#unmasked and thriving

[muzsmocsing]

The whole Mount Tonglu situation is extremely suspicious but not to worry! We got the martial god of autism on the case.

[vreemd]

the real autism superpower is that I exist in my own little world and nothing anyone does or says or thinks remotely matters to me

[mixter-crown]

ITS FINALLY DONE ! BELLSTRUM!

The meme has died out but my adoration for this silly married couple is thriving as ever !! Thank you for ur patience if you've been waiting for it from the colentine version 🙇🙇🙇

>> Part One (unmasked colentine version) (1/3)

>> Part Two (masked colentine version) (2/3)

>> THIS POST is Part Three (3/3)

[fangdokja]

🔞Run all you want, little omega—I love the chase.

❤︎ Synopsis. Bound by fear and desire, an omega finds herself ensnared by a cruel, possessive alpha who thrives on her pain and submission, claiming her body and soul as his own. As she struggles to escape his grasp, she learns that freedom may come at a price too terrifying to pay.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Alpha! Wolf Hybrid x Fem. Reader

♡ Novelette. #1 - Marked and Mated

♡ Word Count. 10,767

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, rape, blood play, overstimulation, forced oral, prey x predator dynamic, fear play, hunting play, permanent bodily injury, slut shaming, objectification, psychological torment, erotic horror elements, loss of virginity, mature language, fingering, humiliation, degradation, forced orgasms, sadism, BDSM, groping, omegaverse dynamics, biting, physical assault and violence, choking / breath play

The forest is alive with the whispers of fear. Your breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts, each one slicing through the silence as you sprint through the thick underbrush. The fading light casts skeletal shadows across the forest floor, turning every twisted branch into a claw and every rustling leaf into the promise of something far worse. Your heartbeat is a wild drum, a desperate cadence that seems to echo the heavy footsteps closing in behind you.

“You can’t hide from me, little omega.” His voice rumbles like thunder through the twilight, a low, predatory growl that seems to wrap around you, suffocating and inescapable.

You don’t look back. You’ve learned by now that it’s a mistake to give him the satisfaction of seeing your terror. Instead, you focus on the path ahead—or what little you can see of it. The forest is dense here, the trees towering and gnarled, their roots eager to snare your stumbling feet. You’ve always prided yourself on your strength, your defiance, your ability to stand tall even when the world tried to bend you. But now, as the alpha’s guttural laugh reverberates through the trees, you feel the first cracks in your resolve.

“Oh, I’ll give you credit for trying,” he purrs, his amusement curling through the air like smoke. “But we both know how this ends, don’t we?”

You grit your teeth, pushing harder, your muscles screaming in protest. You’ve never been one to back down, not even when he first set his sights on you. The cat and the wolf, they’d said. A pairing as impossible as it was inevitable. And yet, here you are, the prey in a hunt you can’t seem to win.

He’s always known what you are beneath the mask. An omega masquerading as an alpha, a fragile shell of dominance that he’d seen through from the very beginning. It’s not your fault, really. Survival demanded the façade. But survival is a cruel master, and it’s brought you to him. The predator who doesn’t just want to unmask you but to rip you apart, piece by trembling piece, until there’s nothing left but the shattered remains of your pride.

The sound of snapping branches draws closer, and you know he’s toying with you now. Letting you think you have a chance, letting you run just far enough to taste freedom before he rips it away. The ground beneath you is uneven, littered with roots and fallen leaves that threaten to trip you with every step. The forest seems to close in, the trees looming, their twisted limbs reaching for you like greedy hands.

“Run,” he commands, his voice a cruel whisper that somehow slices through the cacophony of your pounding heart and ragged breath. “Run faster, little omega. Make it fun for me.”

Your lungs burn, your legs ache, but you don’t stop. You can’t. The thought of what awaits you if he catches you… no, when he catches you… is too much to bear. His scent lingers in the air, sharp and musky, an oppressive reminder that no matter how far you go, he’s always there. Watching. Waiting. Hunting.

────────────

The chase is relentless, and despite your efforts, you feel his breath hot on your neck, his large hands almost grabbing hold of your tail. Panic flutters in your chest, and you know that if he catches you, there's no telling what he'll do. The trees blur together as you sprint, your sides burning with exertion.

You spot a small clearing up ahead, and you make a desperate dash for it, hoping for a moment's respite.

But as you leap into the open, you realize your mistake too late.

The clearing is a trap, surrounded by thorny bushes and a steep ravine, leaving you no escape.

He emerges from the shadows, his teeth bared in a vicious smile. "Looks like you're mine now, omega," he sneers, his eyes flashing with triumph. Your stomach turns to lead as you realize you're cornered, the predator closing in for the kill.

"No, please," you whimper, your voice cracking with fear as he prowls closer.

He stops a few feet away, his towering form casting a long shadow over you. "You know what you need," he says, his voice low and commanding. "You need a strong alpha to show you your place."

You grit your teeth, refusing to give in to his taunts, your eyes flashing with defiance.

But his scent is overwhelming, a potent mix of musk and power that sends a thrill through your body despite your fear.

"I'll never be your omega," you spit out, your voice stronger than you feel.

He laughs, a cold, cruel sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "We'll see about that."

As you remain defiant, your eyes never leaving his, the alpha wolf's smile only widens. He seems to enjoy the challenge, his eyes gleaming with a newfound excitement.

He takes a step closer, and you react instinctively, lashing out with your claws and teeth. You manage to scratch his muscular arm with your claws, drawing a thin line of crimson against his otherwise perfect skin.

He grunts in surprise, but instead of retreating, his eyes light up with a predatory thrill. "So you want to play hard to get, huh?" He says, his voice thick with amusement. "Fine, I can do that."

With a sudden burst of speed, he lunges at you, his powerful jaws snapping shut around your neck.

You yelp in pain and surprise as his teeth dig in, the pressure enough to make you dizzy but not enough to break the skin. He lifts you off the ground, your legs kicking wildly in the air. His grip tightens, and you feel the world start to spin around you.

"Struggle all you want, it'll only make it better," he whispers in your ear, his hot breath sending waves of fear and disgust through your body. You thrash in his grip, trying to break free, but his strength is overwhelming.

His teeth clamp down harder, a clear warning of what's to come if you don't submit. You can feel your energy waning, the fear and pain making it difficult to keep fighting.

He drags you through the thorny bushes, tearing at your clothes and skin. The pain is intense, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing you scream. He tosses you onto the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of you.

Before you can recover, he's on top of you, his heavy weight pinning you down. His clawed hands rip away the remnants of your shirt, exposing your bruised and bleeding skin to the cool night air, as you thrash and squirm in response.

The alpha wolf's grin widens as you fight back with renewed vigor, his eyes gleaming with excitement at your resistance. He grabs your wrists in his massive hands, pinning them to the ground above your head with surprising gentleness.

"Oh, you're going to be so much fun to break," he murmurs, his tongue flicking out to taste the blood that trickles from the scratches you've managed to inflict. His weight shifts, pressing his thick erection against your pelvis, and you can feel the heat radiating from it even through your torn pants.

With a quick, efficient movement, he rips your pants away, exposing your vulnerable, untouched sex to his hungry gaze. You try to buck him off, but his grip on your wrists is unyielding. "Don't worry, bitch," he purrs, "I'll make sure you enjoy this. Eventually."

His other hand moves down your body, his claws tracing the lines of your ribs and stomach with feather-light precision, sending shivers of fear and unwanted arousal through you.

Your hiss pierces the night air, a mix of anger and fear, as you furiously claw at the hybrid wolf's chest. Your nails dig into his flesh, leaving shallow trails of blood behind.

He snarls, his grip on your wrists tightening slightly, but instead of retaliating, he seems to be getting more and more turned on by your resistance. "Such a feisty little omega," he murmurs, his eyes darkening with lust. "But we both know who's in control here."

Ignoring your futile struggles, he lowers his head and runs his tongue along the column of your throat, savoring your taste. You try to turn away, but his jaw clamps down on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just hard enough to make you whimper. He releases your neck, his eyes locking onto yours. "You're mine now," he growls, "And I'll have every part of you."

“I have a mate already!” You scream a panicked lie, remaining defiant.

He laughs, a dark, cruel sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "A mate?" He repeats, his grip on your wrists tightening slightly.

"You think that means anything to me? I'm going to fuck you until you forget his scent, until you're begging for me to knot you." With those words, he leans down, capturing your mouth in a brutal, claiming kiss. His tongue forces its way past your teeth, tasting the sweetness of your fear and the metallic tang of your blood.

You try to bite him, but he anticipates your move, his teeth clamping down on your lower lip, drawing more blood. He pulls back, his eyes gleaming with victory. "You're mine, omega," he whispers, his breath hot against your face.

With a sudden, brutal yank, he pulls you closer, his erection now pressing painfully against your stomach. His hand moves between your legs, his claws digging into your tender flesh as he rips away the last of your clothing.

You scream into the night, the sound piercing and desperate, but it's swallowed by the forest's indifferent embrace. The cold ground beneath you is unforgiving, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing against yours.

Your desperate fight against his overwhelming strength is met with a sadistic chuckle as the hybrid wolf seems to take pleasure in your futile struggles. He pins your arms above your head with one paw, his other hand moving to your breasts.

He squeezes them roughly, eliciting a gasp of pain that turns into a whine when his claws dig in slightly. "You're so delicate," he says, his voice a mix of mockery and lust. "So easily broken."

You manage to free one arm and deliver a weak punch to his jaw, but it barely phases him. He just laughs and captures your wrist again, his grip like iron. "That's the spirit," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"But it's not going to save you." His clawed hand slides down your body, teasing over your stomach and finally coming to rest between your legs. You try to clench your thighs together, but his weight makes it impossible.

"Open up," he commands, his voice a low, guttural growl. "You know what I want."

As you refuse to give in to his demand, the alpha hybrid wolf's eyes flash with anger and arousal. He leans down, his teeth bared, and sinks them into your inner thigh, biting as hard as he can.

You scream out in pain, the sound piercing the quiet forest night. Your body arches off the ground, your legs instinctively trying to close, but his weight holds you down firmly. His bite is deep, and you can feel the warmth of your blood trickling down your thigh, mixing with the scent of your fear and his own lust.

He releases your wrists for a moment, only to grab your legs and force them apart with his powerful hands. You kick and struggle, but it's useless. His teeth dig in deeper, the pain unbearable, and your body responds despite your mind's protest.

The hybrid wolf's teeth tear into your sensitive flesh as he forcefully spreads your legs apart, the pain from his bite making your body tense.

He doesn't give you a chance to recover as he dives between your thighs, his hot, wet tongue sliding over your clit with a brutal lack of finesse.

You try to clench your muscles to avoid his assault, but the pain and fear make it impossible to maintain. He laps at you harshly, his tongue rough and uncaring as he tastes your resistance. You can feel the beginnings of an unwelcome arousal building within you, despite the agony of his bite marks in your thigh.

He smirks at your involuntary reaction, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he sees the beginnings of arousal shimmering in your gaze despite your pain. He knows he's getting to you, and it only makes him more determined to claim what he sees as his.

His tongue swirls around your clit, the roughness of his licks sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through your body. You try to pull away, but his teeth dig into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, holding you in place as he continues to ravage your pussy.

As he fucks you with his tongue and teeth, your body betrays you. Your hips begin to buck against his mouth, your moans and screams growing louder despite your attempts to stifle them.

Your nails dig into the dirt, desperate for something to hold onto as the pleasure-pain overwhelms you. His teeth graze your clit, and you feel your orgasm building, a crescendo of unwanted ecstasy that you can't escape from.

He pulls away from your throbbing clit, panting heavily, his tongue and teeth coated with your juices. "You're so fucking delicious," he says, his voice thick with lust.

He grabs your face with one hand, his claws digging into your cheeks painfully as he forces your eyes to meet his. "Admit it, omega. You want this just as much as I do."

“N-No…!!!” You stutter out in defiance.

The hybrid wolf's grin turns feral at your continued defiance. He loves the taste of your fear and your unwilling arousal, and your refusal to submit only makes him hungrier.

He dives back between your legs, his teeth and tongue attacking your clit with renewed vigor. You try to turn your face away, biting your lip to keep from moaning, but the pressure is too much. His claws dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you in place as he licks and bites with a primal hunger.

"You can't hide it," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "Your body betrays you."

With a vicious swipe of his tongue, he sends you spiraling over the edge, your body shuddering with an unwanted climax.

The pleasure is intense, as you moan unwittingly loudly, but the humiliation is even stronger.

Tears stream down your cheeks as he laps up your essence, his eyes never leaving yours. "Mmm," he hums, savoring the taste. "You're going to fucking scream for me soon enough."

As the hybrid wolf's tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit, you feel your body responding in ways you never wanted. Your pussy clenches around his tongue, and your hips buck involuntarily as you try to push him away.

But every move you make seems to only excite him more, his licks growing more demanding, his teeth grazing you in a way that's both painful and exhilarating.

Despite your mental resistance, your body is succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure, your walls tightening around his tongue as if begging for more.

You can't help but moan, the sound ripped from your throat as you feel another orgasm building. The alpha wolf's eyes gleam with victory as he sees the effect he's having on you, and he doubles down, his tongue fucking you with a ferocity that has you seeing stars.

You're so close, so close, and you hate yourself for it. "N-no," you murmur, your voice weak and trembling. "Please, stop."

He chuckles darkly, the vibration of his mirth sending more waves of pleasure through your body. "You don't mean that," he says, his breath hot against your swollen, sensitive folds.

"You're just saying that because you don't want to admit how much you crave it." With a final, brutal swipe of his tongue, you cum again jolting and moaning helplessly; before he pulls away abruptly, leaving you gasping and shaking with need.

The hybrid wolf can't help but growl in approval at your body's betrayal, his eyes locked on the glistening wetness of your pussy, now quivering and begging for his touch. He licks his lips, savoring the sweet, musky taste of your arousal.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust, "Fucking squirting all over me like a good breeding bitch." His eyes darken with possession as he takes in your flushed cheeks and the desperate look in your eyes.

He knows you're close to breaking, and that's just how he loves it.

With a smug grin, he shifts his weight, releasing your legs from his vice-like grip. You try to scurry away, but he's too quick, grabbing you by the ankles and dragging you back towards him.

He flips you onto your stomach, your bruised and scratched body now exposed to the damp, cold earth. "You're going to take me now," he says, his voice a mix of command and promise. "And you're going to love it."

“N-No! Stop! Please!” You scream weakly, fighting back desperately and defiantly.

Your weak screams of protest fall on his deaf ears as the alpha wolf forced you onto your stomach, his strong arms easily overpowering your feeble attempts to escape. The cold, damp earth presses against your skin, making you feel even more vulnerable and exposed.

He straddles you, his heavy bodyweight a stark reminder of his dominance and your helplessness. The sound of him unbuckling his pants is a harsh, jolting reality check, and your heart races as you feel the hot, thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

Your squirming and desperate attempts to fight him off only seem to excite the hybrid wolf more. He uses his powerful thighs to spread your legs apart, his cock sliding against your wet, trembling pussy.

Despite your fear, your body is betraying you, lubricating his shaft with your unwilling arousal. His grip on your ankles tightens as he leans over you, his massive body casting a shadow over yours. You can feel his breath against your neck, hot and ragged, as he whispers, "You're going to take all of me, little omega. Every damn inch."

He pushes forward, the head of his cock breaching your tight entrance.

You scream, the pain searing through you like a knife, your nails digging into the soil as you try to find stabilization. "Fuck," he groans, his voice strained with effort. "You're so tight, so fucking tight."

He doesn't pause, continuing to thrust into you, each movement driving the air from your lungs and sending shockwaves of agony through your body. The hybrid wolf's cock stretches you open, the pain of your hymen tearing a white-hot brand across your consciousness. You feel your body clench around him, desperately trying to push him out, but he's unrelenting.

With a savage grin, he slams into you, burying his cock to the hilt with a roar of triumph. The force of his thrusts sends shockwaves of agony through you, and you can't help but sob into the dirt.

Your vision blurs, the world narrowing down to the searing pain between your legs.

"You're mine now," he growls, his teeth nipping at your neck. "You're going to be my good little omega, aren't you?" His grip on your ankles tightens, his nails digging in as he pulls back and slams into you again.

Each thrust feels like a declaration of ownership, a claim that you can't escape.

You can feel your insides stretching to accommodate his monstrous length, your body trying to adjust to the brutal intrusion. Your breath hitches as he hits a spot deep within you, sending a bolt of pleasure-pain that makes you cry out.

You try to push up onto your hands, but the pain is too much, and you collapse back onto the ground. His hips rock against yours, the slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the clearing.

The smell of your blood and arousal fills the air, a potent mix that seems to drive him even wilder. "You're going to love being my omega," he says, his voice a dark promise. "You're going to love the way I fuck you, the way I fill you up with my cum."

The alpha wolf's massive cock continues to pound into you without mercy, your body jolting with every brutal thrust. You can feel him stretching you to your limits, filling you completely and claiming you in the most primal of ways.

His hips slap against your bruised flesh, the sound echoing through the night like a twisted mating call.

He's not just fucking you; he's marking you, branding you as his property.

Your own desperate cries are muffled by the dirt as you try to scream through the pain, your voice hoarse from the effort.

"You're mine," he repeats, his voice a deep growl that sends shivers down your spine. "Fucking MINE." He bites down hard on the back of your neck, his teeth piercing the tender skin.

You can feel the warmth of your own blood mixing with the sticky sweat coating your body.

It's a claim, a promise of what's to come.

The pain is so intense that it's almost a relief when the initial agony of your lost virginity fades into a dull, persistent throb.

He's not gentle, not even a little.

His thrusts are deep and powerful, a relentless battering ram against your slick, abused walls. You're not sure if you're crying or if it's just the sweat and tears mixing on your face, but you know you can't keep fighting.

Your body feels like it's being torn apart, and every time he hits that spot deep inside you, you feel a strange mix of pain and something else… something that you hate admitting could be pleasure.

"P-Please," you manage to gasp out, your voice a broken whisper. "P-Please, it h-hurts."

He laughs darkly, his breath hot against your neck. "Good," he says, his hips moving faster. "It's supposed to fucking hurt. It's supposed to remind you of who's in charge."

His teeth graze your skin, and you can feel his knot swelling at the base of his cock, preparing to claim you in the most primal way possible.

As you lay there, sobbing into the cold, unforgiving earth, the hybrid wolf's hips piston into you without mercy. His teeth are still latched onto the back of your neck, his knot swelling with every brutal thrust. You feel his dominance in every inch of your being, a stark, painful reminder that you are utterly at his mercy.

Your body shakes with the effort to withstand his relentless assault, each thrust driving his knot further into you, stretching you to the point of agony.

The alpha wolf's knot swells further, reaching its full size, and lodges itself inside you, effectively trapping him within your body.

You feel a new level of fullness, a pressure that makes you gasp and whine, your body trying to reject the unyielding intrusion.

His movements become more erratic, his growls deeper as he starts to lose control, his hips slamming into you without rhythm or care. "Take it," he snarls, his voice a feral rumble. "Take every fucking inch."

Your own voice is lost in a sob as you feel his knot expanding even further, the pain a white-hot brand across your consciousness.

Your body tenses around him, trying to force him out, but it's a futile effort.

His grip on your ankles tightens, his nails digging deeper into your flesh as he starts to fuck you harder, his knot moving within you, the sensation a mix of agony and something else. Something that makes your body respond despite your mind's screaming protests.

"You're mine," he says again, his voice a harsh growl. "My omega, my wife." His thrusts become erratic, his breaths coming in pants as he starts to lose control.

You can feel the warmth of his seed building, his cock pulsing within you. "You're going to take it," he says, his teeth pressing down on your neck. "You're going to take every drop of my cum, and you're going to love it."

You whimper, your body trembling under the onslaught of pain and unwanted pleasure. The knot inside you is unbearable, stretching you further than you ever thought possible. You can't move, can't do anything but endure as he takes his fill of you, your body his plaything.

His hips slam into your bruised ass, the force of his thrusts making you see stars. "Yes," he hisses, his grip on your ankles tightening. "You're going to milk me dry."

You feel his knot swell even more, the pressure unbearable, and you know what's coming. He's going to fill you with his cum, claiming you in the most primal, irrevocable way. You try to fight, to push him away, but your body is too weak, too used.

Your sobs become screams as he starts to cum, his hot seed flooding your insides, filling you up until you can't take it anymore. His teeth dig into your neck, holding you in place as he marks you, his orgasm a violent, possessive act that leaves you shaking.

The alpha wolf's hips slow, his cock still pulsing inside you. He pulls out slightly, only to push back in, his knot keeping him connected to you.

The feeling is agonizing, but you can't help the way your body responds, your pussy clenching around him, milking him dry. He groans with pleasure, his hips bucking against you as he empties himself into you. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice a dark, sated growl. "Good little omega."

As he cums, you feel something within you shift. The pain is still there, but it's overlaid with a strange, primal need.

Your body seems to crave his seed, your walls tightening around him as if trying to keep him inside you.

It's as if your body knows what he's done, that he's marked you as his, and it's trying to accept it, to submit to his dominance.

You hate yourself for it, but the feeling is undeniable.

He pulls out of you with a wet pop, his knot shrinking until it's no longer lodged inside you. You collapse onto the ground, your body trembling with exhaustion and the aftershocks of your forced climax.

The alpha wolf stands over you, his cock still hard and gleaming with your blood and combined juices. He licks his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. "Look at the mess you've made," he says, his voice filled with dark amusement. "You're going to clean me up, aren't you?"

