along for the ride. When the chains tightened, something in him squirmed like a trapped rat even before the highlight reel of every insecurity he had was pinned down and flayed open.

The fire, Dad, Fizz, Verosika, M+M, Stolas, Stolas, Stolas-

“Oh, this is delicious,” the parasite purred, slipping around the spikes on Blitz’s chair to plant a foot on his bloated middle. “You don’t even know, do you?”

“Know wha…” The tears poured hot and thick, but he attempted to blink them away as the screen fluttered, the images flashing through at a rapid pace. Some were the same- Loona in LA, Barbie at the human camp, Stolas offering up the Crystal like it was a fucking ring- but some were different. Burning Chaz’s rental jacket when he got home because of how vile it had smelled, barfing into one of the empty ice cream cartons, curling up in the blankets and pillows, a strip of white and red skin exposed from the bottom of his too-tight shirt-

No.

“Yes, yes,” The infestor practically sang as his heel traced down to the side of his stomach, and the bile in Blitz’s stomach bubbled into acid as he realized just how firm that little bump actually was. “Surprise, Daddy. Who could have thought you’d manage to ruin someone’s life before they even hit the starting gate?”

“You- I-”

“I didn’t do shit. I just got here! This mess was all on you.” His toe of his shoe hooked the bottom of Blitz’s shirt and tugged it upwards, exposing the bump as a pulsing heartbeat pounded the walls of the theater, and Blitz found himself unable to look away as the screen flashed faster and faster. A lifetime of regrets, broken chances, fuckups, fuckups, fuckups-

“Blitz? Blitz!” The screen shuddered before cutting to Millie, and he tugged at the chains but couldn’t pull far enough to escape his own head.

Insults spat from his mouth while his body writhed around like a fish on a hook, shit he’d never say to her but she just might believe because he’s such a piece of shit, and every time he tried to pull back to reality he could feel the exposed skin of his stomach growing damp from the clammy brain-room.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, how didn’t he notice, what would he do, he had no time to fucking think-

He felt his arms ache as she manhandled them, and oh, Millie, that beautiful, wonderful bitch, she wasn’t falling for it. Thank Satan, she was smarter than-

Oh fuck.

She slammed him into the wall and oh fuck no, no, no no no, they couldn’t go like this, not when he hadn’t even gotten the chance to-

A glow flashed on the screen as the infestor rubbed at his sore cheek with a snarl, and Blitz’s stolen eyes dropped down to see Millie’s fist hit air, magic blooming around his middle. Her eyes widened for a moment before flicking up and socking him in the chest again, and the crunch that echoed combined with a pained moan was the sweetest sound he’d heard all day.

_______

“…So how long have you known about the baby?” Millie’s voice was careful as she shifted on the van’s roof.

“About twenty seconds before you did,” Blitz said. “Figured it was just…y’know…”

“Eating your emotions?”

“Yeah. That.”

“I’m glad I didn’t hurt it, at least. Thank fuck for that magic thingamajiggy that popped up.” She reached over and intertwined her fingers with hers, giving a quick squeeze. “You know what you wanna do with it?”

“I found out I was pregnant when he was Clockwork Oranging me, I need to think on it for a few minutes first,” Blitz said, tail twisting against the metal.

There was quiet for a moment as wind whispered through the gravestones.

“It’s his, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I told the shark he had to go in wrapped from my stash or I wasn’t playing. Besides, I doubt anybody else would have some kinda built-in magic shield to keep them from getting pummeled.” Her hand was nice. Warm and comfortable, but rough enough from a life of work that it didn’t feel like his scars were too much, didn’t feel like he was going to scrape her skin off with the contact as their palms brushed together. “Maybe birds just… take a while to show.”

“Maybe.” Her tail curled around his, lightly pinning it down from where it was anxiously twitching. Steady weight.

Tomorrow, he’d have to figure out where the fuck to go from here. Tomorrow, he’d have to figure out if he wanted to keep the nest in his office. Tomorrow, he’d decide on the future.

Today, he leaned into Millie and watched the sunrise.

#helluva boss #helluva mpreg #daddy blitzo #hb spoilers #throwing caution to the wind and tagging bc why not #shadow writes stuff

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endofradio · 5 months ago

Text

MEET THE OC: SYLVIA “SYLVIE” HALFORD

Adam turned around to face the direction of the voice before he looked back at Sylvie. “Nighty-night, jailbird.”

Sylvie didn’t even respond to him directly, instead quietly muttering a “fuck off” as she heard his footsteps leaving. Fucking finally — she could be alone.

But at the same time… she didn’t like being alone.