────────────

But, then the alpha wolf's eyes narrow as he watches you pathetically try to crawl away, your body trembling from the intense pain and pleasure of his rough claiming.

His patience wears thin at your continuous refusal to submit, his lip curling in a snarl.

He strides towards you, his massive form casting a shadow that makes you feel even smaller and more vulnerable.

You try to scuttle away faster, your legs shaking with the effort, but your weakened state only makes your escape attempts more pitiful.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snarls, his voice a low, menacing rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

He grabs you by the scruff of your neck, his grip firm yet gentle in comparison to his earlier brutality. "You're mine now, little omega. There's no running from that."

His eyes are filled with a mix of anger and hurt, his pupils dilated with desire. He shakes his head, the disappointment in his gaze almost as painful as his earlier bites. "I didn't expect you to be this stubborn," he murmurs, almost to himself.

You whimper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. Your body aches from his rough handling, but a part of you can't deny the strange, dark thrill that runs through you at his words.

"Please," you croak out, your voice hoarse from your earlier screams. "Let me go."

He tilts his head to the side, studying you with a predatory gaze. "Why should I?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

"You're mine now. You've felt what I can do to you. Why would you want to leave?" He runs a claw lightly down your spine, the threat implicit in the gesture. You shiver, your body responding despite your fear.

"I don't…I don't want this," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Please, let me go."

The alpha hybrid wolf's grip on your neck tightens for a brief moment before releasing you entirely. He steps back, watching you with a cold, calculating gaze. "You think you can just walk away?" he sneers.

"You're mine now. You're going to bear my pups, and you're going to do it willingly." His eyes flash with a dangerous intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "If you keep fighting me, I'll just have to get more creative with your punishments."

You manage to push yourself onto your hands and knees, your body still shaking from the overwhelming pain and humiliation.

You spit dirt out of your mouth and look up at him, your true inner will finally bursting out in frustration, your eyes full of defiance despite the tears that stain your cheeks. "I'll never be yours, you damn bastard rapist," you hiss through gritted teeth. "Never."

The hybrid wolf's expression darkens, his eyes narrowing to slits. "We'll see about that," he says, his voice low and dangerous.

He takes a step closer, and you can't help but flinch, your body instinctively remembering the pain he's capable of inflicting. "You're going to learn your place, little omega. And when you do, you'll beg for my cock."

────────────

As you manage to stumble to your feet, the alpha wolf watches you with a predatory gaze, his eyes tracking your every movement. He seems to revel in the power he holds over you, his chest heaving with each breath as if your fear and pain are a sweet scent that fuels his arousal.

With a wicked smile, he steps aside, allowing you to run, his tail flicking in anticipation of the chase.

The alpha wolf's smile widens into a full-blown grin as he watches you limp away, your bruised and bloodied body a testament to his dominance. "Run, little omega," he says, his voice a dark promise. "But remember, I'll be waiting for you. And when I catch you again, I'll fuck you until you can't ever fucking walk again."

You stumble through the underbrush, the pain of his knotting still resonating through your body.

You're not sure how much more of this you can take, but you know you can't just give up. You have to find a way out of this nightmare, a way to escape him and his twisted games.

The forest blurs around you, the pain and fear clouding your vision. You don't know where you're going, only that you have to get away.

The hybrid wolf watches you go, his smile never leaving his face. He knows you won't get far, not in your current state. He's toyed with you enough to know your limits, to know how much you can handle before you break.

But he also knows that the chase is part of the thrill, the anticipation of the hunt making the eventual capture all the more satisfying.

He lets you run, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic glee as he watches the desperation in your movements.

You stumble through the underbrush, your legs wobbly from the rough treatment he's just given you. You're not a fast runner, not with the pain radiating from your torn hymen and the heavy weight of his cum filling you.

But you force yourself to go on, driven by a primal need to escape the monster that's claimed you.

Twigs snap beneath your feet, leaves crunching as you push yourself harder, ignoring the sting of your bruised flesh against the rough ground.

Behind you, the alpha wolf laughs, the sound echoing through the trees like a dark promise.

You know he's not really letting you go; he's just enjoying the thrill of the chase.

His powerful form moves with an eerie grace, his eyes locked on yours, a twisted smile playing across his face. The thought of what he'll do to you when he catches you sends a fresh wave of terror through your body, and you push yourself to go faster.

You stumble through the forest, the pain in your legs growing with each step. Your heart races in your chest, the fear of his pursuit driving you forward even as your body screams for rest.

The moon casts a silver glow through the canopy, lighting your path but also making you feel more exposed.

You can hear the rustle of leaves as he stalks you, his movements deliberate and calculated.

He's enjoying this, you realize with a sickening feeling in your stomach.

He's enjoying making you run.

The alpha hybrid wolf's laughter echoes through the trees, a taunting, predatory sound that sends a chill down your spine. "You can't escape me, little omega," he calls out, his voice deep and resonant. "Wherever you go, I'll find you."

The words are a promise, one that fills you with dread. You know he's not lying; he's a creature of the hunt, and you're his prey.

You push yourself harder, your lungs burning and your legs aching. Your senses are heightened, every sound in the forest a potential threat.

You can feel his presence behind you, a looming shadow that seems to grow closer with each passing second. "Faster," he says, his voice a whisper in the wind. "Or I'll just have to drag you back, kicking and screaming."

You whip around, your eyes wild with fear. The hybrid wolf is closer than you thought, his teeth bared in a feral smile.

You can see the hunger in his gaze, the need to claim and possess you. "You can't do this," you choke out, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I won't be your omega, I won't let you do this to me."

"You don't have a choice," he says, his voice cold and final. He stalks closer, his eyes gleaming with a dark light that makes your heart race. "You're mine now, and I'll fuck you whenever I want. And you’ll just have to damn well take it, you stubborn bitch.”

His words are a promise, one that sends a shiver of dread through your body.

You stumble back, trying to put more distance between you, but your legs are wobbly, your body still reeling from his earlier assault.

He doesn't give you the chance to run again.

With a snarl, he lunges, his powerful body moving with the grace of a predator.

You scream, your voice raw from your earlier cries, and try to dart away, but he's too fast. His massive hands land on your shoulders, pushing you to the ground. "Struggle all you want," he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "It'll just make it better."

You squirm beneath him, your body slick with sweat and tears. His weight is a crushing presence, a reminder of the brutal reality of your situation. "Please," you whimper, your voice shaking. "P-Please stop, no more, p-please."

The alpha hybrid wolf chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your ear. "What's the matter, little omega?" he asks, his voice mocking.

"Can't handle your new life?" His claws dig into your shoulders, his grip unyielding. "You should have thought of that before you decided to play hard to get."

You try to buck him off, to kick and claw, but your body feels like it's made of lead, and his weight is too much for you to bear.

You feel his cock, still hard and slick with your blood and cum, pressing against your thigh, a constant reminder of his dominance. "Get off me," you snarl weakly, trying to push him away. "I'm not your plaything."

He laughs, the sound a low, dark rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "Oh, but you are," he says, his voice dripping with malice. "And I'm going to enjoy breaking you in."

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your fear. "You're going to beg for it, you know," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "You're going to beg for me to fill you up and make you scream my name."

You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the unwelcome spark of arousal his words stir in you. "Never," you spit out, your voice laced with defiance.

The alpha wolf's eyes flash with anger, his grip tightening on your shoulders. "We'll see about that," he growls, his teeth grazing your neck as he pins you down.

You can feel his cock, still rock-hard and slick with your blood and cum, pressing insistently against your thigh. His knot starts to swell again, a sign that he's not yet done with you.

"No," you whimper, your voice shaking with fear and exhaustion. "I won't let you."

His teeth find your neck again, and you feel the sharp pain as he bites down, claiming you once more with a possessive growl. Your body tenses, your weak struggles doing nothing to deter him as he lines his thick, swollen cock up with your sore, bloodied entrance.

You can feel the beginnings of his knot swelling at the base, the promise of another agonizing mating session that you know you won't be able to resist.

Your weakened attempts to fight back only seem to excite the alpha hybrid wolf more, his eyes gleaming with a mix of anger and lust. His teeth sink deeper into your neck, holding you in place as he starts to push his cock inside you again.

You feel the pressure building as his knot swells, the pain of his previous claim still fresh in your mind. You try to buck your hips, to twist away from him, but his weight and strength are too much.

The hybrid wolf's response to your increased struggle is to kiss you hard and without mercy, his teeth grazing your lower lip as he takes your mouth in a punishing, possessive kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, tasting your fear and the coppery tang of your blood, a flavor that only seems to inflame his desire further.

His kiss is a claim of ownership, a declaration that you belong to him and no other.

You feel his cock, still slick with the evidence of his previous claim, push against your entrance, the swollen knot at its base a constant, painful reminder of the fate that awaits you.

You try to bite his tongue, to push him away with every ounce of strength you have left, but it's like trying to fight a hurricane with a single leaf. He's unyielding, his mouth moving over yours in a violent dance that leaves you breathless and dizzy.

His grip on your shoulders tightens, his hands digging into your flesh as he uses his superior strength to hold you in place.

You feel the tip of his cock breach you once again, the pain sharp and immediate, making you cry out against his mouth.

The alpha wolf's kiss is brutal, his teeth scraping against your lips as he takes what he wants without regard for your protests. His tongue fills your mouth, tasting the desperation and the faint sweetness of your fear.

His cock slams into you, the swollen knot at the base stretching you wider than you ever thought possible, making you scream into his mouth. Your body fights against his intrusion, your muscles clenching around his thick length as you try to push him out, but his strength is overwhelming.

He pulls away, panting heavily, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're going to learn to love it," he says, his voice a low growl. "You're going to crave the feel of me inside you, marking you, claiming you."

He pushes into you again, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm that makes you cry out with every thrust. You can feel his knot swelling, the pressure unbearable as he forces his way deeper and deeper.

You thrash beneath him, your nails digging into the dirt as you try to find anything to help you, to push him away. But his weight is too much, his strength too overwhelming. "Stop," you gasp, your voice breaking on the word. "Please, stop!"

He chuckles darkly, his breath hot on your face. "You're so pathetic," he sneers, his thrusts becoming more punishing. "Begging for it already."

The alpha wolf's cruel chuckle fills the air as he drives into you, his knot stretching you to the limits of endurance.

Despite the pain, your body starts to betray you again, responding to his rough treatment with unwanted arousal.

Each punishing thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through your abused body, and you feel your walls clench around him, trying in vain to push him out.

He seems to sense your struggle, his eyes darkening with satisfaction as he leans in closer, his teeth nipping at your ear.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Take it, you stubborn bitch. Take all of me." His hips move faster, his cock pistoning in and out of you with a brutal efficiency that leaves you gasping.

You can't help but whimper, your body trembling with the effort of resisting the building pleasure. "You're going to cum for me," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "You're going to scream my name as I fill you up."

You want to fight it, you want to keep your dignity intact, but your body has a mind of its own. The hybrid wolf's relentless assault sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "No," you moan, the word torn from your lips despite your best efforts. "I won't…I won't…ahh…"

He chuckles again, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Yes, you will," he says, his voice filled with dark amusement. "You can't help it, can you? Your body knows what it needs." His hands move to your hips, his claws digging in as he pulls you into his thrusts, each one more powerful than the last.

You whine, trying to deny the building climax, but your body has its own agenda. Your hips buck up to meet him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your bruised core.

He's right; you can't fight it, not when he's so deep inside you, not when his knot is swelling and demanding your submission. You feel the first spasm of your orgasm, your muscles clenching around his cock, and he grunts in satisfaction.

"There it is," he murmurs, his voice a dark purr that sends shivers down your spine. "Give in to it, little omega. Let me feel you cum around me." His thrusts grow more erratic, his knot swelling to a terrifying size.

You can't hold back the scream that rips from your throat as your climax hits you like a storm, your body writhing beneath him. He takes advantage of your weakened state, slamming into you harder, the knot stretching you further than you thought possible.

The pleasure is unbearable, your body a live wire of sensation as he takes you over the edge.

But amidst the waves of ecstasy, you feel a sharp, searing pain as your leg gives way beneath his weight.

You scream in agony, the sound muffled by his mouth as he kisses you roughly, swallowing your cries.

"Mine," he snarls, his teeth digging into your neck. You feel his cock pulse inside you, filling you with his seed, claiming you once again.

Your body convulses around him, the pain in your lower body mixing with the agony of his brutal mating.

"You…you monster," you whimper, tears streaming down your face as your body continues to spasm around his knot.

The pain in your leg is like nothing you've ever felt before, a white-hot agony that sends shockwaves through your body.

You try to kick him off, to fight back with every ounce of strength you have left, but the pain is too much. You're trapped beneath him, his knot swollen and lodged deep inside you, his seed filling you up and marking you as his property.

After riding out your orgasm, the alpha wolf pulls out of you with a smug smile, his cock still hard and gleaming with your blood and cum.

He looks down at your broken leg, the bone jutting out at an unnatural angle, and his eyes flash with a twisted kind of satisfaction. "Looks like you'll be staying put," he says, his voice a dark purr. "It's for the best, really. Less running around for you to do."

You whimper, the pain making it hard to focus, to think. "W-Why are you doing this?" you ask, your voice shaking. "What do you want from me?"

The alpha hybrid wolf's smile widens, his eyes cold. "Everything," he says, his voice a dark whisper. "I want everything you have to give, and then some."

He runs a hand down your side, his claws lightly scoring your flesh. You flinch, but he doesn't stop, his touch a sadistic caress that makes your skin crawl. "I want you to submit, to beg for my cock, to crave my touch."

His voice is low, hypnotic, and for a moment, you almost believe you could want that.

────────────

The alpha wolf's cold, sadistic gaze locks onto your trembling form as he pulls out a set of long piano strings, the metal glinting menacingly in the moonlight.

You watch in horror as he wraps them around your uninjured leg, his eyes never leaving yours. The strings bite into your skin, the tension palpable as he tightens them, his teeth bared in a feral smile.

You try to kick him away, but the pain in your broken leg sends shockwaves through your body, leaving you incapacitated.

The alpha wolf's eyes gleam with excitement as he tightens the piano strings around your leg, the metal biting into your flesh with a cruel precision.

You scream in agony, the pain from your broken leg now eclipsed by the new torment.

He's not destroying it yet, but the threat is clear in his sadistic smile. He enjoys watching you squirm, your fear and pain only serving to fuel his lust.

"Please," you beg, your voice breaking. "Please, don't do this."

The alpha wolf's smile only widens as he tightens the strings further, watching as the color drains from your face. "Why do you keep fighting?" he asks, his tone mocking. "You're only making it worse for yourself."

Through gritted teeth, you manage to spit out through the tears, "Because I'm not your omega." Despite the pain, a small part of your spirit remains unbroken, the fire in your eyes a silent challenge.

The hybrid wolf's chuckle sends a cold shiver down your spine as he tightens the piano strings around your uninjured leg.

The pain is unbearable, your body writhing in agony as the metal digs into your flesh. You feel the warm trickle of blood start to run down your leg, the reality of his plan sinking in with a sickening thud. The strings are cutting through your skin, the tension building until you can feel the bone of your femur grinding against them.

Each twist of his hands sends a fresh wave of pain through you, and you can't help but cry out, your voice hoarse from your previous screams.

The alpha wolf leans in closer, his teeth bared in a sadistic grin as he whispers, "Let's see how much of a fighter you really are, my little omega."

With a sickening twist of his paws, the piano strings tighten, biting deeper into your flesh.

The pain is unimaginable, the strings cutting through your skin and muscles, the bone of your leg feeling as if it's about to snap.

You scream, the sound raw and animalistic, as you feel the strings slice through the last of your resistance.

"Good," he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with perverse pleasure. "Scream for me, show me how much you hate it. Show me how much you're going to fight me every step of the way."

The alpha hybrid wolf's chuckles echo through the forest, sending a cold shiver down your spine. "I knew you'd be a fighter," he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "But that's what makes it all the more satisfying when you finally break."

He leans in closer, his hot breath against your face as he whispers, "And you will break, little omega. You'll beg me to keep you, to never leave you."

With a final twist of the piano strings, you feel the bone in your leg give way with a sickening crunch.

The pain is so intense, you're sure you're going to pass out, but somehow, you remain conscious, your eyes locked on his.

The alpha wolf's twisted smile widens as he watches the pain etched into your face, the strings tightening until the bone in your leg snaps with an audible crack.

You scream in agony, your body arching off the ground as much as his hold on you allows.

The pain is so intense, it feels as though your entire world has been reduced to the burning, searing heat of the strings digging into your flesh. He releases the tension slightly, watching as the blood starts to pool around the wound, the muscles in your leg quivering with the effort to stay attached to the bone.

"See?" he says, his voice a dark purr. "No more running for you. Now you're just where I want you, exactly how I want you."

He leans in closer, his hot breath fanning over your face, his teeth grazing your cheek. "But don't worry," he whispers, "I'll make sure you're taken care of. After all, you're my prize."

His hands move to stroke your side, his claws lightly grazing your skin. The gentleness of his touch is a stark contrast to the cruelty of his words, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

The alpha wolf's hands move with a cruel precision, tightening the piano strings once more. You feel the unbearable pressure build, the strings digging into your flesh like serrated knives. Your screams fill the forest, a desperate, primal sound that seems to echo off the very trees themselves.

You're not just begging now; you're pleading with everything you have, your voice hoarse from the screams that have torn from your throat. "P-Please," you sob, "please don't do this. I'll do anything, I'll be whatever you want me to be."

The hybrid wolf's smile widens, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "There it is," he says, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. "The sweet sound of submission."

He doesn't loosen the strings immediately, though; instead, he lets you squirm and beg for a few more moments, savoring the power he holds over you.

"Beg for it," he says, his voice a low growl. "Beg me not to take your other leg. Show me you're truly mine."

Trembling, you force the words out through your tears. "Please, I'm sorry, I'll submit, I'll be your omega, I won't fight you anymore, just don't take my leg, I'll do anything…" The words tumble out of you in a rush, each one a painful admission of defeat.

The alpha wolf's eyes narrow, considering your plea. He releases the strings slightly, the pressure on your leg easing just enough for you to draw in a shaky breath. "Anything?" he asks, his voice a low purr that sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod frantically, tears streaming down your face. "Anything," you repeat, your voice a broken whisper. "Just don't do this."

He tightens the strings once more, the pressure building until you can feel the bone in your leg starting to give way. You scream, your body jerking in a desperate attempt to escape the inevitable.

He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Don't worry," he says, his voice soothing despite the horror of the situation. "I'll take good care of you. You'll be my little pet, my personal fucktoy to use whenever I please."

He leans in closer, his breath hot on your face, his eyes glinting with malicious intent. "And maybe, just maybe, if you're a very good girl, I'll let you keep that pretty little pussy of yours."

You whimper, the pain in your leg unbearable as you feel the strings begin to saw through the last of your resistance. Your mind is a whirlwind of fear and desperation, and you know that you've lost. "Please," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I-I'll be good, I'll do anything!"

The alpha hybrid wolf leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek as he considers your words. "Prove it," he says, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. He loosens his grip on the strings slightly, the pressure on your leg easing just enough to let you breathe. "Tell me you're mine," he demands.

You swallow hard, the words sticking in your throat like bile. But the pain is too great, and the fear of losing your leg too intense. "I'm yours," you whisper, the words a painful concession. "I'll do whatever you want."

The alpha hybrid wolf's eyes flicker with something that might almost be respect, but it's quickly overshadowed by his dominance. "That's better," he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. He loosens the strings a bit more, the pressure on your leg lessening slightly. "Now," he says, "tell me you want me to fuck you."

You can't believe the words are coming out of your mouth, but the alternative is too terrifying to consider. "I…I want you," you force out, your voice shaking. "I want you to fuck me."

The alpha hybrid wolf's smile broadens, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "That's what I like to hear," he murmurs, his hands moving to gently stroke the side of your face, the claws retracted.

His touch is surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the brutality that came before. He releases the strings completely, and you feel the weight of his decision as the pain in your leg recedes to a dull throb.

The alpha wolf's kiss is like a brand, searing into your very soul and leaving no doubt of your newfound status.

His tongue invades your mouth, tasting your fear and desperation, and yet there's something darkly thrilling about the way he claims you, something that makes your heart race despite the pain and horror.

You can feel his cock, still hard and slick with your blood, pressing against you, demanding entry.

Your body reacts traitorously, your arousal spiking even as you bleed out, the pain and fear mixing in a toxic cocktail that somehow only makes the situation more intense.

He pulls back, his eyes dark with lust and power as he looks down at you. "You're mine now," he says, his voice a low growl. "Say it."

You whimper, the pain from your broken legs making it difficult to form coherent thoughts. "Y-yes," you choke out. "I'm yours."

You scream as he starts to thrust into you again, biting your shoulder without mercy, his knot swelling and forcing your shattered body to accommodate his brutal claim. Each movement sends bolts of agony through your legs, but you're too far gone to do anything but take it, your mind a haze of pain and submission.

He fucks you like an animal, his hips slamming into yours with a sickening wet sound that echoes through the forest. You can feel your body trying to fight back, but it's no match for his strength and dominance. The taste of blood is thick in the air, a testament to the brutality of his mating. His teeth dig deeper into your flesh, and you know that the marks he's leaving will never fully heal.