ABIGAIL OC • INFP • SHE/HER • 27 Y/O • RAT PACK ALIAS: AVA

———————————————————————

a tortured soul — that is probably the most accurate way to describe sylvie. it seems that she was doomed from the start — an unwanted child, she was given up by her poor excuses for parents and placed into foster care as a toddler. she spent most of her childhood bouncing from foster home to foster home, each experience being just as miserable as the next. love. that was an unfamiliar word to her.

art, literature, and music became sylvie’s forms of escapism. drawing, writing, and painting were her ways of releasing her thoughts and feelings into the world. her sketchbooks and journals became her only friends. when nobody listened to her, her journals did.

if there was a specific point in time where sylvie’s life really went downhill, it started when she was 12 years old. she was finally adopted. at first, she had hope. everything seemed to be going well — was she finally being given a taste of what it felt like to be loved?

well, that was what she thought. the longer sylvie stayed, the more her adoptive parents began to regret their decision. just like that, she was taunted with the idea of love. when she reached out for it, it was yanked right out of her grasp. sylvie was confused. what had she done? what was wrong with her?

high school — she did well academically, and it almost became somewhat of an escape from home… but she didn’t feel safe there, either. she was the “weird loner.” she had a few friends, but they turned out to be fake. they all left her once she started experimenting with drinking alcohol to cope. she was lucky enough to get a scholarship to get into the art school of her dreams in new york, and once she graduated, she left her home in chicago, hoping to finally start a new life. well… she was wrong.

the college party scene sucked her in — especially because, hell, this was the 80s. hard drugs and alcohol left and right, it was a temptation she couldn’t resist.

that was how she met frank, or as he was known at the time, “adam.”

he just happened to be sent to “investigate” a particularly unhinged party at the college, all because one of the students, charlie, happened to be an associate of kristof lazar, infamous new york crime-lord. charlie and sylvie had grown to know each other, and became what you could consider “drug buddies.” little did sylvie know that lazar was very much aware of her, and this “adam” was a corrupt detective who had decided to flirt with lawlessness. lazar was fascinating to him.

after the party, sylvie made the mistake of attempting to drive herself home. adam happened to spot her and arrested her for driving under the influence. honestly? if he hadn’t found her attractive, he would’ve just let her carry on. and so, adam became sylvie’s worst enemy. he’d taunt her and flirt with her, finding enjoyment out of getting under her skin and figuring out what made her tick. when she was finally able to go home, perhaps adam was a little… upset.

sylvie soon moved to massachusetts after graduating college and spent the next few years trying to forget about him and turn her life around. things genuinely seemed to be getting better for her, but then one night, she woke up in a mansion. “adam” was now “frank,” no longer a detective but a full-blown criminal. sylvie thought she’d never have to see his face again, but lambert had wanted him to hunt her down and bring her to this particular mansion, realizing that she, along with the rest of the “rat pack,” was needed for a particular kidnapping scheme. unfortunately for sylvie, she’d soon learn that this was all the doing of lazar’s daughter, abigail. abigail wanted sylvie there for a very particular reason… actually two reasons — she fucked with charlie, and her connection to frank. she figured forcing frank and sylvie to be in each other’s vicinity again would be interesting, and she was right. playing matchmaker was the last thing she expected she’d be doing, though.

after succumbing to his lust for power and allowing lambert to turn him into a vampire, frank betrayed the bit of trust that sylvie allowed herself to give to him. she had come to the unfortunate realization she was falling for him, and he only happened to hurt her again — in fact, he beat her up quite badly when she tried to defend joey from him. joey told her to run, and so she did, running into a forest. frank hunted her down, and out of a combination of realizing he didn’t want to lose her and pure bloodthirst, he bit her. if she was a vampire, then they’d be together forever, right? he just so happened to be falling for her too, but he didn’t want to admit that. no, he could never. after nearly killing her due to sheer bloodlust, the little humanity that was left in frank told him to save her.

he was realizing he needed her, and it was scaring him.

#abigail 2024 #abigail movie #abigail #horror movies #horror #ao3 writer #writeblr #my ocs #my oc stuff #ocs #oc stuff #fanfiction author #fanfic #fanfic writing #fanfiction #frank abigail #adam barrett #sylvia halford

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verdemoun · 5 months ago

Note

You’ve already done how the gang acts at the beach but how would they act at the pool (sorry John for being excluded somewhat)

it would have to be an amazing pool because i suspect at least 50% of them would not cope with chlorine and have very bad skin reactions to it. those who can swim grew up swimming in lakes, mucky ponds, creeks and the ocean they would go to the beach over a pool every time

someone shoves john in at least once because it's hilarious watching the teenage lifeguard have to save his panicked ass

jack, who also can't swim, only gets in the water when riding waterslides with isaac and isaac, who is extremely aware of the fact jack can't swim, always makes sure his little buddy has found his feet and is standing in the shallow crash pool before he lets go of him

abigail does talk john into at least trying the heated spa because there's seats and he ascends just sitting there head back eyes closed marinading like a happy little dumpling

hosea and bessie are on grandparent duty watching abigail jr who took like a duck to water and is a very confident swimmer. they are also making sure she doesn't get the pool evacuated with a fake poop prank (arthur will never admit he took her to swimming lessons when she time warped before the other marstons)

in the most tense truce ever created bill micah javier and kieran are all in the sauna. in obvious talking about the others to their face fashion kieran uses asl and javier replies in spanish. bill, who is making an effort to learn asl because he is very actively trying to be less of an ass towards kieran, is guilty of laughing aloud and then blurting kieran's comments about micah out to said rat. despite all of them being in towels javier still found a way to bring a knife and will threaten to wet the rocks with micah's blood if he so much as twitches in retaliation

lenny and sean doting fathers playing with maeve which is mostly maeve attempting to cannonball onto them and lenny forgetting he was meant to be encouraging healthy competition as he races her to collect rings off the bottom of the pool and actually getting very, very slightly annoyed when she wins