Your cries of pain are muffled by his mouth, his tongue invading yours in a twisted parody of affection as he continues to pound into you. Each thrust sends waves of agony through your body, your legs useless and forgotten beneath you. You can't even feel the pain anymore, it's just a part of you, a constant reminder of your new reality.

As you lay there, the hybrid wolf's teeth still embedded in your shoulder, the pain from your legs is a constant throb, but it's almost as if your body is trying to adapt to the new reality it's been thrust into.

Each thrust of his cock feels like a hot iron poker being pushed into your core, the pain and pleasure mixing until you can't tell the difference anymore. Your body betrays you, your walls clenching around him, trying to keep him inside you despite the horror of what's happening.

He releases your shoulder with a wet pop, the blood from the wound mixing with the fluids already coating your skin. "You're so tight," he murmurs, his voice a gruff growl. "So fucking tight, even with all the damage I've done to you." His eyes bore into yours, a challenge and a question in their depths. "Do you like it when I hurt you?"

The question hangs in the air, a silent demand for your truth. Your body is a wreck, your mind a tornado of agony and submission, but somehow, you find the strength to nod. The words come out as a whimper, barely audible. "Yes," you admit, your voice trembling. "I do."

The alpha wolf's hand snaps back, the slap echoing through the clearing like a gunshot.

Your cheek burns with the force of his blow, the impact sending your head spinning and your vision blurring with tears. The sting of his hand is a stark contrast to the burning agony in your legs, a reminder that your submission isn't enough to satisfy his twisted desires.

"Don't lie to me," he snarls, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "I can smell it on you, the scent of fear and pain. Tell me the truth."

You whimper, trying to gather your thoughts through the fog of pain and submission. "I…I do," you repeat, your voice shaking. "It's what you want, isn't it?"

The alpha wolf's eyes narrow, his grip on you tightening. "What I want," he says slowly, "is for you to be honest. To admit that you love the way I make you feel, that you crave the pain and the fear. That you need me to own you completely."

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "But I know you're a damn liar, my sweet omega. I can see it in your eyes. You're fighting me even now."

The hybrid wolf's grip on the piano strings tightens, his hands moving with a sickening precision that sends a fresh wave of terror through you.

You can feel the strings cutting deeper into your leg, the pain so intense it steals your breath away.

With a final, brutal twist, the strings snap tight, and you feel a white-hot agony as your left leg is severed completely. The blood spurts in a crimson arc, painting the leaves and soil a gruesome shade of red.

You scream in wailing agony, the sound echoing through the forest, a haunting melody of pain and despair.

Your vision swims, the world turning to a kaleidoscope of colors as the pain overwhelms your senses. The ground beneath you feels cold and foreign as your body tries to comprehend the sudden loss of a limb.

The alpha wolf pulls away, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as he watches you writhe in pain. "Look at what you've made me do," he murmurs, his voice a dark purr. "You've only got yourself to blame for this." His hands come up to wipe the blood from your face, his touch almost gentle, a stark contrast to the horror he's just inflicted upon you.

The alpha wolf's thrusts become even more brutal as he watches the pain and despair play out on your face.

You can feel your body giving in, your consciousness fading as the agony of your amputated leg combines with the overwhelming pressure of his knot inside you.

Each time he pulls out, it's like he's ripping out your soul along with his cock, only to shove it back in with a viciousness that sends shockwaves of agony through your body.

The smell of blood and sex is thick in the air, a heady perfume that seems to drive him to even greater heights of depravity.

Your cries become weaker and weaker, until finally, the world goes dark.

You're not sure if it's the pain or the blood loss, but everything around you fades away, leaving only the pounding of his hips against your mutilated body.

And yet, even as you slip into unconsciousness, you can feel his knot swelling, his seed filling you up. It's a final, vicious reminder of your new role in his life—his pet, his toy, his breeding omega.

────────────

The alpha wolf chuckles darkly as you lose consciousness beneath him, your body limp and broken. He leans in, pressing a sweet kiss to your bloodstained lips, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim one last victory.

His love is a twisted, possessive thing, a perversion of the bond that should have been gentle and consensual.

But as he whispers the words into your unhearing ear, his hips never stop moving, his cock never leaving your torn, abused hole.

Each thrust is a declaration of his dominance, a promise that you will never escape his grasp.

You're vaguely aware of his words, a faint murmur against your skin. "Mine," he repeats, his voice a low growl of triumph. "You're mine now, my beautiful omega. You can't run from me anymore."

His hands roam over your body, his claws tracing delicate patterns in your skin that make you shiver in your unconscious state despite the agony. "I'll take care of you," he says, his voice soothing despite the horror of his actions. "I'll make sure you never want for anything—except for my cock, filling you up, making you scream."

The alpha wolf's hips continue to piston into your unresponsive body, his knot still swollen and embedded deep within you. The warmth of your blood coats your thighs and your skin, painting a gruesome picture of his brutal claim.

Despite your unconsciousness, your body continues to react to him, your walls spasming around his cock, a reflexive response to the pain and the presence of his seed. His movements are relentless, a testament to his desire to fully dominate and claim you.

Each thrust sends waves of pain through your body, a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play in this twisted mating dance.

With a final, triumphant snarl, the alpha hybrid wolf releases his knot, filling you with his cum one last time before withdrawing completely. He stands over you, his cock glistening with your blood and his own seed.

He looks down at your amputated leg with a twisted sense of satisfaction, the crimson stump a testament to his dominance. "We'll see if you're worthy of having this back," he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "But for now, you're exactly where you need to be—under me, bleeding for me."

[wraithscrypt]

Time to clarify some personal values and use this data as a way to determine where I am not living in accordance to them. Self-exploration possibly turning into a reality check (also it'd be nice to understand myself better). Values Clarifaction: badassitude, accountability, adaptability, balance, brilliance, clever, comfort, contribution, curiousity, determination, exploration, expression, fairness, foresight, fortitude, freedom, gratitude, tenacity, humor, hygge, imagination, individuality, insight, intuition, knowledge, patience, queerness, reflection, self-compassion, self-reliance, sensitivity, sexuality, sincerity, solitude, storytelling, thoughtful, transparency, vision, and wonder.

[mitskicodedwukong]

✨ REDSON, SIX-EARED MACAQUE, & SUN WUKONG WITH AN ADHD S/O ✨

» three-thirty (AJR) « 0:45 ─〇───── 4:07

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝🍑╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗🍑╔⏤⏤⏤╝ ➤ This is reposted from my old account, @nothyenlowz :3 ➤ These are headcanons. ➤ This is romantic. ➤ Reader is afab & uses she/her! ➤ I don't think I went as in depth as I could have been I still hope it's accurate and you enjoy it! ➤ TRIGGER WARNINGS include profanity, a little bit of angst, and minor violence. ➤ Word count: 1,361

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

❝ You wanna skip it if it's wordy, but fit the whole song in three-thirty .❞

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ REDSON 🔥 ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝

➤ before he finds out you have ADHD, i imagine he's confused by your behavior at best and frustrated by it at worst.

➤ your daydreaming and procrastination can be annoying for him, someone who's always about work, work, work. when you're talking to him about your fixations, he gets irritated because either he 1.) has no idea what you're talking about or 2.) thinks you're making fun of him since he often rambles about his inventions in a similar manner.

➤ he just doesn't understand why you're doing those things and neither do you. it causes a lot of struggles for you both initially, leading to shit communication and hurt feelings.

➤ when you're finally diagnosed, redson listens very closely. now your quirks are starting to make sense, but you still don't have as much information as he'd like. he researches ADHD in AFAB people rather meticulously on his own time (sometimes interrupted by his own anger at the lacking information for females), and by the end of it, he has a much improved understanding.

➤ and boy does he feel shitty. hindsight is 20/20 or something.

➤ the idea that he blew up at you for things out of your control makes him feel ashamed, especially when some of those things (like info-dumping) are signs of affection. so you don't see him for a while, partially due to some unhealthy self-punishment on his end, and also because he's trying to come up with a solution—that being a way to make it up to you, of course, not "fix" you.

➤ when redson stops avoiding you, he takes you out on a date with all your favorite activities and thoroughly apologizes to you. he promises to adjust his behavior to accommodate and support you.

➤ (which might have made you cry, considering you've always been treated like you're the problem.)

➤ true to his word, redson changes a lot. he leaves little notes for you as reminders, sets alarms for you, helps you finish or do tasks you don't have the energy for, etc. he even starts prompting info-dumping, reading up on the source material so he can ask questions.

➤ he also does his very best to educate himself on masking and burnout so he can a.) keep you from going there or b.) recognize the signs when you are there and help you. i like to imagine he made a sensory room for you that has all your favorite things and you can just go there to chill and unwind.

➤ he's also super protective over you. if people make fun of your stims, say you talk a lot, undermine your sensory issues, etc., he will DESTROY them. no way in hell is he letting you be disrespected like that. verbal smackdown, here we come.

➤ ultimately, it's a learning process. but it's one he's more than willing to thoroughly explore for you.

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╝╚⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ SIX-EARED MACAQUE 🔮 ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╗╔⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╝

➤ HONESTLY i headcanon macaque as autistic, so i feel like he had a feeling that you were ADHD before you did.

➤ probably made jokes like "it's the ADHD lol" for certain behaviors until you decided to do some research on it and were like "🧍‍♂️ yeah so—"

➤ not surprised at all when you're diagnosed, obviously. he uses the opportunity to show you coping mechanisms he's learned (though some have to be tweaked for your needs since autism isn't ADHD), and even begins to unmask more around you (which was inevitable anyway tbh, but it's easier now that he doesn't feel so different from you).

➤ since macaque thrives under routine/structure, he often handles reminders. he also keeps you on track, verbally and physically, if you have things to do. ALSO is super on you about eating, since he likes cooking.

➤ macaque's experienced dozens of burnouts in his long life, so he knows how awful they are. he can sniff out a burnout a mile away so i'd like to think that you don't experience many while with him because he's really good at pacing the both of you/being aware of your emotional and mental state. the dojo's pretty chill like 90% of the time due to his own sensory issues so it's a good place to unwind and relax.

➤ you guys have picked up so many phrases from each other. he'll be working on a script for a shadow play while you're cleaning and he'll just hear you laugh and go, "wow, didn't see that one comin'." it definitely flusters him that he's included in your echolalia.

➤ macaque rambles to you about theatrical pieces from various cultures. if you introduce him to new ones, tell him something he doesn't know about a piece he's already familiar with, etc. he'll kiss you istg. anyway this is to say the feeling is mutual and he probably ends up getting into some of the media/hobbies you tell him about!

➤ you guys mutually bully each other lmao. you'll be trying to do some work, get to talking to him about whatever comes to you, and then suddenly it's three hours later. you're like "FUCK" and he just laughs at you (you get him back, of course, and it's all in good fun).

➤ he barely thinks beating anyone who talks shit about you is an overreaction, but if you don't like it then you'll just have a clone stick around in your shadow or something to scare the shit out of anyone who decides to open their mouth to you.

➤ in summary, macaque is very helpful and teaches you coping skills when it comes to sensory issues + overload.

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ SUN WUKONG 🍑 ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝

➤ first off, i headcanon Wukong as ADHD, too.

➤ with that said, i feel like Wukong just... assumed you knew you were ADHD and rolled with it.

➤ like you guys constantly quoted/repeated each other/shows and stimmed at/with each other. you'd get in loops. you'd adapt each other's phrases/stims. neurotypicals don't do that.

➤ it's genuinely amusing thinking about you two just repeating the same things at each other. it's such a serotonin boost and it makes you both laugh. same for when you stim together, especially hand-flapping and jumping up and down.

➤ you're both trash at remembering stuff but fortunately you seem to have an awful lot of capacity for the other—meaning you remind wukong he has a session with MK today because he forgot, and he reminds you that you agreed to make noodles with pigsy today because you forgot.

➤ i don't think remembering to eat or drink is a big problem for you, since wukong is a big comfort eater and shares his snacks with you so you kinda just... roll with it lol.

➤ wukong has a bunch of homemade stim tools. once he sees that you're interested, he makes some more for you. even after your diagnosis, you don't try "professionally" made stim toys—you just don't need them when wukong's work so well.

➤ you guys spend hours talking about your interests, ping-ponging off each other. like: "OH, did you know x?" "NO, but did you hear about x?" x1000.

➤ you guys also bully each other. "Hey Great Sage you forgot do the dishes again, you crusty bitch"; "says the dumbass who started folding laundry and then did a fashion show with the monkeys".

➤ like macaque, wukong's had his fair share of burnouts. unfortunately, he's not super good at preventing them or even realizing he's in them until it's been a few months, but you guys take care of each other if the other is struggling. you're also very aware of the other's limits so if one of you is pushing it, you can help each other step back.

➤ wukong learned a great deal of patience and mercy from his journey, so people being unkind to him doesn't really bother him. plus, he barely leaves his mountain as is—but if one of those times, someone doesn't to be a dick while you're stimming or something? best case scenario, he has some very choice words—worst case scenario, bro's taking it upon himself to remind the public why you should be more considerate of who you're snarking to.

➤ basically, nothing changes after you get diagnosed lol. you and wukong are very happy ADHD gremlins who are celebrating your neurodivergency :)

❝ I thought I had the ADHD, but that's a real thing (and I'm just lazy) .❞

[coltishcaterpillar]

Unmasked / Platonic!Father Alastor x Teen!Daughter Reader

Chapter I: Introduction

Summary:

Two days after the Extermination, a bored Emily reads through private records of Heavenly residents and sinners alike.

During her mindless scrolling, she comes across a vintage diary smelling of old paper, from the late 20s-early 30s. It details the life of the teenage adopted daughter of the Radio Demon; up until her death at aged 16 on January 11th, 1934.

WARNINGS: Mentions of Racism

April 4th, 1932

Have you ever seen a top hat, what one really looks like on a person?

Neither have I, until today. At the end of Merritt Street, there’s a small accessories store that sells jewellery and clothing alike.

I used to frequent there, but I’ve never been a fashionable girl. I’m a larger fan of browsing; just admiring the beauty of art from afar, rather than acquiring it.

I never realized how much I missed the little establishment until I saw my favourite businessperson; Anne Brewster. A short, tout woman she was. Her skin had a grey tinge to it, a pointy nose that popped out her features; bright brown eyes and hair as white as pearls, short and thin as straw.

I greeted her with my usual demeanour. Quiet and curt, a straight wave and a superficial smile. The woman has a tendency to chatter; most of the time I don’t have time to interject, so I just listen.

I went in the shop with Elbert Graves; a fellow classmate of mine in mathematics. He’s not my ideal source of company, I’ll admit. I get along much better with other girls, but this helpless boy is always on my tail, and I can’t bare to tell him to get lost.

We came across a jet-black top hat with a golden ribbon wrapped around its rim. It was on display, but there was no glass so we assumed we could sample it. Elbert looked utterly ridiculous in it; far too flashy, and way too gigantic for his pea-sized head.

I managed a small laugh, as that’s the reaction he would’ve wanted from me. Ever the jokester…

I took a seat on the cushioned chair in front of the store’s entrance. Whilst Elbert was fooling around with other gadgets, Anne took to speaking with me.

She spoke a great deal about her grandchildren, and then inquired me about Papa.

Pa doesn’t usually wander about these places, but he knows Anne from university; they attended the same one in Shreveport, in September of 1908. Pa wanted to become a broadcaster post-secondary (to which he achieved) and Anne wanted to edit the local newspaper part-time; she was getting old, but didn’t want to stop working. She didn’t end up pursuing it, however, she dropped out her third year to take care of Rachel (her eldest grandchild who was 5 at the time.) Then, she inherited this business when Mr. Brewster, her father, died. He owned the shop.

She asked about his job was working out for him. Pa never speaks about work when he arrives home; usually he’s more interested in my daily activities. I don’t listen to Pa’s radio channel anyways, because the subjects he covers doesn’t appeal to me.

I just told her he was thriving; because in a way, he was. Pa was rarely in a sour mood. Of course, he gets moody when I do something out of line from time to time, but his attitude is always uplifting.

Elbert excused himself to the restroom at the back of the desk; that’s when she started talking about adolescent things. Boys…..

“Elbert is a such a handsome boy, don’t you agree?”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“His chin is too long, and his head is too small for his broad shoulders. Not to mention his personality isn’t to my tastes. He’s far too extroverted and cheeky.”

“Oh, come now, my lovely. Surely, we can’t all be picky! What ever will you do when you grow into a young woman? Who will be around to take care of you?”

“Pa will, no doubt.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. Your father will be far too senile to care for you when you’re in your prime! You need a strong man!”

“Too senile?! Surely, you jest. Pa may be lanky, but he’s very capable. He was only twenty-five when he adopted me, he’ll only be middle-aged by the time I’m an adult.”

“You say Elbert is cheeky, but I see a lot more cockiness coming from you than I ever have with him.”

“Only an outside observer can properly assess my personality. Perhaps you just see my persona differently than I.”

“Is that so?”

The bell hanging from the door rang; in came a man, dressed in a business suit, a large briefcase held in his right hand. He had been more wrinkly than I had last seen him: Anne’s partner, Mr. Devereaux.

He has a very thick Yorkshire accent; Anne and him met while she was on vacation in London; Mr. Devereaux was studying photography. When they first met in late 1864, they weren’t sure whether or not they could ever be together. Anne is a very brown woman, you see. Very. Mr. Devereaux is about as white as a sheet. People often look down on….colourful couples…? More harshly. They aren’t allowed to be married, so they had to improvise.

Forgive me for not mentioning this sooner, but Anne is actually good friends with my Grandma. Pa is half-Creole, you see, and my Grandma’s roots come from there. So, the Brewsters are actually well-acquainted with my family.

Mr. Devereaux sat his briefcase beside the door, across from where I was seated. He flashed me a toothless smile; quite literally, since they all rotted out of his mouth due to age.

I gave him a curious look back.

“Back from business, old man?” I tease.

He chuckled; giving me an affectionate pat on the head.

“Oh, well, look at you! Already at it with the nosy interrogation, I see! I’ve missed you, sweet girl.” He smiled.

I narrowed my eyes. He didn’t answer the question….

He turned his attention to Anne quite quickly. Leaning over the desk, he planted a kiss on her forehead.

“The trip went smoothly,” He told Anne, “Janice sent you a letter. It should be in the mail soon, my darling.”

Janice was their daughter.

“Lovely.”

He turned his entire body so it faced me, with an inquisitive look on his face. He then turned and whispered to Anne,

“Al is out late again?”

“I don’t know, my sweet. I’ve seen her out and about all day with Elbert, he must be. It’s nearly nine.”

“I thought his radio shows were done by four?”

“Perhaps the schedule’s changed, dearest. Let’s not be nosy, it’s not our business.”

I let out a deep breath through my nose, standing up. Pa likes to hang around a few stores after work, so I tried my best not to let their observations get to me. Perhaps he was already home!

Anne leaned over from behind Mr. Devereaux.

“Could you go check on Elbert, hun? He’s been in the restroom for quite a while.”

I sigh. Without a response, I head toward the back desk, into the small hallway that had the restrooms.

I knocked on the door, firmly.

“El?” I addressed him by nickname.

“Mhm?” His hun echoed off the door.

I raised an eyebrow. “What have you been doing in there these past fifteen minutes? It was eight-forty when you went in, it’s five to nine already!”

Within seconds, he came out of the door, an awkward smile plastered on his face. A blush dusted his cheeks as well; I narrowed my eyes at him. Did he have the runs?

“Finished?” I asked him without judgment.

“Yes.” He said, curt.

I lead him back to the entrance of the store, passing Anne a smile. I turn my gaze back to Elbert.

“I’m going to be leaving now. I hadn’t realize how late it was. Will you be alright on your own?” I asked, a tint of concern in my voice.

“Of course. See you later?” His tone was hopeful.

Without a pause, I said, “Yes, I’ll see you later.”

I said my goodbyes to Anne and Mr. Devereaux, and sent my regards to Janice.

When I exited the store, it wasn’t as dark and drab as I thought it would be; I still heard birds chirping, and I could see my way almost perfectly. Just another perk of springtime, I suppose.

When I arrived home, Pa was indeed on the couch, his legs crossed, with a newspaper in hand; black coffee was situated on the side table.

“Home at long last, my dear!” He put his newspaper down; and I ran over, kissing him on the cheek.

“Sorry, Papa. How long did you have to wait?”

“Oh, not long at all!” He chuckled heartily.

I turn over to the rounded wooden table in the dining room; a large cloth bag sat on it; my eyes lit up in curiosity.

“Now, now,” Pa waved his finger, “I know that dangerous gaze. Don’t go peeking around my things, dear.”

I put on a thinned-lipped smile, leaning on the armrest.

“What, do you have something to hide, Papa~?” I leaned in, teasingly.

It was meant to be a joke. A rhetorical question. Yet, I couldn’t help but notice his fist clench up, if only for a moment. His body language was saying something different than what his mouth was.

“Is it really too much to ask to keep yourself out of my business?” He bit his lower lip.

When Pa took that tone with me, I knew it was time to pipe down. I decided to change the subject, sitting next to him on the couch.

“Elbert and I took a stroll around the avenue.” I said, tracing along the armrest.

I could FEEL Pa’s eye roll without even looking.

“Out with that wretched boy again, are we?” He took a casual tone as he sipped his coffee, but I knew the mere thought of Elbert irked him.

Pa has never interacted much with my friends, so I thought El would be another drop in the ocean. I think his hatred of him has something to do with that one time he came over here.

Everything was alright until dinner time.

The few hours earlier, Grandma treated us with a generous amount of Jambalaya. She always makes the best, after all.