#rdr2 timewarp au

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yanderes-galore · 11 months ago

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Yandere alphabet for Moira Overwatch please if that's OK? OwO

Sure! I don't mind! Using a GIF from Tumblr again!

Yandere Alphabet - Moira O'Deorain

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Sadism, Human experimentation, Kidnapping implied, Isolation, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Lack of empathy (Moira), Drugging implied, Marking mention, Hickeys/Hickies implied, Violence, Murder mention, Manipulation, Forced relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Moira is rather sadistic, even when it comes to her darling. Her affection is often a method of experimentation in many ways. She'll poke and prod at you all while praising you and kissing you, telling you that you're her little experiment.

Her affection and obsession is intense. She isn't usually very gentle and makes it clear you're hers. She may treat you like an experiment at times, but she rewards you after whatever you go through.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

When it comes to Moira she can get as messy as she wants. Although… Why kill those who bother you when you can just experiment with them?

She'll be quite sadistic with those who cross you and her. With you she's gentle… with anyone else?

Well… they aren't let off so easily.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Moira is sometimes mocking but it isn't very often with you. She has a soft spot for you, even during small experiments she conducts on you. Speaking of which…

When Moira takes you in she both treats you as a lover and an experiment. She doesn't do anything too damaging to you as she cares. Although if she knows a procedure will benefit you or her, she'll do it to you.

Being her darling is an odd experience as you aren't sure if you are her lover or a lab rat.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Most likely.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Moira isn't a very vulnerable yandere, in fact she lacks empathy at times. She's vulnerable in the sense of if someone took you she'd do anything to have you back. Yet in terms of opening up to you, not really her thing.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

It could both irritate and excite her. Moira has a sadistic personality at times so seeing you fight just gives her a new game to play. On the other hand… she would prefer an obedient darling that listens to her every command.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Sometimes it's all a sadistic game to her, sometimes it isn't.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

When it comes to Moira a lot of experiences with her can be hell. I'd have to say whenever she experiments with you. There's some pain yet she always shushes you in an attempt to comfort.

She's simply trying to help you… don't you believe her?

She's lying and you know it.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Moira plans to have you and her live in a better world. To make that happen she must expand her knowledge. At least… that's what she tells you as she pricks at your skin, making your vision woozy as she coos over you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Moira's jealousy manifests as irritation. She appears to be annoyed when there's other people around you. Especially if she's already claimed you as hers through her experiments.

She'd try to cope before targeting the person she's upset about. Afterwards… she gets a new experiment to play around with.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Moira is mostly stoic and often brushes things off. However, with you she shows preference that others can sense. Why else does she hover around you?

Plus… they can tell she's taken you as hers. How? There's signs of experimentation… along with marks on your skin made by her lips.

Moira is possessive. She toys with her darling and marks them as hers. She acts cold with others… but you?

Well… the scientist just can't help but indulge.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

She starts things slow, building your trust like luring a new rabbit to research. The attraction to you most likely started first… which made her want to experiment on you. After all… you make her feel all strange.

Moira manipulates you into trusting her right up until she has her claws on you. Like a huntress who finally caught her game… she steals you away. Moira knows how to use her words…

Maybe you should've listened to the warnings others gave you about her?

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not really.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Harsher experimentation, maybe restraints. She doesn't want to have to hurt you… yet if you keep fighting… she might as well get some more results.

She tries to limit punishment though, wouldn't to lose her most precious rabbit, right?

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Most likely a lot of them.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

She can be patient… but she has her limits.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

She probably will… but she has a hard time feeling the same spark with anyone else.

You were just so… special. She misses it. Odd for her to say… but you really did mean a lot to her.

Perhaps she can… bring you back? That's possible… right? She'll have to try….

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No and most likely not.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Just her nature in general along with curiosity.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

She'll wait it out, she isn't the best with comfort. When you calm down she'll try conversation. She doesn't jump to comfort you like a lot of other yanderes, but she does care somewhat.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Experimentation… that just about covers it.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Hard to say/None I can think of.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Not a worship yandere but would probably kill to keep you.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

She doesn't snap, everything is deliberately planned.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yes.

#yandere overwatch #yandere moira #yandere moira o'deorain

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