Elbert made an….observation? While we were eating and it made Pa freeze.

“This is some slave food! Who made it, a peasant?”

All I remember was Pa’s grip tightening so much on the fork. I leaned over to where he was sitting and rubbed his arm a little.

I disliked the comment too. That was my Grandma he was speaking about….

After El left, I noticed Pa staring at the wooden spoon on the shelf. I know that blasted piece of cutlery all too well….

Pa is good at discipline. Even when my other friends came over, he’d always make an effort to chastise them if they didn’t say please or thank you.

Long story short, I think Pa wanted to beat El. That’s probably why he was showing such immaculate restraint at the table. I can’t imagine another person disciplining somebody else’s child would go…smoothly, anyway.

He had valid reason to hate him, I suppose. I’m not fond of Elbert either, but…how do you find it in your heart to say no? I suppose I’ve never really had a backbone, but…it seems that he’s really fond of me.

“How was work?” I asked with a smile.

“It held all of its classic theatrics! You should find it in your soul to listen to my shows, my dear.” He beamed.

I was deep in thought.

“Don’t I hear enough of your voice already?”

Pa chuckled his little chuckle that always made my chest warm.

“You can never have too much of your father!”

Time went on as usual; a few moments later I decided to pack up for bed; Pa went upstairs to get his radio ready to listen to. He always does before he sleeps.

I took that as an opportunity to ponder; I turned my gaze back to the bag on the table. Pa notoriously hunts, but it was far too late for food, so it made me wonder.

I slid toward it with my socks against the hardwood. I breathed in deeply; perhaps there was a certain scent? All I could smell was the dusty fabric; nothing more.

With a sigh, I decided to leave it for now. Maybe it’s….best that I don’t.

Y/N

——————

Emily blinked once. She recognized the background; that this child of one of the hotel staff in Hell.

Taking the historical piece of literature to St. Peter, she inquired,

“St. Peter, hi! I was just wondering if there is a girl here in Heaven named Y/N L/N?”

St. Peter smiled in delight, getting out his holy book, scanning through all the people with your name; going roughly by last name. His face fell as they came to an end.

“Unfortunately not, Em! It’s…strange, considering the circumstances. Sixteen is very young for a person to end up in Hell…but she isn’t in Heaven.”

Emily frowned, eyeing the diary in her hands. Perhaps she’d find the answer in there….

[multi-fxndom446]

Lullaby

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Warning: literally just so much fluff, you’re welcome. He is already unmasked here.

Summary: Simon loves when you sing to him.

Word count: 1.1K

This was requested by @offbrandmeowmix I hope I did you request justice🫶🏻

To say Simon was tired was an understatement. He was exhausted, sore and overall just felt like collapsing where he stood.

All he had on his mind as he unlocked the door to his apartment was his bed. All he wanted to do was fall onto it and go to sleep and he was certain there was nothing in the world that could deter him from doing exactly that.

He was so confident in that up until the moment he closed the door behind him. He rested against it for another moment trying to gain courage to move forward but then stopped all together when he heard it.

Your sweet voice drifting through the usually quiet apartment. His mind that was once made up on his bed was now set on seeing you.

From the sounds of it you were practicing a song on the piano he had. A piano he had bought solely so you would sing more in his apartment, so you could fill the silence that used to consume him.

Not that he would ever admit it.

He walked up behind you as quietly as possible to not startle you, lest you stop playing. He underestimated every time how lost you got while singing and you didn’t hear a thing.

He watched you as you played through the song, eyes closed as you swayed in your seat softly. His eyes glanced over the little piano that wasn’t at all what you deserved.

One day, he’d buy you a grand piano. He’d put it in the living room of the house the both of you would live in. He could imagine it now, your voice floating through the house while your future kids watched in astonishment.

He watched you in utter adoration, any pain or soreness he had been feeling was long gone the longer he gazed at you.

Now it was his turn to get so lost in your singing that he didn’t notice when you turned to him. He only realized when he heard you gasp and bring a hand to your heart.

“Simon!” You let out a deep breathe. “When did you get home I wasn’t expecting you-?”

The moment your eyes connected with his he dropped his bag and kneeled to the ground. His arms wrapped around your waist as his head fell to your lap and his body immediately relaxed into you.

Your hands quickly came up to run through his hair and he let out a sigh of content. “Rough day?” You asked him softly but he only hummed in response.

His eyes closed while he listened to you hum softly. Something you did often. He learned very quickly that there was hardly ever a moment that you were quiet, you were always singing or humming in some way.

At first he thought it was a bit much. He’d come home and depending on your mood you could either be singing softly to yourself or sometimes he’d be greeted by you singing to him while you ran to him to wrap your arms around him.

He used to think he’d grow sick of it and at first looked forward to the days you’d go home but it immediately changed when he’d come home to cold dark silence.

He thrived on the days when he’d come home and you’d surprise him by being there, the lights on as you continued on with whatever you had been doing. It always lifted a weight off him when he heard you.

“Why don’t we go lay down?” You asked him softly, nails still scratching his head just right. He grunted in disapproval. “Come on, I know this isn’t comfortable for you.”

“I’m comfortable wherever you are.” He muttered against you and you laughed. The sound alone enough to lull him to sleep. He would spend the rest of his days making you laugh, just to hear the sweet sound everyday.

When you noticed the way his breathe started to grow shallower as he fell asleep you nudged him. As much as you hated waking him up, you knew he wouldn’t appreciate the crick in his neck when he woke up next.

“Alright, c’mon big guy.” You tried with all your strength to pull him to his feet but he was very good at dragging you down with him. “Simon.” You laughed and he let out a reluctant sigh before standing to his feet and letting you drag him to the bedroom.

“Long mission.” He grumbled to you while you pulled off his shirt and let him crawl into bed. You joined him quickly and pulled the blanket closer while he maneuvered so he was laying between your legs, his head on your stomach while his arms wrapped themselves back around your waist. “Sing to me?”

You smiled, fingers carding through his hair again. He never asked for you to sing to him so you knew he must be tired.

The comforting silence was drowned out by your soft voice singing a lullaby. Instantly he felt the tendrils of sleep wrapping around him like a warm hug.

As silly as it was, the lullaby you were singing to him was ‘you are my sunshine.’ Something he may have felt embarrassed about had it not soothed him to sleep so easily.

He was sure if any of his friends saw the display, he’d never hear the end of it but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Not when your hands were still playing with his hair softly and your voice filled his chest with a warmth he had never felt until he met you.

When you finished he took in a deep breathe and asked a question that had been on his mind the moment he realized he hated coming home to an empty apartment.

“Move in with me?” Your fingers stopped and he tightened his hold just a little in anticipation. He wondered if he should take it back say he was kidding, tell you to forget about it. He almost did but then your fingers started up again.

“Okay.” You whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his head.

Simon never thought he’d like to be greeted by someone singing to him but he could not picture the rest of his life any other way.

More specifically, he could not picture his life without you singing to him.

~~

Short and sweet I hope yall enjoyed:)

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Two (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but can you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Series genre: a LOT of tasty angst, tasty smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+ / NSFW / MDNI. Minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. Posting schedule and series masterlist are here. 

Author’s note: Thank you SO much for the response to Chapter One! And if you're still with it, I hope you enjoy chapter 2! It has been a LOOONNNNGGG time coming! 😆 This one is slightly shorter, with a bit of exposition to bridge between the OG instalment and the meat of our newly embarked upon continuation! The next chapters are where things really kick-off, but I do hope you enjoy this stoking of some tension, and, of course, finally seeing Santiago again - for the first time since the jarring conclusion to chapter one!!!!!! 

Word count: 4.8k for this part 

“It’s okay,” Frankie rumbles, looking at you levelly. “You can ask me about him.” 

You sigh, squirming in place - on the rear porch steps of your sister’s home - as your game is finally unmasked. Your pretense dashed. 

The hubbub of the lazy, Sunday BBQ is nothing but background to you now as Frankie zones in on your true wants, rendering you as an observer - rather than a participant - in the annual gathering you usually draw an abundance of joy from. 

Not so today, despite your best efforts at going through the motions. At pretending like everything is fine. 

Up to now, chatting idly with your bud in this safe little bubble, you’ve cycled through a gazillion conversation starters; each to emphasise just how interested you are in Frankie, and Whatever He Has Going On. Clearly though, you have failed to convince. Your friend simply knows you too well. Knows your weaknesses. 

Your one true weakness. Santiago “Pope” Garcia. 

You look at kind-eyed Frankie apologetically from beneath your lashes, sorry that your flimsy chat has failed to mask your disinterest in... um, whatever it was he was saying. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Cat.” Then, so help you, you ask the question you’ve actually been burning to ask all day. “How’s he doing, Frankie? Really?” 

Confirming the shift in tone, Frankie sets his plate of food aside and nestles his bottle of beer on the corner of the lowest porch step. Now you’re having a conversation. The pilot tents his fingers together in his lap, giving your question the full merit it deserves. “Pope?” 

Who else? 

“He’s… fine,” Frankie nods, studying your face as he says the words. Noticing -no doubt- the way you chew on your lip as your gaze wanders, fixing on the man in question. As you watch him mingle comfortably, effortlessly, amongst the throng of people on the lawn. Making connections, as per usual. 

Your stomach drops. An unease jostles in the pit of you. The niggle of regret. 

You shouldn’t have invited the guys here today. Shouldn’t have agreed to have them be present at your family gathering. Shouldn’t have agreed to follow-up it up with a squad weekend at the beach house - no matter that it’s tradition. But, then again, who were you to disrupt the usual way of things? And, more so, who were you to pretend that you didn’t want to see him again? After all this time? 

In truth, you had wanted nothing else but to see him again. That is, until you had laid eyes on him, and then, very quickly, you had pivoted. Wanted nothing more than to keep your distance. 

Why? 

Because by all accounts it’s true. 

Santiago is fine. 

Santiago certainly looks fine. He looks fine in all senses of the fucking word. He looks as though he’s thriving, in fact. 

Your face falls at the implication: that he’s thriving without you. 

With effort, you hum, schooling your expression into something neutral; however, Frankie’s already on to you. “Is that what you wanted to hear, chiquita?”

You turn your head towards your friend and exhale a small, pitiful laugh. Pondering Frankie’s question, you set your own plate and beer down too – a signal that shit’s getting real. 

Is it? 

Is that what you wanted to hear? 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I wanted to hear, Cat.” With a dejected sigh, you lean your head on Frankie’s shoulder, hooking your arm into the crook of his elbow. “Does that make me cruel? If I don’t wanna hear that he’s happy?” 

Your buddy doesn’t answer rightaway, but he does rest a reassuring hand on your thigh in response, his plush bottom-lip protruding as he pouts – apparently mulling over whether or not to throw you a bone. “Okay. Look,” he begins  - always a soft-touch for you - and you instantly perk-up just a little. “He had a rough spell when you left and-” Frankie huffs out air, shaking his head as though he might have gone too far in divulging already “-fuck, actually, you don’t wanna know.” 

You head snaps up from Frankie’s shoulder as it begins to shake with mirth, your curiosity piqued. 

“What?” you probe, as Frankie turns his head to look at you, a smile cracking his sharp features. Apparently, Frankie has a small part of him which is cruel too. “We stumbled upon his heartbreak playlist. And it was not pretty.” 

“Come on now,” you protest, a little too defensively, your mouth suddenly dry.  “I hardly broke the fucker’s heart.” 

Frankie pumps his eyebrows. Shrugs his shoulders. Then, his bark-brown eyes mist over, just a little. “More likely than you think, chiquita.” 

With that, your eyes flick right back to Santiago’s figure on the other side of the yard, as if trying to reconcile Frankie’s assertion with the reality you see before you. After all, Santiago “Pope” Garcia looks fine. In all senses of the word. 

Right this second, for example, he’s engaged in a highly tactical water fight with your kid nephews. About to enter the killbox any moment, you wager, given that 5 and 7-year-olds don’t seem bound by those pesky rules of engagement. His cargo shorts are – naturally - far too tight, and he’s wearing his crisp blue shirt as though he forgot what buttons did half-way through getting dressed, the fabric split in a deep, plunging “V” across his tan chest. 

Despite all that, however, the thing which captures your attention most, is the beaming, wide-open grin he has painted on his face. 

He looks... 

...Happy.  

Genuinely happy. The bastard. 

This is the first time he’s seen you since he stormed out of your apartment all those months ago. The first chance he’s had to make things right - and he hasn’t spoken a word to you all day. Despite being in your family’s yard. Eating your sister’s food. Playing with your goddamn nephews. You broke his heart, apparently. So Frankie tells you. And yet this fucker dares to looks happy. 

So… Is that what you wanted? 

For him to be happy? 

Without you? 

Or… is a small part of you cruel? 

You’re not sure about the answer to that question, but you do know that your eyes turn mildly devilish as they flick back towards your buddy, your voice hushed and downright conspiratorial. All of a sudden, you’re not concerned with being the bigger person. 

You decide you’ll willingly catch that bone Frankie is throwing. “Tell me more about this playlist, Francisco.” 

You need this, you justify internally. You need something. Some sign that Santiago is hurting too. 

You’ve needed this for months, in fact; but, goddamn - you especially need this before you and the squad spends a whole weekend together up at the beach house. 

You need it badly.

Why? 

Because you’re not fine. 

Not fine at all. 

Not fine without him. 

This is your family's yard, and it’s your family’s  party, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him since he stormed out of your apartment all those months ago… and you’re emphatically not happy about it. Have found that, despite what you had hoped for, your reunion hasn’t solved a damn thing. Hasn’t eased the knot in your chest. Hasn’t allowed you to feel any sense of resolution.

“Fuck.” Your eyes brim over with the realisation, wet and glassy, and a tight lump balls in your throat. 

“Come on,” Frankie mutters - softly but urgently - as your eyes begin to swim with emotion. He nods up towards the interior of the house, and you are endlessly grateful when, with minimal spectacle, your buddy bundles you inside, his arm slung casually around your shoulder for comfort. 

You’re not the retreating type. At all. You have always been comfortable running headlong into things that scare you. Even so, it is a marked relief when you do slink inside. A relief that you were able to save face. Keep your pain hidden. But, most of all, it is a relief that you no longer need to suffer Santiago’s abject joy. 

It is a relief in the same way it is to retreat from the blazing sun, and you immediately find sanctuary in the cool, shaded interior of the house. 

Still, given the tumult of emotions inspired by his general proximity today, you are less and less sure that you can handle this trip. 

The only thing pushing you to go through with it, in fact, is the knowledge that there’s one thing harder than being close to Santiago… and that’s being apart from him. 

Perhaps Frankie’s wrong. Perhaps you didn’t break Santiago’s heart when you left. But, one thing’s for sure. Leaving him had certainly broken yours.

Truth be told, even after all this time, you’ve barely begun to put yourself back together. 

You’re in pieces; which - to be fair - is always how Santiago liked to see you, isn’t it? 

A friend. A soldier. A lover.  

That’s the only way you can stand to view him now. In mere fragments. In the shrapnel of stolen glances; because trying to see him all at once? That’s like trying to stare directly at the sun. 

He is too bright for you and it burns. Even with all this distance. 

***

You’re surrounded by laughter and chatter, yet you feel an unease. An unrest in the pit of you. 

Will’s ballcap is tugged down over your eyes under the guise of staying warm - a flimsy excuse, considering the raging fire pit in the centre of you all, acting as the warm sun to your orbits of beer, passed amiably around from hand to hand via the cooler at Will’s side. 

Naturally, the conversation has veered sharply towards the crude - it reliably does when you are and the boys are all together. 

“For real, Pope. Since we’re, uh, sharing,” Tom interjects, already looking far too pleased with himself. “Do you ever play up the knee thing to… encourage women to go on top?” Tom’s question earns shocked titters from Will and Frankie and, despite yourself, a softly exhaled laugh from you. 

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Santiago asks Tom with an assured grin, and, upon being subject to the group’s attention, he leans forward in his camp chair. He drains the dregs of his beer and tosses the emptied bottle into the gathering pile in the sand, the label already peeled off by his nimble fingers.

Tom presses him for an answer, and you see Santiago’s pearly flash of teeth glinting in the firelight. “Play it up, buddy?” Santiago emits a deep, throaty chuckle which bobs in his corded neck. The sound is echoed by the other boys too, the threshold for laughter pleasantly lowered by the alcohol. 

Their movements are growing increasingly pack-like - a little less measured and a little more instinctual. Less individual and more unified. Moving as a team even as they sit still, with their spread legs and dropped shoulders and dipped chins. Alert eyes glinting in the dark with each lick of flame. Their energy would intimidate you, you think, if you didn’t know them. If you didn’t feel safer here than anywhere else in the world.

Still wearing that grin, Santiago scoops his hand over his stubble, his finger and thumb tracing around his mouth. “It’s practically a pick-up strategy.” His voice is warm sand and it scrapes you. Leaves a mark. 

Frankie titters off to Santiago’s side - a chaotic, beer-addled laugh. To his other side, Will grins too, his laughter striking a robust and deep note, even whilst shaking his head as though he’s somehow above it all. Together, their sounds form a cacophony you can feel deep in your chest - like the rumble of bass from a speaker, or the subdued roar of the ocean. 

If they are a pack, you - for once - are at odds. You feel it now more than ever, and it jars you. You are hyper-conscious that no display of mirth falls from you; and, in fact, the corners of your mouth turn down. 

Instead, you dwell on this roar - this rumble and hum under your skin. If you feel like the tide, like you are being swept up, Santiago is your shore. Everything about him draws you in, and you feel you could wash him away with the force of your need for him. 

Regardless of that, you continue to do precisely what you’ve been doing all night. You try to bury everything. To subdue your feelings. To calm this frenzy deep in the pit of you. In this moment, thinking about Santiago pursuing people other than you - listening to the damn stories - you take that urge quite literally, digging your bare toes deeply and intently into the sand as though you could disappear wholly into it. 

But; even that reminds you. 

Everything reminds you. 

Santiago. 

You’ve thought of nothing else all night. 

How could you? 

And, you feel the lack of him. 

The roughness of the sand against your smooth skin is a poor substitute for the rasp of his stubble. For the grit of his voice against your throat. The warmth of the curling, licking flame is a poor substitute for his body heat. His curling tongue. His fingers. The way you bury your feelings has nothing on how he buried himself in you. 

You fall into memories, tacky and hot, tumbling, and yet Will’s voice rips you abruptly back to the present. 

“How in the hell do you spin that one, man?” he asks Santiago with a genuine curiosity, his ice blue eyes dancing with amusement.  

Santiago risks a sheepish glance at you then, as though sensitive that his prowess with women might offend you in some way; but your eyes simply glance off of his like a flung spark from the fire pit, desperate to turn towards the dark and rid yourself of any heat which he may ignite. Desperate not to linger on the way the shadows and the light pool across the harsh planes of his face. The way his dark eyes are flickering and alive, and entirely capable of burning. 

And so, Santiago continues, relishing his moment. “Come on. It’s easy,” he breezes. He clears his throat, fully readying to inhabit his role. He shuffles in his chair and changes his demeanour, his body language, his voice. Shifting and contorting himself until he is layered with seduction. His frame even grows bigger, bolder, his legs spread. Chin raised and eyes hooded with a slow, sultry blink of those long lashes. 

Even this performance of heat hurts you; burns. Burns brightly enough that you have to look away from him before your skin is singed by it. “Hermosa,” he rasps, voice pleasantly scuffed by beer and smoke, the sound so rough and gritty you swear you can feel it scrape your skin. Your core clenches around the full, deep, dark tones of him, as though they alone could fill you.

The fire throws out careless sparks like cracked whips, and, like them, you cling to a dying heat. This vestige of the way he spoke to you in the dead, dark night at one time, your bodies all salt-slick skin. “You’re right,” he purrs, and you see that his body has shifted - angled towards Tom. 

You feel embarrassed. You feel alight, as though somehow, they could all find you out in this moment. Could sense the wet slick pooling between your legs. Smell it somehow. Like all of a sudden their eyes will converge on you and they will know - hear the flutter of your pulse in your throat. Sense the throb building in your core. Feel you barrelling from dull ache to desperation. 

“About what?” Tom asks, playing along as Santiago sneaks a hand up his thigh. 

Santiago’s smile is lopsided. Charming, but full of challenge. “Thinking that I’m a bad idea.” He’s hamming it up, for sure, but the syrup and grit in his voice is taking you right back there all the same. Right back to between those sheets, and a disobedient heat snakes down your back. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Well,” Santiago offers with faux regret, voice husky, and you can’t help but lift your eyes back to him. Can’t possibly look anywhere else now. Can’t help but observe the smirk twitching his appealing mouth and the way his thick brow arcs up. “‘Cause my knees are shot from years in the military, so I’m afraid you’ll have to get on top and ride me senseless.” 

God in heaven.  

Looking at him was a mistake, even like this. Even as he feigns seducing Tom, of all people. There’s just something about the rough edge layered into his voice right now. Something about the firelight painting his sharply-angled face with shadow. The flickers causing his smouldering eyes to glint with an echo of that formidable, latent heat. 

You feel this vestige of warmth in you ignite. Feel it begin to blaze and catch. You feel memories of him, his skin, his touch, amassing grain by grain. Ever so suddenly you are the shore now. Parched. A hot, baking expanse seeking its relieving tide. 

God, you want him. 

You feel your core shiver around the memory of him slipped into you, deep and dirty, teeth on your throat, and it’s almost too much to take. 

You need him, even though you’re still so damn angry with him. 

Or… no. No, that’s not it. Yes - you want him because of it. 

You need to fuck the residual anger from beneath your skin, for it has festered there for months now. Months, and you need it to move. Need it to give. Need it slaked and sated and gone. 

It’s not a healthy desire, you think, and you feel a little shame at that. You are grateful then - as Santiago effortlessly drags you back into the inescapable pit of him - that the boys’ laughter tears you abruptly from this impossible yearning. Gives you a lifeline. Reminds you where you are. How far you’ve come. 

You got out. And that meant leaving him behind too, didn’t it? 

“You’re such a fucking dog, man,” Will snickers. 

The chair over, Frankie’s shoulders are shaking with laughter too, his head tipped up to the sky and his eyes disappeared with it. You wish that you could laugh like that. That you could feel light, but instead you feel heavy and sick. 

“That works?” Tom asks incredulously, and you take another hasty swig of your beer, the froth hissing against your lips and a hoppy taste flooding your tongue. You briefly wish it was something stronger.

“Don’t go getting ideas, Tom,” Santiago says smugly, slapping his buddy emphatically on the thigh. “Works when I do it.” 

Oh, you bet it does. You bet it works. 

Tom throws Santiago a stink-eye then, before sitting slightly taller in his chair, his face contorting in a clear attempt to smoulder. “My knees are shot from years in the military...” Tom echoes, trying to inject a similar level of grit into his voice... and, the contrast? The failure? It is… an instant relief. 

Tom’s attempt is laughable, in fact. And so, when your favourite pilot’s dense, throaty chuckle sounds out to your side once more – this time, you can’t help but crack a smile too. Indeed, the laughter which spills out of you is a welcome vent, and so you reach for it wholeheartedly. 

There is an eruption of good-natured, teasing banter from the boys now - and Tom looks miffed that his attempt to tease Santiago has almost entirely backfired. Then, grasping for this welcome escape route a tad too eagerly, perhaps, you submit your own dig. “You might wanna run that script again. Give us a little less of that insurance infomercial vibe next time, buddy.” 

Frankie can barely breathe from laughing now, his hand coming to clutch his belly, and it’s pleasantly infectious. The atmosphere is safe and cocooning and familiar, and for the first time tonight you almost forget. You almost forget the thing that you haven’t been able to forget for months. That Santi isn’t touching you, and that, God; you need him to. 

But then, your relief is snatched from you all too suddenly. “Well sure,” Tom aims, his shot primed to land. “You would know how it goes, right? First hand? Did Pope use that line on you too, right before he and that guy from the bar practically double-dipped you?” 

The group fucking brace. 

You can feel it. 

It’s the exact same energy as when you’ve all grabbed for purchase in the helo or the humvee, right before a collision. The world seeming to flow in slow motion, your stomach being tossed up in the air and rolling as you lurch and sink.  

Most of the time, sure. You pride yourself for being able to take the boys’ banter on the chin. For having a thick skin. For being able to muster a scathing comeback, rolling off your tongue without a thought. 

But this? This has you beat for a second. This has a sinkhole opening up in your middle.

You meet Will’s eyes for a split second in desperation, but he looks at you helplessly, and you know. You know you need to say something. You know you need to, before they witness -before he witnesses- you falling apart. Before you let your silence reveal that you’re not over Santiago. That this hang isn’t ‘just like old times’. Not like ‘before’. That maybe, it can never be how it was again. 

Finally, something comes to you, and you grab for it; once again, a little too eagerly. “At least I got some, Tom. I doubt you could even seal the deal these days.” You push the words out and hope they sound light, even as you feel a tremor in your body. In your throat. Even as you feel Santiago’s eyes on you without looking. Can imagine them, dark and knowing, and worst of all… apologetic. Maybe even pitying. “Oh hey! Just like your ‘career’ in real estate!”

“Ohhhhh shiiittt,” is the prevailing sentiment from the group, hands flung up into the air as Tom realises he’s just been owned by your spectacular throwdown. 

Good, you think. Good. You’re glad the asshole’s getting his comeuppance but, even so, your petty victory does little to fill the hole in your chest, your heart still hammering and your fingers still trembling subtly against the cool, wet neck of your beer. 

To your surprise though, Tom doesn’t even bite back. Not this time, and that makes you feel even more annoyed, somehow. It makes you feel as though your anger is misdirected. As though Tom’s not the asshole here. As though he’s not the dude you’re fuming at after all. 

Still, your comment served its purpose well enough, you think, as steady, safe banter erupts again. You are pleased that you avoided the full impact of this collision, brakes slammed on as you still teeter on the cliff edge; but your heart feels bruised and rattled in the roll cage of your chest all the same. 

Mainly though, you are pleased that you are no longer the focus of everyone’s attention. However, your skin warms when you notice one man’s eyes remain on you, his gaze fixated and hooded and intense, and a shiver of heat dips down each notch of your spine. 

You look away. You tug Will’s cap a little further down over your eyes and you wait. You wait for the topic to shift so that you can excuse yourself without the cause being quite so obvious. You wait, until you can’t take the heat from this fire a second longer. Then, and only then, you make your excuses and dip out, retreating into the empty, quiet shell of the house. 

You pad into the kitchen, the cool interior immediately relieving against your hot skin, gooseflesh snaking down your arms and making your hairs stand on end. The dim light is certainly a respite from the searing brightness of the fire and the sting of the smoke in your eyes. But most of all, of course, it is relief from him. 

Santiago. 

It’s rough. Rougher than you expected. You simply can’t take this distance from him. You’d thought, before, that the miles between you - between here and Colombia - had been hard to reckon with. But this distance? The vanishingly small distance where he’s right here yet has never felt further out of your reach? That’s a thousand times harder. This petty distance – this rupture, this wound – hurts far more, because it feels far harder to heal. Far more festering than a clean break, and seeing him has already torn out every self-applied suture. 

You don’t like that things seem to have been irrevocably changed. You don’t like that your two bodies - which used to be so in sync - are now so awkward around one another. Purposefully aloof, rather than tactile. Remaining so separate, rather than together. 

It has been slowly amassing all day, the weight of this pain. Of this lack. And now, after feeling the absence of his touch so intensely - of that blessed togetherness- ironically, you finally need a moment alone. 

You cross the room and fold yourself over the kitchen counter, hinging at the hips. You rest your head in your hands, laying your forearms flat along the cool, marbled surface. 

For a brief moment, it is even a relief. You breathe deeply. Put him out of your head. But, after only one moment more you find yourself missing the pain. You’ve become fond of it, in a way. You haven’t been able to let go because, in truth, you’ve wanted to feel the continued burn of this loss - like a scar.

It is the only proof you have left that he touched you at all. 

That you came close to having something with him. Within touching distance of it. 

But now… 

You sigh deeply. You hate this torment. You hate not knowing how to be around him. The way the familiar is recast as unfamiliar. Your certainty now uncertainty. Your home now a hotel. 

You’ve spent the whole day so far keeping your distance. Talking only to the group, always some buffer of Tom or Will or Frankie in between you. Always leaving one seat between your bodies. Avoiding prolonged eye contact. Going out of your way to make sure the two of you were never left alone.

Being left alone with him is the last thing you want; and the first, of course. 

And, as if on cue, a low whistle sounds from behind you. You know the sound without looking, and your body stiffens. “An ocean view and now this?” Santiago jokes cautiously as he approaches behind you, clearly faced with a perfect view of your ass as you fold over the counter. “Pretty sweet deal. You should get Tom in on this real estate action. He might actually sell something.” 

Despite everything, all of it, you can’t help but laugh at that. You appreciate the dig at Tom a hell of a lot more than you should, actually. 

“Listen. Are you… alright?” Santiago asks next, much more softly. You hate the way his voice prickles the hairs on the back of your neck; but also, you don’t hate it at all, of course. 

You inhale and stand, pushing your torso up from the counter. You look up to the top of the cabinets, not blinking until the would-be tears have dried, and only then do you turn towards him. 

Santiago. 

Only then do you face your sun, praying that you will not be singed.  

All day, you have had a buffer in between the two of you. Clouds, to dim his brightness. But now, it is just you and him, alone in the kitchen of the beach house. 

This bland domesticity sure is a far cry from the field, yes. From your original shared domain. But, it also serves as an all too painful reminder of the last time you saw him. Of the last time his lips moved against yours. Of the last time, in that kitchen, that he’d had you. Taken you, bunched up naked against the fridge as he filled your slick heat with his fingers. As he kissed you and tongued you and claimed you back, as if he ever intended to keep you. 

It is a reminder of the time he had told you he loved you, and with finality, you had both realised that it still might not be enough.

You turn towards him, finally, and you brace. 

Brace like you’re about to collide. 

Like there will be an impact when your eyes meet.

Your brace like you’re expecting hot tempers, hot feelings, hot words. Wounds splitting and salt being rubbed in. 

Still, that’s not at all what you get. 

Instead, Santiago’s eyes are as wet as your own. All of his boldness and bluster is gone, and he’s standing on the very perimeter of the room as though he is the one who dares to venture no further. As though you might burn him if he gets too close. 

“I missed you,” he rasps, and despite the softness and the sincerity of the words, they feel like a rough struck match against your skin. 

You try desperately. Try desperately to fling this offered spark away before it catches, but it is futile. 

He missed you, and his admission already has you blazing for him. 

He’s standing mere feet from you.

And, despite everything, all you can think about is closing this oh so petty distance. 

[dark-moonlust]

Unmasking Desire

Commission October 2024 for anon!! This has so much sass, enemies-to-lovers vibes and smut!

Pairing: male Fae (Eli Thorn) x fem Vampire (Mara Sinclair)

Summary: a female vampire named Mara and a male fae named Eli are professors at the same university. They have been rivals since they met but they’ve been assigned to work on something together by the head of their department. Despite their attempts to get out of it, they agree to meet up to get the project done. Emotions are unleashed, their desire unmasked.

Warnings: 18+, oral (fem+male) foreplay, p in v sex, overstimulation, in public but magic keeps it private and no one finds them, many orgasms (fem), size kink, dirty talk, big fae🍆, lots of 💦.

Copyright @ 2024 by Kate Hart This commission is owned by Kate Hart. As the original writer, I strictly forbid any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent. This is a commissioned short story and will be posted on the author’s sites for others to enjoy.

Late evening found Mara sitting in the back corner of the library, her legs crossed, drumming her dark-red nails against the leather arm of the velvet sofa. It was a quiet Saturday, no one was around. The library was open for her convenience. Moonlight filtered through the tall, narrow windows, sending faint shadows across the room. Silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face but her lips were twisted, a frown on her features.

She didn’t like waiting—especially when it was for him.

Professor Eli Thorn.

He was the last damn male in existence she would have chosen to cooperate with.

The project.

It was the worst duty she'd ever been given. Runes and magical artifacts from the Lost Ages. The words of the chief department still rang out in her mind. He had handed in this assignment at them with a single directive: "You two are some of our best minds and I'll expect you to work together, whatever your personal differences. Your research will provide remarkable intel for our university.”

Of all the damn people she had to cooperate with him.

Of course, Mara had tried to wriggle her way out of the assignment no matter how great. But the head of their department had been firm. Mara was busy enough already and working with Professor Thorn was going to be a pain in the butt. He grated on her nerves. He was a silver-tongued devil who thrived in finding ways to pry into her carefully guarded life, somehow invading every hour of her day with his maddening charisma.

Mara had watched him glide through lectures with ease, the students and fellow professors eating out of his hand, captivated by his calm, dark voice. Yet for some strange reason, Professor Eli Thorn decided to focus all of that energy on her. No matter what assignment she chose, no matter how tough her research, he always managed to find a way into her orbit, arranging things so he could poke her logic.

The sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention. Her gaze sharpened as the door finally opened, the subject of her thoughts entering with that cocky, unconcerned strut that made her bite her lips and shift uncomfortably in her seat. Damn it… there it went again, that unnecessary attraction she felt every time she saw the irritating fae.

Tall and well-built, he strolled in the room, looking damn fine in a dark, brown vest over a crisp, white shirt, its sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, lean forearms tattooed with runes—signs of the ancient fae magic he possessed. His hands were also inked and full of veins, his fingers long and deft. He wore a single accessory: a silver ring set with a black opal, a powerful heirloom from his ancestors.

His face was sharply defined, clean shaven and as if crafted by an artist with an aristocratic jawline, slightly pointy ears, high cheekbones, a smirking mouth and chocolate dark skin. Eyes the color of deep green settled on her with a knowing glance. His lashes were long, his hair as black as midnight, falling to just below his jaw. Mara had noticed— completely randomly— that he often brushed it back when lost in thought or just in casual charm.

Why had that unimportant detail entered her mind again?

Clearing her throat, she returned his gaze boldly. “You are late, Professor Thorn.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he sat down irritatingly beside her on the sofa. “Missed me, Mara?”

“You keep calling me by my name when I’ve never given you leave to do so.”

“I know that deep down you just love it.”

Her jaw tightened. “I prefer it when people keep the professional boundaries.”

He didn’t reply and gazed at her silently, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe, taking in her cold, almost regal stance. He lingered just a touch too long over her figure, noticed the way she tightened her thighs and he cursed himself for it. She was a creature of precision and discipline, yet at the same time, a living temptation, a dangerous mystery.

Yes, Eli thought silently, the vampiress was a vision, sitting there in a demure dark red dress that hid most of her smooth porcelain-pale skin. Yet, somehow, it managed to make her appear even more luscious, driving him mad with longing. She was tall, with generous curves and magnificent silver hair that fell in thick curls down her shoulders, reaching past her waist. Her hair was truly captivating, framing her face like a halo, emphasizing her striking blood-red eyes and lips— full bow-shaped lips, hiding her fanged teeth.

Eli had never met anyone like her. She was all prim, razor-edged disapproval and looked at him as if he were beneath her as if she'd rather drive a stake through his heart than spend another moment with him. But she also tugged at something deeper inside him, something darker within. There was a fire beneath that graceful pride of hers and he could sense it shimmering, scent her desire.

And the more he sensed that heat, the more he wanted to expose it—to shatter her walls, lay her bare, breathless and powerless, beneath, above him, in every position possible, every part of her entangled with him.

Bloody hell… he doubted he could complete the assignment after all. His defenses were crumbling. His patience snapping.

Eli swallowed back his innate craving and forced himself to focus.

"So," he said, breaking the tense silence between them. "How do you propose we divide the work, then?”

“I suggest we work separately and discuss only when necessary. I prefer my partners silent and obedient.”

Eli lounged back in his seat, his legs outstretching, arms nonchalantly folded across his chest. "Silent and obedient? Oh, Mara…" he drawled, allowing her name to slide off his lips. "It’s such a shame. I was never any good at obeying."

“Which, frankly, makes me question why I'm stuck with you.”

“Oh, poor you. But go ahead, sweetheart. Try pretending you don't want me here.”

“Enough with the useless talk. This project takes dedication and competence, I don’t want it to take forever, can we begin please?”

He grinned and stretched out with a leisurely look, obviously taking his time. "You know, judging by the fire in your eyes, it as if you wish you could make me disappear into thin air."

Eli saw her smile. Her lips curved, just a little, cute fangs peeking —and damn it, she was lovely.

“Was that a smile?” He leaned forward, his scent taunting her senses. “Pretty. Do it again.”

“Do you really think you're going to get to me with this nonsense?” she murmured, turning open her notebook in an attempt to avoid him.

He laughed. “How you wound me.”

She slammed her notebook shut and sighed. "If only.”

Another low husky laugh while he brushed his hair back and Mara couldn’t help but follow that motion. Warmth pooled in her belly and she flung herself up, quickly widening the gap between them. She hated him and his commanding, alluring energy that prickled her flesh.

No, she thought. Professor Eli Thorn was distracting and irritating. Nothing more.

Mara approached the tall bookcases but before she could grab a book, he was there, his chest pressing against her. Her notebook dropped to the floor and she clutched the bookshelf as she felt every line of his muscular chest against her back, his orangy musky scent surrounding her. He tantalized her senses, made her body tinkle in heat, liquid warmth trickling from her pussy. And yet she didn’t pull away.

“What are you— we are supposed to be looking over texts—ancient runes—”

“Hmmm,” he interrupted huskily. “It’s a project that will take a lot of work and cooperation.”

“Your games, Professor Thorne are pointless.”

“Tell me, Mara—do I get under your skin as much as you get under mine?” he drawled, his warm breath tricking her ear. He was at the end of his tether. Fuck patience. Fuck everything.

“I repeat, your games are pointless.”

“Liar.”

In a swift motion, he turned her over, his hard chest squeezing against her breasts and pressing her back against the shelves. Strong arms encircled her as she gasped and placed her palms into his chest, splaying her fingers wide to feel his muscles contract. Damn, he felt so good, so hard and unyielding, his scent wrapping around her.

“Yes, you are a liar,” he repeated, his voice husky, “you keep biting your lips, rubbing your thighs together.” He leaned down, his smirking lips inches from her own. “I can scent you, my naughty little vampiress. Your pussy must be soaked. Must be feeling so sore and needy down there, hm?”

“Is it amusing, Professor Thorne?” Mara’s voice was smooth but there was tension in her crimson eyes. “Treating me like this?”

“Amusing? Oh, absolutely.” His hands reached out, fingers burying in her silky hair. “I mean, how often do I get to see the perfect Mara Sinclair looking like she’s about to snap?“

"Release me. You're insufferable."

Mara struggled but didn’t use the full force of her strength. She could have him off of her in a few lethal movements, but she didn’t want to. She liked him exactly where he was. And he obviously liked it, too. He didn’t budge and chuckled low and deeply which both frustrated and left her breathless.

"And you enjoy every second of it, don't you? Go ahead, confess it. You pretend to hate me but you want me,” he drawled, pressing the head of his erection against her belly. “Gods, you drive me mad. I’ve wanted you ever since I looked at you.”

“If you think I’ll be drawn by your juvenile attempts at flirting, think again.“

“Oh, but you’re calling this flirting. And you know what? I believe there is a part of you that appreciates how I make you feel something other than perfect, something real."

Mara opened her mouth to reply only to have her breath shallowed by his mouth. His lips brushed against hers, tasted her before coaxing the seam apart and plunging inside. He growled at her taste, pinning her hands on either side of her head, his body pressing down on hers, his cock hard and pulsing. Nearly melting against him, Mara gave him her mouth, freely, opening at his invasion, their breaths and moans mingling. 

Eli broke apart the kiss for a second, marveling at her kiss-swollen lips. “All you have to do is let go for once.”

“So that you can break me?" Mara replied, half-dazed by the kiss.

His grin grew nasty, his green eyes flaring with something predatory. "Never. I’ll let you break me apart, sweetheart, do whatever you want with me.”

And then he was kissing her again, this time devouring her lips and letting his tongue taste her mouth. Mara felt her knees go weak and tried to pry her hands free. After a few tugs, he set her free and she hungrily roamed her hands over his body, touching his broad back, feeling up the muscles of his chest and shoulders. 

“Damn, Mara,” he groaned and gave a sharp thrust against her clothed belly. “It fucking hurts— hurts to be so hard for you.”

“Eli…” she whispered as she let her barriers fall, the carefully formed shields she had created collapsing under his touch.

“Finally, you called me by my name.”

His gaze met hers and she felt herself falling into the passionate green of his eyes, the desire simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to swallow them both. The line between desire and restraint snapped— it no longer mattered.

She was done hiding her emotions for him.

Done playing.

This one’s a bit longer than usual, so if you’re up for the full read, it’s available for free over on Patreοn. It’s open to everyone—come by and enjoy!

[allthornsnopetals]

Amethyst orbs and raven Mane E.Bridgerton

Description: Flora Deluca has finally landed in Mayfair London, searching for garments and friends. She is on the hunt for a start in her new chapter, particularly adventure, something to thrive on as she dawns the ride of London, alongside Miss Eloise Bridgerton.

Love on Parchment E.Bridgerton - Master list

Warning: Mention of self harm, not proof-read

"Miss Eloise, why are you here so early?" Madame Delacroix welcomes Eloise into her store, blinking sleep from her eyes. "And without an escort." She pokes her nose outside the door, thinking her maid must be a few paces behind.

Once the door was closed and locked, she turned her attention to the intruder, cracking a brow, confused, questioning her early and unanticipated presence. "Lady da Silva is in town! And she is to be here in," Eloise glances at the clock, reading the time. "An hour, to shop for new dresses— clothes! Day wear, night wear and a gown for the first ball of the season. She's coming here!" She emphasizes, pointing to the ground of the store with both index fingers, excitement radiating from her glowing grin.

Madame Delacroix froze, mouth agape, looking near faint. "H-here! In my store! She is to shop here! At my store!" She claps her hands over her mouth, jumping in victory— this is deffentily something she could rub in the faces of the other modiste's in town—with a laugh of anticipation.

"Yes! Quickly, now time is slipping!"

With that, Madame Delacroix is moving, rushing to ready herself and the store, bubbling with excitement.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The time for Lady da Silva drew rather slowly, Eloise and Madame Delacroix slowly growing impatient, eager to meet their favored author in person. But as time gnawed on, Madame Delacroix attending to other customers, one of them being Cressida Cowper: an i'll-mannered debutante, the pair began to slowly lose hope.

The two discussed the matter of identifying, Lady da Silva. She's basically anonymous, known only by her alias. She's never been seen before, never identified, unmasked or discovered, she were a ghost. But Eloise knew for a fact that her admired author, is a punctual woman, moving always with haste, never to be in one place for long, as stated in her letters, shipped all throughout Europe. She is to come and she will know.

"I think this is the place, Lady Flora, it is the address Miss Eloise shared" Said Claudia, staring up at the door, letting the noble lady in with a slight push of the entrance, the bell ringing, calling to the store owner of a new customer.

Both Eloise and Madame Delacroix threw their attention to the door, eyes eager. The boutique was rather small, a lot smaller compared to those in Italy, but it smelt of fresh daisies and pomegranates. Flora allowed her lady Maid in, linking arms with her.

Claudia Auclair, is a close friend of Flora Deluca, born in Paris France, a year before Flora. She's a hand shorter than her Mistress with light fair skin, dotted with soft freckles, long urban hair, pale pink lips and large sea-green eyes with long urban lashes, who wore a simple blue maid uniform.

But the two looked very different, indeed.

Flora had long shiny raven hair, smooth, flawless alabaster skin. Tall too with sharp large amethyst eyes, lips stained a shade of light cherry red. Her lashes so long they kissed her brows. But the two were slim, barring chests, the size of two large fists, not too large but eye drawing, for sure.

Foreign beauty's, searching for garments.

"I'll be back in a short moment, I must see to your mothers list of ingredients." Said Claudia, patting her arm before breaking free.

"No, please leave her needs for last, I need you here, amie." Flora pouts, Italian accent thick and elegant.

Claudia shook her head. "You know your mother will flip if I did not attend her list. I am to pick up the ingredients, go back home and swing back to pick you up, I promise." Said Claudia spotting a pair of Maids, running errands.

"Don't get lost and stay safe." They waved farewell, leaving Flora alone.

Eloise and Madame Delacroix share a look, gaping at the young lady, unable to tear their eyes away.

"Ow!" Cressida hisses, pulling her arm away from the needle, that had pricked her.

"My apologies, Miss Cressida, I did not mean to." Said Madame Delacroix, winching away as the young lady huffed in annoyance, checking the wound, her mother staring at Flora, intrigued by the new face.

"You'll look fabulous in that. I have never seen anyone pull off such a fabric like that, but I am sure a young fine lady like yourself would look flattering in it." Said Araminta, stalking behind Flora, hands held behind her back, observing her, as one studied a flower.

Turning her gaze, Flora forced her face to wake, wanting to smile. "Oh, well that's a lovely thing to say. But I am not sure pink is my color, it might clash with my eyes if it were the wrong shade." She starts the conversation, her accent giving way to her foreign roots.

"You are definitely not from around here, your speech sounds, rather exotic, Miss?" Araminta extends a hand, drawing a toothy grin.

"Flora Deluca, and you are ma'am?" She curties, shaking her hand.

"Deluca? As in Lord Andrew Deluca? Are you his granddaughter?" She inquires, dipping a curtsy in return, shaking her hand before releasing it as Flora nods.

"I am Lady Cowper and that is my daughter Cressida," She points at a fairly tall blonde, mouthing off the tailor. Flora grimaced, taking note to stay clear of her and her mother, who seems to adore her own voice.

"I am rather shocked to see a Deluca in person, your grandfather rarely left his abode, and when he did, he never socialized. He's not a socialist." She chuckles, as if she said something funny.

"Well, he did lose my Nona before his own passing, Lady Cowper. I do expect a widow to wish to be alone, away from nosy ladies." Said Flora, meaner than she intended, hoping to be rid of the woman.

But Lady Cowper did not get the hint or she simply is too dimwitted to smell displeasure under her nose. She chuckles once again, clearly trying to win favor of the stray Deluca.

"That's what I said to Lady featherington, but she simply thought he were rather rude and incompetent. That woman can be mean at times."

And so can you, I see your kindness leak and stain your own kin. Flora thought, cheeks straining as she grew tired of grinning.

Heels clanked against the floor in rushed and irritated foot steps, drawing closer to her and Lady Cowper. "Mama, we're finished, I do wish to go. Now would be nice." Cressida groans, fixing the fabric of her shoulder.

"Now, don't be rude, darling." Her mother nudges her, elbow plowing her side. "Cressida this is Flora Deluca, she's Lord Andrew's granddaughter." Flora curtsies while Cressida simply bows her head in rush, shoving a large box in her mothers arms.

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Yes, pleasures all mine. Can we go, now! I want to meet up with the girls." She rolls her eyes, ushering her mother, as if she were an impatient child.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry for your loss, child. I do hope we meet again." Lady Cowper pats her arm, gliding out of the exit, but not without scolding her daughter.

Flora releases a relieved sigh. "I hope, not." She deflates, missing Claudia.

"Ahem, Madame I am ready for you." Said the seamstress, gesturing Flora forward, a smile written on her liquid caramel skin.

She nods, traveling deeper, eyes trained to the floor. Eloise grins, knowing she's the one.

"I don't presume you know an Eloise Bridgerton, by chance?" Once the question was out, Eloise jumps from her seat, rushing over, holding out her letter.

"I am she. It's a pleasure, to finally make your acquaintance, Lady da Silva!" Eloise grins, pulling the taller lady in a tight embrace, squeezing the oxygen from her lungs, side of her face pressed, rather deeply to her chest.

Flora stares down at the other woman, who gasps, eyes blown in shock, and welling. "You're here! You're actually here! I couldn't believe it when I received your letter, I thought it a joke at first, but you're actually here!" Eloise pulls away, brighter then any star, Flora has ever seen.

"Ma'am." Madame Delacroix dips a deep curtsy, shock swelling inside her.

Flora blinks, flabbergasted, fixing her dress. "This is Madame Delacroix, the finest Modiste in all of Mayfair and a huge fan."

The girl who couldn't be any older than she, beams. She had very blue eyes, long lashes, short chestnut brown hair, decorated with bangs, thin pink stained lips, her skin fair and smooth. Pretty.

The woman who gazes at Flora with awe was older. Her eyes big and brown, complimented with long dark lashes, hair black, curly and long, her skin flawless in a shade best described as burnt caramel. Stunning. By her accent, she's French, like Claudia, but something about her speech seems rather forced, perhaps fake.

Flora regains her posture, sniffing, taking the space in. "No, please call me Flora or Lady Deluca but I do wish for my first name. We are friends, are we not?" She bobs a crusty to both parties, grinning as she did, drawing closer to the mirror, gazing at her appearance.

She wore something, rather simple. A white long-sleeved button-up blouse, complimented with a long slim purple dress and black leather gloves. Hair held up in a knot with silver hair-sticks, donned with amethysts. She fixes her purple stole over her shoulders, stealing a glance at her black thigh-high-heeled boots— garments best, suited for house back.

Eloise expected an elder woman, perhaps a widow, bearing a day dress and wrinkles, but she was greatly mistaken. Instead, she discovered a tall beauty, one who wore a purple dress, skidded with mud at its hem with flawless and even polished boots. Whoever she was, Eloise most certainly was not expecting her.

"Wait, Lady da Silvia, is a noble?" Eloise gassed, grinning, admiration vivid in her speech and face. "How do you do it? You are a woman, a noble woman, no less... But you did it!" She stutters, gesturing her to sit with her at a small corner table

"Well I- Madame Delacroix are you going to join us, I did bring biscuits." Flora motions the Modiste to draw a chair at the table.

The woman quickly sat, thrill filling her face and body as Flora whisks the white box open, powdering the aroma of sugar, vanilla, citrus and chocolate. "Oh, I'll make some tea, collect cups, plates and cakes." Madame Delacroix stands, gliding up the stairs.

"Would you like some help?" Said Flora, her voice at a level of conversation but loud enough to be carried for the Modiste to hear and decline her offer.

Silence transcends between Eloise and Flora, Eloise gazing at her, chin in hand, her smile abnormally large. The young lady felt rather uncomfortable, glancing at her then back at her hands, wishing she stared at something other than her. But Eloise couldn't pull her gaze away, intrigued by her pen pow and in awe by her face, best described as beautiful, perhaps like a-

"Tulip! Yes, your face reminds me of a tulip. A purple one of course." Eloise puffs a grin, awkwardly chuckling at her own finding.

"I beg your pardon. You say my face takes the shape of a cup with parallel-vained petals."

Eloise swallows thickly, cheeks and ears heating, losing her flare, feeling as if she had said something inappropriate. She scrambles to apologize but halts, holding her tongue at the sound of Flora laughing, darting her gaze to her lap, lips curving the edges of eyes, wrinkling them as she smiles.

She smiles with her eyes. Eloise notes, finding the trait, rather enduring.

Eloise grins, usually most would have never found something like that humorous or remotely comical. Most would have found her words as insensitive, rude or mean... But not her, she had laughed, amused and entertained.

"That is quite the... flattery, Miss Eloise."

"Well, that's what I see when I look at your face, a pretty tulip."

Madame Delacroix, returns to the table, tray, tea and sweets in hand, all while wearing a stunning smile, and without surprisingly dropping or spilling anything, skills. She poured the ladies cups of mixed berry tea, served the biscuits and the other sweets present. Sipping her tea, Flora hums, relaxing and enjoying the taste.

"Mixed berry tea is one of my favorites, thank you, kindly." Said Flora, sipping her tea, grinning, lowering the tea to the saucer.

"Well how did you do it?" Asked Madame Delacroix, eager for an answer, leaning forward, as if waiting for a story.

"How did I do it, indeed," Flora began, leaning back in the seat, thinking. "Perhaps, a dream is how it began, perhaps belittlement or loud brothers-."

"Which you have nine of." Eloise chimes, drawing her tea, listening intently. "Nine, well that must conjure much noise." Said Madame Delacroix.

"Oh, yes. I bed and study in my own little space at home, it is lovely. It keeps the noise at bay, you both must visit some time. I am blessed with a large enough library for it to be mistaken for a ballroom. I'll be pleased for either of you to stay for tea, lunch or even dare I say... dinner." She winks over her cup, drinking rather slowly.

"That would be lovely but it would have to be after the debutante season, it's the peak of the year for me." Madame Delacroix explains, breaking a piece of a lemon biscuit before indulging.

"Ahhh, yes your boutique. It's lovely, I am rather nervous of what outfits you have for me, Madame Delacroix. I have heard great things about you and your work, may I ask how you came to be such a... Talented Modiste."

Her eyes twinkle, as stars awake in her gaze. "Well, if you must know. I came from a rather poor family and I was quite skilled with needle work and designing, so I put it to good use. Several years later I found myself here, tailoring young ladies of the Ton, making beauties out of them." She grins proudly, something Flora finds rather amazing.

"To see a rose grow from concrete is a true strength within itself, won't you agree."

Madame Delacroix grin, widens, strengthening her features.

"Ah, your outfits, come my lady, I must draw a design with my newest fabrics." She gleams, dragging her to the dais, facing her front first to mirror.

"We are already aware of purple, white and black as your best colors but I am thinking something more daring, more flamboyant." Madame Delacroix schemes, eyes trained on Flora's complexion.

Her gaze sparks, gently removing Flora's stole, Madame Delacroix immediately gets to work. "This will do, indeed. You are to be this season's new diamond, I am sure of it." Her grin shines as she waddles back with deep emerald green fabric, matching it to her complexion.

"Oh, I am not sure I'll make such a shade work, ma'am I don-"

"Don't speak such nonsense, you are beautiful, I need not to do much but clothe you."

With that she is sewing, threading and weaving. In just a few short moments, a dress meant to be so breath taking, Flora was sure to faint, had been made. "Oh, my... Madame Delacroix I must thank your kindness with more than just coins." Flora gushes, taking the gown in her arms.

Madame Delacroix chuckles, comparing the garment in the mirror.

"You thank me by trying it on for me."

With some encouragement and time, Flora is completely clothed, gloves still worn. "Would you wish for me to craft you a pair of gloves?" Madame Delacroix offers. Flora nods, watching her get to work.

Eloise stares in wonder, her eyes trained on Flora, as if she were a book of magic, adventure and thrill. Beautiful.

She couldn't control her face, falling into a rather unflattering goofy grin, hunching over, looking almost drunk. But she were only smitten with her beauty, here complexion mixing well with her dress, Eloise is simply enchanted.

"Your grin reminds me of a drunken sailor." Flora laughs, bearing a new pair of gloves.

Eloise clears her throat, returning her gaze to her book, awkwardly flushing like a tomato, while Flora slides behind the dividers once more, undressing. She hands the gown back to Madame Delacroix, allowing her to box it. Just as she were about to round the corner, Claudia enters, her face a flush and out of breath.

"Miss Flora, my apologies but your mother is in labor, you are to be home at once, a carriage awaits you." She bobs a curtsy, breathing her words, clearly exhausted and worried. "Thank you Claudia." Turning to Eloise and Madame Delacroix. "Thank you both, I wish to meet again and soon I prefer. Again, your work will be thanked with more than just coins, I promise you. It's truly a pleasure to meet you both." She curtsies, gliding out of the exit with haste, forgetting her stole.

But just as Eloise took notice, she was gone, her carriage riding away, leaving her first interaction with Miss Flora Deluca fresh and starving. At least she remembered her gown and gloves.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Scouting the market alone, Flora strolls to a florist stall, browsing the large range of colorful petals and stems, taking notice of the familiar company behind her, clanking her cane in pause of reaching her location.

"Do you tend to shadow me, Lady Danbury." Said Flora, trading a penny for a bouquet of pink Azaleas.

"I tend to welcome you to Mayfair." Lady Danbury slides beside Flora, trading coin for a few flowers of her own, linking arms with her, taking flight through the market.

"It seems you are rather late. Lady Cowper has beaten you to it, and I must say, her and her beast of an offspring are less than charming. Their welcome was rather stale."

Lady Danbury chuckles. "Yes, well they're ill-mannered and nosy. Lady Cowper is hoping to wed Cerssida to your second eldest brother, Benjamin." She pauses, stalling at a booth of quills, side eyeing the pair who seem to be watching them both, like hawks.

Flora sniffs, admiring a quill of black feather and white pen. "I'd rather lose an eye than dare assign an ill-mannered girl as sister-in-law. Yes, I'll take this one, thank you."

Placing the new item in her basket, the pair are off, just in time as Lady Cowper and her daughter glide their way in their direction, ditching them. "I don't think your mother is thinking straight, especially after last evening's unfortunate events. I truly am sorry for your loss, it would have been a blessing to have another girl around." Said Lady Danbury sympathetically, swooping past the Featheringtons and their bickering, squawking like a flock of birds.

Flora swallows harshly, grimacing at the sound of the flock of redheads, fighting over a rather ugly hat. "Well, my mother did have high hopes, wanting a daughter more like herself would have brightened up her days. But that's her last pregnancy, I am sure she can find peace again, after all she's been blessed with ten children in total."

Lady Danbury hums in agreement. "And how is she, your mother." She asks, ducking into a store with less ears.

Reading the situation, Flora lowers her voice to a whisper.

"As you said, she's not thinking straight. She wept in my fathers arms for the entire night, afraid she'll be left alone. It's not looking good and I'm worried about her, about this season. My first, second and third eldest brothers. Alexander, Benjamin and Christopher are planning to be wed..."

"But you do not wish to take part this season?"

Flora shook her head, pretending to browse for China cups. "Your father knows not of your books." She inquires, taking a cup in hand, inspecting it.

"No, he would lose his mind if he knew, and send me back to the Academy. I'll be a prisoner." She sighs, lowering her gaze. "If I marry, my own husband will forbid me from what I love and lock me away, serving only as his child bearer. That will be no life for me, but for him, enjoying the fruits of my labor."

"There must be more to this life, Lady Danbury, more to this stale bread and rotten cheese." Her eyes linger to her gloved hands, wishing for something more.

Lady Danbury was a hard woman, but she had a soft heart, one that stretched and even ached for the young Lady, oh how she wished she were made of steel. "Look at me, child." She says, her tone leveled and serious, drawing Flora's attention with the head of her cane, motioning her chin to face her.

"I will see to a worthy husband for you. One that will not stop you from pursuing your passions, one that will not trap you as his heir bearer, but his wife, his equal. He will not steal your fruit but prune them, help them grow. I promise you. Now stop pouting, it's truly aching." She releases her chin, shaking her head, a grin prompting her withered features.

"Are you saying that you will take me under your wing?" Flora chases after Lady Danbury, beaming with joy, linking arms with her again.

She chuckles. "Yes, child but only at the ball."

Flora tilts her head. "Not at the Palace, before her Majesty?" She questions, lining a grape from her basket, popping it past her lips before feeding one to Lady Danbury.

"Exactly!" She crunches, dragging the young Lady with her, prompting for another purple fruit.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

"Barney, play nice." Flora instructs the floppy eared corgi as he follows Lady Danbury and her, flopping around on his little legs, catching up to Newton.

Lady Danbury stuck up her nose, walking the length of the garden. "I did not think of you as a pet sort of person." She grimaced, taking comfort in a chair, ringing for tea and sweets.

Flora shrugged, her poster straight and clean as an army soldier. "As did I but my father noticed I did not have many or any friends, so he gifted me Barney and Fern."

"You have more pets." Lady Danbury jeers, heaving a sigh, one of disapproval.

"A cat, a big lazy white cat. She does nothing but she is a good cuddle buddy, who counts as a personal alarm." She chuckles at the older woman's expression.

A while later a servant with two more hot on his tail, trails towards them, bearing tea, sweets, cutlery and trays. They set things up, rather hastily, leaving faster as they had come. A younger servant, a boy lingered behind, pouring tea and serving sweets.

Flora smelt the warm liquid with a noticeable frown. "English tea has only gotten worse. Is there any way I could call for mixed berry or black tea." Flora turns the cup, addressing the server.

"I will call for black tea, go Harry, stop gawping at Miss Flora and tend to her order." She flaps a dismissive hand, rolling her eyes as the young lad steals himself a glance, his grin donning a displeased huff from Lady Danbury.

"You could have any man, any Lord, viscount, prince and servant-"

A huff and a taught glare shuts the Lady down for only moment, her grin displaying amusement.

"I take that you miss her." Lady Danbury says, sipping her tea, studying her distant niece.

Flora tightens her jaw, playing a confused manner. "Miss whom?"

The Mistress chuckles, sighing a great irritation with a roll of her eyes. "Don't play me a fool, child. You miss Brooke, her hair, her face... Her laugh. You loved her." Flora scoffs, shaking her head, gathering Barney in her lap.

"Who is to state the feeling of love? Who is to say love is a tingling sensation, a tickle of the heart... Or a stab of irony." Flora's tone drops, her tongue donning a nasty pool of acidic waves.

"A cruel joke spoken, a play written by rotten Gods. A cry, mistaken as an oath. Love is but a joke. I miss her, not." She spat, stuffing her mouth with a slice of cake.

"Irony? Hmm... I see your most recent publish, quite clearly now. She broke your heart, I assume." With a slight glare and tight jaw, her assumption stood answered, without a word.

"You invited me for research." Flora turns the subject, stroking her pet.

When the time to leave Lady Danbury's home had dawned, Flora was in a rather sour mood, reading over her list of possible husbands, missing the rushing man. She made a sound of surprise and shock, bumping into someone who appeared to be two hands shorter than herself, with hair described as lovely brown with eyes that match his locks, his skin fair.

"Excuse me!" She hissed, pushing the gentlemen back. "Can you not see where you are going!" She continues, watching his gaze floor up, eyes blown open with his mouth agape.

"C-clearly n-not, my apologies." He bows his head, still gazing at Flora.

"Stop staring, it's rather rude."

He clears his throat, patting his chest. "Apologies, miss..." He trails off, offering an opening for introductions. "Flora and you are?" She offers a rushed bob of her head, keeping Barney close on his lead.

"Anthony." He grins a bit too eagerly. "Charmed, well good day to you, sir. I best be on my way." She says briskly, finding her feet, gliding away, missing her stole.

Anthony falls in step with her, walking beside her, finding it challenging to match her pace. Her legs tend to out-walk many, but not fast enough in this case.

"You know Lady Danbury? It's strange, she would have introduced you to me at some point, Miss Flora. By your accent I say that it must have happened or perhaps I have forgotten our first encounter." He continues, breathing harshly, showing struggle."

Flora shook her head, wanting little-man to go away. "Perhaps, nothing. I have never met you in my life, and in this moment I wish I never had. Please, sir save me your company and part yourself from me."

Anthony chuckled, blinking rapidly, flabbergasted that a woman would want him gone. "Excuse me. Is this how you address a viscount?" He paused with a satisfied grin gracing his lips as Flora abandoned her plan of escape. Cracking her jaw, she turns her heels, scowl visible.

"Is this how you address a lady?" She spat, gliding closer to him, staring his smug look down, from the bridge of her nose.

"Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, my lady. First of his name and surely the most handsome." He tips his hat with a hop in his step.

Flora rolls her eyes, internally kicking herself for stopping.

"Bridgerton. Great, so your Eloise's brother, eldest by your flamboyant introduction. Oh, how I wish you were Benedict or even Colin. By your sister's description, they're the more handsome brothers and you... The more, rather, annoying one." She laughed at his reaction.

He blinked again, his hand to his chest, mouth hung open.

She patted him on the arm, comforting him sarcastically. "It's quite okay, she also said you were a troll." Flora says, continuing her stroll, satisfied.

"How did you encounter my adoring sister?"

"She were a pen pow, an interesting one. I sent her a letter while stationed in Florence Italy for the summer, from there our friendship blossomed. She is a breath of fresh air."

The two walked, sharing stories and small laughs, mainly through the act of bullying and teasing. The sky slowly brew an orange hue with hints of pretty yellow by the time, the pair drew near the Bridgerton house, both still high on ethics and politics.

"And you learnt this all by reading and traveling, Miss Flora?" Anthony allowed his new found friend, inside.

"There is much to learn when on the road and sea, much, indeed."

Storm-like footsteps drew close along with laughter and banter. A girl and a boy much younger than herself blister around their brother, begging for sweets, welcoming him home. The boy turns his head, pausing, racking his gaze, stopping at Flora's face.

"Hi... I am Gregory, and you are Madame?" He bows, offering his arm.

Flattered, Flora takes his arm. "I am Flora Deluca. You are quite the gentleman, far better than your brother." She points at him and the girl, who still begs for sweets.

The young lad opens his mouth to speak but flushes, flapping it open and closed. A large gasp draws her attention up the main stairway. "Flora! I did not know you were going to be here. I would have readied myself." Eloise rushes down the steps, her hair bouncing against her shoulders.

She bleeds into her arms, face in her chest. "It is a pleasure to see you so soon, please stay for dinner. I am hating this place." She crones, dragging her away from her fumbling brother, to the drawing room.

"Wow, you are really pretty! Are you and my brother friends! Is he your new fancy!" The girl with chestnut ringlets, bobs, slipping between Flora and Eloise.

"No, you busybody! Now go away, before I choke you to death." Eloise hisses. "Not in front of our guest, who I am sure will not be your friend if you were to murder your own sister."

"Hyacinth, I swear... If you don't-"

"Oh, who might you be?"

Flora stood, recognizing the woman of the house. "Mother this is Flora Deluca, Andrew's granddaughter and Eloise's friend." Said Anthony, sitting across from the pair.

"Oh, my condolences, to you and your family. It is not easy to lose someone you hold so dearly. Lady Violet Bridgerton, but you may call me Violet." She shakes her hand, welcoming her new guest.

"Well, thank you Violet. I am rather flattered by your children, Anthony here was kind enough to invite me. Oh, and I can't forget Eloise, she is an amazing friend, someone who I suspect will be a great company and source of partnership." She grinned, bobbing a curtsy.

Barney flopped around, enjoying belly rubs from Hyacinth and Gregory. His tiny tail wagged at the attention as the kids played, allowing him to lick their faces.

Violet found herself smiling. "Ah, yes- are you wed?" Anthony cocked his head, waiting while Eloise jumped to her feet. "Well, mama, perhaps we best save those questions for the season, I am sure Flora is well aware of all her possible prospects." Said Eloise, grabbing hold of her arm. "We are to head to my room. Call us when dinner is served."

Eloise shoves Flora into her room with Barney trailing behind. She slams the door shut and turns the lock. "Sorry about them, they can be... Well, nosy." Eloise clasps her hands in front of her, strutting behind Flora who admires her collection of books.

"No need, I get it. Whenever I have a boy over, my brothers suddenly have more than enough time on their hands. Once I had a tutor over for tea, a boy and they scared him off. I never received an English lesson from him, since. Now my accent is hard to understand and quite the opener for teasing. I hate the way I sound."

Tilting her head, Eloise studied her, wondering why she would hate such an luring accent. Eloise was not a fool to her beauty but her accent sealed the deal, drawing her attention by simply uttering a word. "You sound like poetry, come to life. While I sound, of rubbish and needles." She gestures, snatching herself a book.

"No, you don't." Said Flora, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "You sound like the sea, calming and calling. There is no need for me to run back to it so quickly when I have it right here with me."

Eloise sucks in air, her skin tingling under her touch, suddenly sweating a great deal. "Is that my stole." Flora whisks her hand away, strutting over to her bed, the fabric laced over her pillows.

"Uh... Yes, you had forgotten it at the Modiste. I intended to return it to you tomorrow at the ball but you may have it back, now."

"Thank you, I thought I would never see it again." She floors it over her shoulders, inspecting the parchment scattered over Eloise's bed.

"I noticed dog hair on it and wondered why, but he answers that ponder." Eloise points at Barney, scratching him behind the ears, speaking to him as if he were a baby.

"There was also cat hair, but I see no cat." She investigates, sitting with Flora with Barney in her lap.

"Yes, but Fern is a lazy blob, she will only move when wanting cuddles or a sunbath." Flora replies, scotching closer to Eloise, stroking Barney between his ear.

"Why, so many copies of..." She trails, reading the column. "Lady Whistledown? She seems quite the gossip. Is this the type of material, you enjoy reading?" She inspects the parchment, arching a brow as she reads.

"No- Well, yes but not for what you think. That's a lie too, but she like yourself is anonymous. And rather talented."

"She reports on gossip." Flora says flatly, tossing the paper in the heap of other 'useless' columns.

"That's what makes her, so talented. She can collect the hottest scandals of the Ton and still no one knows who she is." Said Eloise, speaking in praise, gesturing with her hands.

"Not if someone takes a visit to the printer she publishes her column from."

Eloise turns her gaze to the foreign beauty, her eyes large and awake.

"What?" Said Eloise, rubbing her nose.

"The printer. The paper and ink is found on the poorest side of London, far from the Ton. Just beside the docks, it's where most papers are purchased."

"Come again." Said Eloise, dusting Barney from her lap, learning forward, inches from Flora's face, investigating her statement.

Wetting her lips, Flora pulls back, finding comfort in her own personal space. "Most papers and even books are sold at the docks, capturing new customers and buyers. It's a great form of business, get them when they're hot and new, unable to know any better." She explains as Eloise rubs her hands together, thinking with a marvelous grin, conducting a plan behind her sapphire eyes.

"I have a proposal for you, Lady da Silva. How about you write your new book on the unmasking of Lady Whistledon. Lady da Silva vs Lady Whistledown." She announced, arching her hands in the air, visualizing a great header.

Flora thought for a moment, pondering over her proposal. She's put out of romance, completely bleached and drained of it. She had no reason to say no, after all she has not published a solid book in two whole years, a new scenery might do her some good.

"Fine, but I'll only agree if you keep this between us, tell no one. I don't want anyone unmasking my own identity in the process, understood?" She held out her hand.

"Deal, no will ever know." Said Eloise, shaking her hand in agreement, giddy with excitement.

Eloise clasps her hands together, informing Flora of what she knows and what she thought she knew. With that she begins to write down the information, ringing together a plot, a character, an entire story line. She wrote and listened, eating dinner in Eloise's room, long after the sun had set.

"Perhaps, we are to uncover more at Lady Danbury's ball tomorrow. We will discuss, snoop around and squeeze in a few dances." Said Flora, tucking her diary into her purse.

"Dance?" Eloise questions, licking her fingers.

"Yes, I am to attend a ball for a reason. To find a good enough Suitor is a dawning task, indeed." She replies, shaking out a napkin, drawing Eloise's face with her clothed finger tips, wiping away food from her lips and face.

"You are to find a husband, Ellie. Are you not?"

Eloise swallows thickly, allowing Flora to clean her face. Her stomach clenching at the nickname, her eyes trained on Flora's stained lips, desiring a different kind of Suitor. She could feel her breath fan her lips, her breath smelling of lemonade.

"Are you not?" Flora repeats, drawing back, sliding her plate to the floor, letting Barney finish what she could not.

Eloise shook her head, forcing herself to reality. "No! A woman should not have to enter society via marriage and baby bearing." She scowls, missing their closeness.

"I agree but I cannot live my life, a spinster. It would do no good to my family, my dynasty or my reputation." She explains, watching Barney flop his ears, begging Eloise for her plate.

Rolling her eyes, she clatters her plate on top of Flora's slumping back on the pile of columns. "I don't think my heart aligns with society's norms, Flora." She exhales a sigh, folding her hands on her stomach.

"Mmm, in France, a man may wed another man but not by paper or in public. But by vow, and oath, shared between them both. They are to love but never bear a document, for that is not what love needs to blossom..." She begins, laying beside Eloise, staring up at the ceiling.

"It just needs two beings willing to love one another... Without running away or breaking the heart of the other. I believe it can be done even if someone harbors affection for, something slightly different." She finished, feeling Eloise staring at her.

"You believe I fancy women."

Flora glances around, feeling as if she had misread the situation. "Is that not what you implied." She looks at Eloise now, fumbling with her hands.

"Y-yes... I don't know. I think so. It's just, I don't desire a man as I do a woman. It's hard to write on paper, you know. I wasn't sure you'll write back if I simply state 'I think I fancy women'." Eloise jokes, breathing harder.

Flora shook her head. "You know, every book and poem I wrote were through the hearts and eyes of lovers, who could not love the way they wished. Plumps and Berries: is an example. I interviewed an elderly woman, who-"

"Fell in love with her lady Maid, yes I remember. But it were a man, a man who you replaced as the elderly woman. She fell in love with the lady Maid who committed suicide, who had killed herself because she could not fathom what she had done. She was consumed with guilt, regarding her affection after she had bedded the brother of the lady she served." Eloise finished, her eyes widening in discovery.

"It was the first romance novel that I wept over. I truly thought it a fictional masterpiece. It tore my heart from my chest. I did not know it were about two women, both who died without the other in their arms." She drifted off, staring back at the ceiling.

"How could you. I disguised their story, so no one would ever know. Their love was hidden but had a right to be shared, regardless of the tragic ending. What I'm trying to say, Ellie. Love whomever you wish, even if it is to be hidden." Flora forced her gaze back to her with her fingers.

"Make it through this season and see where you go from there. You might just surprise yourself."

With that she was gone, collecting her stole and corgi, thanking every member of the house for their hospitality, folding for the night and leaving for home.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The night of the ball came quickly, bustling the garden house of Lady Danbury, spilling with Suitors and Debutantes. It were a moonlit night with flowers, beautiful decor and music. It was an amazing start to the season, indeed.

Flora donned her deep emerald green gown of jewels, complimented with a pair of long black fabricked gloves. Her hair pinned back in a French twist, adorned with green gems, elegant wear for an elegant soiree. She wore only a slim emerald necklace and pearl sized earrings to match. She did miss her boots, feeling rather strange in a pair of jeweled heels.

"Edwina seems to be enjoying herself, look at her grow so quickly, amie." Said Flora, chatting with Kate.

"Mmm, she will make an amazing wife. She will find herself a love-match, and so will you. I see your dance card is full. The men here are rather smitten with you, Miss Flora." Her dear friend teased, grinning a great deal for someone in a rather sour mood.

She glances down at her, pushing a flask into her hand. Kate gawps at it, ushering them both into a hidden backroom, far from prying eyes.

"Where did you find this?"

"It's tea, and not rubbish English tea." Flora says, unmasking a flask from her under-skirt, intended for herself.

Kate takes a swig and clears her throat, pulling a face of sour taste, like she had sucked a bitter lemon.

"Tea with a slight kick. Sure to ward off any fatigue. And hide the stench of alcohol." Flora chuckles before chugging a great deal for herself, blistering in the taste.

"A kick, indeed." Kate coughs, throwing back another shot, rolling down the wall, huffing as Flora joins her. "Thank you, I needed this. Now go and enjoy the ball, you look far too nice to be hidden back here with me."

They chuckle, dwindling in their long friendship. "Don't be silly Kathani. I missed you and our races. I still recall ten to four, you really do suck." She teases, earning her a jab in the side.

"I am sorry for not visiting Bombay for some time. I was supposed to visit, before my grandfather passed. He is my only supporter and man who seems to enjoy funding my travels and writing. I miss him, greatly." Flora drifts, resting her head on Kate's shoulder.

"No, I'm just glad to see you again, pyar." Kate strokes her clothed hand, kissing Flora's hair, inhaling her scent, her eyes closed.

"Love? Do you love me, Kate?" Said Flora, her tone: sweet and luring.

Kate chuckles, rolling her eyes. "Only as much as I'll allow my heart to. I am not the only one, I am aware of your many options. I will not be an option." She states, squeezing Flora's arm, comforting herself in her hair.

Flora grins, pushing her lips to her flask. "I will never treat you as such, amore. You are my friend, who I will be glad to get drunk with."

Kate snorts as Flora lays in her lap, drinking from her flask. "I'll say, getting drunk with you is a privilege." They raise their flasks, in cheers, bathing in the silence away from the ball.

She studies Kate, sensing a strong cause for her bitter mood. "Something's bothering you, I can smell it. What happened, amire." Says Flora, drawing Kate's attention to her.

She huffs exasperatedly, shaking her head, annoyance vivid in the way she laps her tongue over the inner-walls of her cheek. "Men can really be... Inconsiderate, foul and dimwitted. They fantasize their definition of a perfect woman, expecting that 'perfect' woman to fall into their laps. We are human, we are not perfect and we certainly are not some man-made thing to entertain men, and their unrealistic standards." Kate snarls, drinking back the concoction.

"Ah, so you met the viscount"

"Yes! He is such a pig!" Kate scowls with a trail of her drink dripping down her chin.

"He is aware of what he wants, and seems to believe that his dream woman is obtainable. He is a fool. But entertaining and very easy to bully."

Kate scoffs, rolling her eyes and downing the remains of her drink. One look from her and Flora is trading her flask for Kate's, tucking the empty metal in her under-skirt.

She shimmies a copy of Lady Whisltedown's column from her bodice, unfolding it. "Oh, don't tell me you're a frequent reader of Lady Whisltedown." Says Kate, snatching the parchment from her, reading the inked page.

"No, but I am intrigued by her findings." She replies, trying to take the paper back. "Intrigued? Oh, so you're on the cusp of becoming a frequent reader. Are you starved of gossip?" Kate waves it just above Flora's reach, laughing at her squirm for it.

"Flora! There you are- whose this?" Said Eloise, now standing in front of them, adorned with a strained toothy smile, flicking her gaze between them both, curious and slightly twinged.

"Ellie, darling! You look..." Flora eyes Eloise, drawing her gaze from her feet to her face. "B-b-bewitching." She stammers, grinning slightly with a small twinkle in her eyes.

She wore a blue gown, bejeweled with gems. Her hair pulled back in an elegant up-do, complimented with a diamond and sapphire crown, matching her small flower designed necklace, and white gloves. She wore heels, no doubt by the couple inches she has gained, from the last Flora had seen her.

Eloise ducks her head, fiddling with her fingers, her dance card swinging with every fiddle. She bashfully grins, her cheeks tinting with a bite of the inside of her cheeks. Flora missed it but Kate hadn't. Kate can always tell when someone fancied another. She had a gift of disiphering signs and body language: tinted cheeks, biting or nibbling of lips and cheeks. She knew them the signs, as she knew her own hand.

Eloise was falling, but Flora couldn't see it. Couldn't see how Eloise softened when her attention was on her or how she hardened when she spotted Kate. She knew it all, but Flora did not. Did not know of what hid behind Eloise's tight smile and her gritted teeth that seemed to subsided as Flora sat up, acknowledging Elosie, as if she were a star in a sky filled with only darkness and one ball of burning gas. In due time, she will, but right now, Flora is blind.

There was something growing there, and Kate wasn't about to spoil its growth.

"I'm Kate Sharma, Flora's friend. Come join, if you wish. I was about to check on my sister." Said Kate, standing and handing the parchment back to Flora but keeping the full flask.

"Eloise Bridgerton. I'm not disturbing anything, am I? If, so you can stay and I'll leave." Says Eloise, fumbling.

"No! Nothing's a disturbance. Stay, I'll go." She turns her attention to Flora. "9.00am sharp, no later. Three races, no more and no less." She explains, pointing her finger, determined in her speech and expression.

"Why not four? Make it even and a greater win for me." Flora teased, watching Kate poke her tongue at her before strutting off in search of her sister.

Once gone, Eloise takes Kate's spot, pulling a small diary from her dress pocket with a smaller pencil in hand. "I have written Lady Whisltedown's most recent publishes with dates, hoping to see a pattern." Eloise explains, her nose dipping every time she spoke with interest, the cogs of her mind, turning with ever thought.

Flora listens, taking notes for her own diary, scribbling down every thought and theory pooling from Eloise's lips, wanting to collect every detail without a miss.

"How long have you and Kate been friends for?" Eloise suddenly blurts, gaze trained on her notes.

"Since I learned to read and she to speak. We were tiny and had two mothers who were rather close to each other. My mother is her mothers best friend and her mother is my mothers best friend. She is older than myself... Kate is six to twenty, and I am one to eighteen. So... I guess when I was one to ten and she was one to seventeen." Flora explained, standing and dragging Eloise with her.

"Wait, she was just learning how to speak at one to seventeen! And you were just understanding how to read at one to ten!"

"Yes, English was not the easiest language for her at the time, but she's a natural now. I found speaking it a lot easier but reading it... Well, it had its ups and downs." Says Flora, linking arms with her, noting the tenseness in Eloise's stance, deciding not to look into it too much.

"You think that, whoever Lady Whistledown is. She tends to have some sort of pattern with her K's?" Flora inspects, strolling through the gardens, studying the stars.

Eloise paused for a moment, savoring the peace of the night and its coolness that it provides in such a warm season. She felt as if suffocating in the heat of the season of marriage and eager Suitors, making her vomit and wish she were a spinster, able to live her life as she wished, and perhaps be someone of adventure... Like Flora or Colin with the right to such a free life..

To experience more than stale bread and rotten cheese, to live and find love on her own terms— to be whomever she wished without the fear of losing her family. Without losing the first form of love she has ever experienced. Her silence in thought draws Flora's eyes, pulling them from the beauty of the sky.

Eloise had closed her eye, drawing in thought, inhaling the aroma of the sweet and delicate flowers, enjoying the scents of nature, making her wishshe were in the country, away from the buzz of the city and its nosy occupants. Flora drew Eloise closer, cuddling her by waist and providing Elosie with comfort in her shoulder.

"Love will find you, Ellie. And when it does, you will know." Said Flora, sensing something that only Benedict or her mother would have felt. "You may not want it now, but when you find it or it finds you, you never want it to leave. You'll trap it in a jar with a strong lid and treat it as if it were your own prisoner that you'll care for and never have another steal from you." Flora continued, thumbing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Eloise is staring at her now, her eyes downing her, as if she were a glass of water, and she, a man of unclenchable thirst. She thought, Flora a mind reader or some sort of witch by the ease in knowing of what floated in her mind. She felt as if Flora were Stephn, from her most recent and rather old book, 'The darling of Florance'. A man who could read his love, as it were his own palm or mind. Was he too a hidden woman, yearning for a life to love publicly.

Eloise pondered the thought, wishing she understood herself a little more and able to defog the twist in her stomach when it came to the daughters of the Ton.

"Is that how you feel?" She asks, swatting closer, wanting her body unbearably closer.

Flora smiles slightly with a pung in her chest. If it were any louder, she was sure Elosie could hear. "Unfortunately, yes. I believe that every man and woman has a star waiting for them. Someone that is only meant for them, even if it means waiting for the next life. My star is waiting for me and longing for my company, I just hope they come sooner than later."

They?

Eloise was aware of the masked love in her books. But she never thought that it impacted her, the author. She assumed that she accepted all love, regardless if it were shared between two men or women. Elosie always thought her mind to be open to all who were different.

"Just men?" Eloise inspected.

Flora chuckles, twisting her lips into an amused grin. "No, not just men. Women, too." She replied, starting to guide them both back to the hall.

Elosie felt something in her stomach give way, like a bridge crumbling on the impact of a tsunami. Something that filled the hollow web that she had created on her own, thinking she would never find someone who could possibly be like her. Someone who is completely different from society and its construction of pillars and custems, a true cactus in a field of flowers.

"And how do you deal with it? Stop yourself, that is." Elosie wanted to know. Wanted to know if she could stop whatever song in her chest rang when her eyes drifted to the lips of her tutor or the eyes of the librarian. She wanted it all to stop or at least kill her.

"Make it stop? If you are thinking of it as something that you could simply dampen with a shot of whisky or a trip to the doctor-." Flora scoffs, shaking her head with slight disappointment. "Than I am sorry to inform you, but you simply can not stop it. Your heart will fall, break, and even mend itself, with or without your consent. It will make choices for you, caring not for the host. It will hurt you and bring you joy, but it will always be your greatest test and challenge. You just have to learn that it's just how life works." She breathes, planting a comforting peck to Eloise's hair.

"Just remember what I said. Love will find you, Ellie, and you will never want to lose it." Flora finished, parting and searching for her brothers, who chat with many ladies of the Ton and their unbearable mamas.

"Eloise, there you are! I was looking everywhere for you." Said a plump red-head, donning a rather bright yellow dress.

She links arms with Eloise, crafting a sour-like twist in Flora's stomach, her eyes glaring at where she held her. She wanted to break the young lady's arm, or perhaps her entire body. But why should she?

There is no purpose to. She simply did not like how this girl stole her spot.

Flora sniffs. "Since you now have company, I best find mine. My papa would not enjoy the idea of the end of my night to be accompanied by a friend and not a Suitor. Good evening, Miss Eloise." Flora departs with haste, visibly jovial with hidden anger underneath her skin.

Elosie reaches out for her, missing by an inch as she and Penalope share a connection of confusion. "Who was that, and why so desperate to part?" Asked Penelope, sipping punch.

"That's my new friend that I've been talking about. She seemed rather happy so she must want to finish her night and go home. Or anxious to meet you." Eloise reassured, feeling Pen's worry.

"Flora?"

Eloise hums in clarification. "Oh, my mama has been talking about her and her brothers for a while. She wants Prudence to sweep the eldest off his feet. " Penalope gags, gliding them both to nearby hallway.

"Brothers?" Funny, Flora never mentioned the attendance of her brothers at tonight's festivities.

Penelope nods, pointing at the tallest and eldest. He was rather handsome with an angular face, straight nose and groomed dark hair, very much like his sisters. But his eyes were not like hers. No, they were round and the most stunning sea green. "That's Alexander Deluca, the next Viscount of the Deluca dynasty. He is one of the more eligible Suitors of the season. He's the man Prudence and many other ladies of the Ton have sworn to." She drew her finger to a slightly shorter man.

He was not as handsome as Alexander but he was an eye-catcher. He had long, almost messy dark hair with a more softer face. His eyes were also rather large with the lashes of a woman: long and stunning. The colors were also green, but like emeralds, fine and dark. Pretty.

"That is Benjamin Deluca, the second eldest. He is currently on the list of Cressida. With what I hear, he is quite the poet and hunter." Said Penelope, finally settling on a rather taller man, taller than the last.

He was a lot slimmer but still rather meaty in some areas. His face was sharp, but his eyes were rather dim. They were heavy and small but attention drawing, for they held a dark purple shade, that's almost close to Flora's. But his short hair was blonde and combed back. He is most definitely the odd sibling, perhaps. Eloise isn't aware of the physical appearance of the rest of her brothers.

"And lastly Christopher, who is the third eldest. He isn't a talker and keeps to himself. But it seems he is Flora's favored brother."

The two watch as the siblings converse, clearly jeering about something they don't like. Perhaps, finding a way out of tonight's festivities.

"Pardon me, Lady Danbury but my sister seems rather unwell. She claims discomfort in her head." Said Christopher, allowing his sister to lean her head on his shoulder, visibly showing an act of ill-health.

"Oh, well that is a shame. You best take her home, Mr Deluca." Said Lady Danbury.

"Thank you Lady Danbury." Flora embraces the older woman, making sure to make a show.

"Now, this better not be a fib to relieve yourself of my ball." She whispers in her ear, making her threat clear. "Of course Lady Danbury. I danced and wooed eligible Suitors. I am just not feeling very well."

The older woman hums suspiciously but lets the two go, unable to convince Flora to stay.

Once in the comforts of her carriage, Flora removes her gloves, revealing scars, that litter her forearm. She itches them, exhaling sharply, feeling her skin crawl, and her body shake. She wanted out or she'll simply burst into flames.

She didn't understand her sudden bitterness towards the plump girl, but she felt it and it made her feel uneasy. She felt as if, she would shatter, and subside to the sourness in her gut or worse. She needed a blade, a relief... Something to dampen this feeling in her chest and gut.

"Get out Christopher. I wish to go home alone." She mutters, barely being audible. "But I don't wan-"

"Go!" She growled, her eyes burning with tears.

He swallows thickly, opening the door to the carriage. "So be it. Don't do anything stupid." He glares at her, giving strict instructions to the driver before taking his leave.

The carriage jerks forward, trotting down the pavement. Flora slides her skirts above her knees, revealing a short tipped blade. Taking the cold metal into her palm, she allows the fabrics to fall, covering her legs and band that once held her blade. She lays back, closing her eyes, in content, trying to keep the tears from falling.

But she opens them again, facing the blade to her wrist, over an old scar and pressing it along her skin, slicing the elegant meat, rather slowly. She hisses as the carriage swerves, guiding the blade to an angle. Her lips wobble a sigh of relief once the first cut is done, opening a gate of blood, pooling over her dress.

Leaning back, she smiles and slices the other wrist open, relishing in the relief.

Just one more cut. Flora promises herself, going in again and again, and again. Until three cuts turn into four and warps into five. She sobs, heaving a heavy breath in her chest, staring up at the ceiling.

Just once more, cut.

[aspd-culture]

sometimes i feel like how i am just makes more sense. how do you think the world would be different if everyone "had aspd" (but in this world, it would just be being normal)?

Hmmmm.... Damn I'm really unmasked right now so this is probably the most honest answer I could give you (based on my opinion of course, none of this is fact and for all intents and purposes this answer is entertainment value only not educational bc who knows if I'll agree with myself once we find wherever that mask is hiding).

First and foremost, society is kind of gone in this case. Or reverted, I guess. That's a major point with ASPD is that we didn't develop the way everyone else did to be a part of society, desire to be around people, fear people disliking us (because in the wild that could mean dy*ng), etc. We still have the understanding of the need to congregate and therefore would likely still have settlements nearby, but I'm guessing everything would be a lot more spread out. I'm sure there are plenty of pwASPD who don't feel this way, but all the pwASPD I know personally hate the concept of neighbors that can perceive them while standing in their own yard or worse their own house. So firstly I think that houses would likely be further away, and that things like trailer parks and apartments would be significantly less common.

I also think that laws surrounding where you can build a house and the safety stuff involved like permits would be more lax - leaning towards a "if you didn't do it right, you'll be the one to have to deal with it" mentality, and in that I think more people would be housed but probably significantly less safely. I don't think this would extend to things like basic building stability and electricity and such, because that would cause issues for more than just the idiot who didn't do their research, but for things like lead paint, proper insulation, and such like that.

In general, probably a lot of things would lean that way - with more overall protections for people because we A.) don't like to hear people complain and will sooner do the right thing to shut them up than continue to allow their whining in a lot of cases and B.) we understand that the entire purpose of humans living near each other is to help and C.) in a world where ASPD was the norm we know that if I (general I) don't help you (general you) when you need it, there will be no empathy or anything making them feel bad if you don't help when *I* need it. Everyone takes what they need and gives what they need and I doubt people would bother to abuse the system because we are smart enough to know that gaming the system is actually screwing all of us over bc now when people need help that isn't there, they will have no qualms about coming to the house of the person who stole all the resources for themself and asking what that person intends to do to fix the problem they made.

See, a lot of the reason that pwASPD who manage to go on to be your high-profile wealthy CEOs do that is because it's easier for them than a prosocial. Stepping on people to get to the top, knowing that those people will likely barely see it as you doing something wrong. They feel for you and they understand you were taught greed and all that, so they're easy to manipulate. Give them a bonus check that doesn't even bother a percentage of your profits every year around the holidays and you're considered a great boss doing better than most. Let them call out every once in a while and only give them a little heat about it and they'll worship you because it's better than most of what's out there.

But other pwASPD see through that, so I don't think hyper-selfish people with ASPD would manage to thrive in this type of "society" the way they do with a majority prosocial one.

I think that we'd also help to establish better things for people with ASPD - more stuff like wreck rooms and such - that allow for the easing of those symptoms without breaking your sh*t or hurting anyone, while also getting rid of laws that are, well, stupid in our eyes and help decrease the annoyance that causes our symptoms to flare in the first place. You're stealing baby formula? Go at it. I don't care. If we notice because you're stealing a bunch of shit then you did a shit job of stealing and then there's probably consequences. Maybe. If the dude on shift feels like dealing with it.

I think only the big things would continue being illegal by any degree, and I think the system would probably be much more collective rather than things like managers, politicians, etc. We're not a fan of people telling us what to do more often than not, so I think all of us having a turn would be the way it would work. I think most everything would go to majority vote.

I honestly wonder if money would even survive in a world entirely set up by pwASPD or if we'd just make all the transactions by association like the old barter system. People say that the reason we can't go back to that in today's world is because we wouldn't be able to decide what services were worth what other services but that kind of removes the point of the barter system in the first place. It's not about the services having a "value" it's literally just about "I need this and you have it, you need that and I have it, let's trade". This is already how we view our relationships - not caring if the give and take is equal as long as we both are walking away cool with it - so it makes sense we'd extend that to a general rule.

In a weird way I just feel like we'd be less connected but more collaborative. No I don't want to have small talk but I do have bread I'm willing to give to someone who can get me antibiotics. And no one would take offense to that because *none* of us want to do the small talk.

Plenty of pwASPD do enjoy friendships and relationships and so I think in those cases, you'd see people who want that finding that and people who don't just not participating.

I don't think everything would change, because to a degree there is some ASPD influence in how things work atm, but it's a prosocial lens on it even for the things that have that influence.

There is also the solid possibility that it could just be anarchy tho :/ It depends because honestly all of this is coming from the place of "us all developing ASPD knowing what the world is like now and what isn't working" but if it wasn't like that who really knows what would happen. (apparently my use of emoji means that sentence has to be in bold on this font)

I refuse to re-read and edit this rn and I won't want to do it later so RIP if this is a mess of a post to read or contradicts itself, etc. But I promise I do care about this blog and the content on it/gen - the reason why I'm being selective about which asks I'm willing to do while in this state - I'm just impaired by the low mood stabilizer levels so I'm honestly worse than just unmasked rn. Like me normally without a mask and without any mood stabilizer at all is more composed and gives more of an f then I do rn but god guys Lamictal withdrawal will kick your *ss. Idk why I'm explaining this like I would to a group of prosocials tho XD I more often get questions on this blog about why I *don't* act like this.

Plain text below the cut:

Hmmmm.... Damn I'm really unmasked right now so this is probably the most honest answer I could give you (based on my opinion of course, none of this is fact and for all intents and purposes this answer is entertainment value only not educational bc who knows if I'll agree with myself once we find wherever that mask is hiding).

First and foremost, society is kind of gone in this case. Or reverted, I guess. That's a major point with ASPD is that we didn't develop the way everyone else did to be a part of society, desire to be around people, fear people disliking us (because in the wild that could mean dy*ng), etc. We still have the understanding of the need to congregate and therefore would likely still have settlements nearby, but I'm guessing everything would be a lot more spread out. I'm sure there are plenty of pwASPD who don't feel this way, but all the pwASPD I know personally hate the concept of neighbors that can perceive them while standing in their own yard or worse their own house. So firstly I think that houses would likely be further away, and that things like trailer parks and apartments would be significantly less common.

I also think that laws surrounding where you can build a house and the safety stuff involved like permits would be more lax - leaning towards a "if you didn't do it right, you'll be the one to have to deal with it" mentality, and in that I think more people would be housed but probably significantly less safely. I don't think this would extend to things like basic building stability and electricity and such, because that would cause issues for more than just the idiot who didn't do their research, but for things like lead paint, proper insulation, and such like that.

In general, probably a lot of things would lean that way - with more overall protections for people because we A.) don't like to hear people complain and will sooner do the right thing to shut them up than continue to allow their whining in a lot of cases and B.) we understand that the entire purpose of humans living near each other is to help and C.) in a world where ASPD was the norm we know that if I (general I) don't help you (general you) when you need it, there will be no empathy or anything making them feel bad if you don't help when *I* need it. Everyone takes what they need and gives what they need and I doubt people would bother to abuse the system because we are smart enough to know that gaming the system is actually screwing all of us over bc now when people need help that isn't there, they will have no qualms about coming to the house of the person who stole all the resources for themself and asking what that person intends to do to fix the problem they made.

See, a lot of the reason that pwASPD who manage to go on to be your high-profile wealthy CEOs do that is because it's easier for them than a prosocial. Stepping on people to get to the top, knowing that those people will likely barely see it as you doing something wrong. They feel for you and they understand you were taught greed and all that, so they're easy to manipulate. Give them a bonus check that doesn't even bother a percentage of your profits every year around the holidays and you're considered a great boss doing better than most. Let them call out every once in a while and only give them a little heat about it and they'll worship you because it's better than most of what's out there.

But other pwASPD see through that, so I don't think hyper-selfish people with ASPD would manage to thrive in this type of "society" the way they do with a majority prosocial one.

I think that we'd also help to establish better things for people with ASPD - more stuff like wreck rooms and such - that allow for the easing of those symptoms without breaking your sh*t or hurting anyone, while also getting rid of laws that are, well, stupid in our eyes and help decrease the annoyance that causes our symptoms to flare in the first place. You're stealing baby formula? Go at it. I don't care. If we notice because you're stealing a bunch of shit then you did a shit job of stealing and then there's probably consequences. Maybe. If the dude on shift feels like dealing with it.

I think only the big things would continue being illegal by any degree, and I think the system would probably be much more collective rather than things like managers, politicians, etc. We're not a fan of people telling us what to do more often than not, so I think all of us having a turn would be the way it would work. I think most everything would go to majority vote.

I honestly wonder if money would even survive in a world entirely set up by pwASPD or if we'd just make all the transactions by association like the old barter system. People say that the reason we can't go back to that in today's world is because we wouldn't be able to decide what services were worth what other services but that kind of removes the point of the barter system in the first place. It's not about the services having a "value" it's literally just about "I need this and you have it, you need that and I have it, let's trade". This is already how we view our relationships - not caring if the give and take is equal as long as we both are walking away cool with it - so it makes sense we'd extend that to a general rule.

In a weird way I just feel like we'd be less connected but more collaborative. No I don't want to have small talk but I do have bread I'm willing to give to someone who can get me antibiotics. And no one would take offense to that because *none* of us want to do the small talk.

Plenty of pwASPD do enjoy friendships and relationships and so I think in those cases, you'd see people who want that finding that and people who don't just not participating.

I don't think everything would change, because to a degree there is some ASPD influence in how things work atm, but it's a prosocial lens on it even for the things that have that influence.

There is also the solid possibility that it could just be anarchy tho :/ It depends because honestly all of this is coming from the place of "us all developing ASPD knowing what the world is like now and what isn't working" but if it wasn't like that who really knows what would happen.

I refuse to re-read and edit this rn and I won't want to do it later so RIP if this is a mess of a post to read or contradicts itself, etc. But I promise I do care about this blog and the content on it/gen - the reason why I'm being selective about which asks I'm willing to do while in this state - I'm just impaired by the low mood stabilizer levels so I'm honestly worse than just unmasked rn. Like me normally without a mask and without any mood stabilizer at all is more composed and gives more of an f then I do rn but god guys Lamictal withdrawal will kick your *ss. Idk why I'm explaining this like I would to a group of prosocials tho XD I more often get questions on this blog about why I *don't* act like this.

[art3misg33k]

i see ur most recent post and obviously i have to ask abt trent

My favorite character right out the gate lets go!!

(Ok wow this got sooo long I am sorry)

Starting with my personal takes & headcanons Trent is so nonbinary to me. They give such vibes of being like “idk man I’m just existing” as well as at first thinking they just really didn’t care about gendered stuff bc society is stupid about it but then realized just how deep those feelings were. I also love just any headcanon of Trent not being cis in general. The gender queer vibes are so strong with that one. In terms of sexuality I’m really not sure? I think they’re to multiple genders but idk in what way. Bi, Pan, and Unlabeled are the ones I’m stuck between.

On a slightly more analytical note in I think in Island they are well showcased as a nice chill person but also having the capacity to stand their ground and be intimidating (that one scene with Cody).

I don’t think they’re really good with social queues and may be a bit gullible seeing how things went down with Heather. On the outside has that mysterious energy but can be a real goober when you get to know them. Insane silliness potential that was wasted in my opinion.

Crossing into the semi-headcanon but also canon implied type stuff is their neurodivergence. In TDA it’s obvious that Trent has some neurodivergent tendencies. I personally think OCD and autism. I hate the way it was handled, not because they gave Trent these traits in the first place but how they framed them as a crazy person. That treatment was definitely very damaging to Trent and most likely made them go to heavily masking, even more so than before. Being pitied so much also felt incredibly frustrating to them.

The way that Trent was launched into fame right after a messy breakup on international television definitely made things worse. They seemed like they were thriving while the band was together but in reality they were only being seen for their music and not who they really are, pointedly ignoring their neurodivergence, flaws or any wrongdoing on their part. It hurt seeing how they were treated so horribly when it came to their mental health but as soon as they started singing they were suddenly this sweet, emotional, amazing guy.

And in terms of my headcanon they were also dealing with a ton of dysphoria being seen a guy in the Drama Brothers because they were closeted. I personally think that they had only found out a couple of months before Island so they weren’t comfortable telling anybody yet. They felt like they could tell someone close like Gwen eventually but didn’t want to come out on tv so they said nothing. I think in the days between the finale and TDA Trent became afraid again not wanting to ruin things with Gwen in fear of her being upset that they wouldn’t be the cool talented boyfriend that she expected. On the Aftermath they didn’t really have anyone truly there for them only having those who pitied them or who thought they were an awful person, leaving them isolated not just about dysphoria but just their existence in general.

I do believe that between TDA and WT as well as onwards that Trent was able to build a genuine friendship with Justin, Harold, and Cody despite how messy things got with the band at times. Unintentionally they started unmasking a bit around them closer to when WT started and when they weren’t met with judgement (maybe a bit that was just genuine misunderstanding that got corrected but still) Trent was starting to more and more feel like they could be themself. (Back to more headcanony for a sec) After WT Trent came out to the three of them and was met with acceptance! From there Trent is able to progressively come out more and more from their shell and from the closet to more people!

Also hopefully patching things up and becoming friends with Gwen eventually but that’s just like a wish I have

I think I just unintentionally typed out a whole outline of what I think their life is instead of just my opinion on them in general but yeah.

Some random headcanons!!:

- (Stolen from Courtney-deserved-better) A lot of people think that Trent looks so cool and mysterious but in actuality they are usually just zoned out

- Biggest sensory issues are with sound. They’d go insane without headphones/earbuds bc the music is nice and their noise as opposed to how horribly loud life can be (Kinda projecting on this one but it makes sense for them so shhh)

- Listens to most genres but especially the ones within the general indie/alternative umbrella. A good amount of ppl think that they only listen to mainstream pop type stuff so when they’re with Trent and some darker/depressing type shit like CSH comes on from one of Trent’s playlists they are so surprised.

- Likes some of what the Drama Brothers made but a lot of their brand was pushed into them by producers and the whole band kinda hated how fake things felt at times. After WT they manage to get away from that company and the band gets a lot more creative freedom making what they want. (Also changing the band name eventually bc of Trent if we’re talking in a world with my nb headcanon. Not sure when or if Trent would publicly come out but if not before the name change then they all just make something up about rebranding)

About ships! - I personally love tons of td ships being a massive multi shipper, especially with characters that are my faves (With an exception of Raj I don’t rlly see him with anyone but Bowie). Gwent was the first ship I ever got into with Total Drama and it has a special place in my heart. It’s not my absolute favorite but I still love seeing them together and au’s where they actually work things out healthily during Action or where Action and or TD didn’t happen. I love a lot of other ones too like Trustin and Trody and a lot more! I think my favorite Trent ship may actually be Trenoah, it’s really my favorite rare pair. Ik they didn’t really interact but the POTENTIAL!! They would play off of each other so well and ahhh dude I think I’d need to make a separate post just taking about those two

And that’s the basics of my thoughts on Trent! (well maybe not the basics but trust me it’s not all that I have to say about them).

I think in the future I’ll make a post about what I think their potential backstory is bc I got carried away and didn’t rlly cover that here. @ashyjingles if you want me to @ you in that just let me know!

[baby--charchar]

Baby Vaggie and Autism!

Cw: description of a meltdown, based on my own experiences having them. Absolutely okay if anyone needs to skip this.

So it goes without saying that Vaggie is straight up autistic, not just autistic when she's regressed. However, Big Vaggie had been trained to SEVERELY mask as an exorcist, where there was no tolerance for burnout, sensory issues, or social fatigue. It probably crossed the lines into straight up abuse multiple times.

In Hell, she still tries to keep up that mask. Her urge to protect Charlie and her team leads her to giving herself no leeway to accommodate herself. I think that while she overall thrives with her newfound family, her constant masking is still tearing her apart. She likely had many shut-downs that others misinterpreted as her just being moody.

Learning to unmask probably began as it's own process apart from regression. But I feel that they likely converged after one major meltdown. Vaggie felt like a pressure cooker about to explode with everything going on, then something relatively small happened to break the camel's back so to speak. One minute she's silent on the couch in the lobby, filling out legal paperwork, then the next she's screaming her lungs out and flipping the table.

I imagine her meltdowns as rare but SEVERE. Lots of screaming, hyperventilating, pacing around the room, banging her head, and biting herself. Months and months of that pressure releasing in one instantaneous explosion.

Charlie would be so scared and wouldn't know what to do. She just wants to hold Vaggie, but every time she tries, Vaggie just panics more.

Lucifer doesn't REALLY have experience with this, but he has strong "papa bear" instincts for both of his girls. He lets Vaggie ride it out just until she's no longer being unsafe. After which he places his hands on her shoulders and gently guides her towards the elevator. He keeps repeating, "You're safe, you're okay. We're going to your room. We're gonna rest." She's still sobbing, but she starts to untense the more he assures her.

Once they're home, Vaggie is still overwhelmed but is doing better. She wants Charlie's touch and is squeezing her HARD, mustering up as much deep pressure as she can. Lucifer gets her some water in a sippy cup (sensing where Vaggie is headed) and it helps.

By the time she's recovered, she is VERY deep into baby space. Enough to where she's struggling to sit up and walk on her own. Lucifer gets her changed and into her favorite pajamas. It's not long before she slips into sleep.

Moving forward, Charlie and Lucifer try encouraging Vaggie to unmask: find stims she likes, rest more, whatever that means for her to make herself more comfortable. Big Vaggie is naturally resistant, always pushing herself to do more, to BE more for the hotel. But Baby Vaggie? You don't have to tell her twice.

Baby Vaggie feels safe with Charlie and Lucifer. She's finally relaxed enough to follow her own instincts, whether that be how she moves her body, how she gets her point across, or just how she entertains herself.

Vaggie is completely nonverbal, but finds other ways to communicate. She knows that if she screams long enough, someone will come pay attention to her. She really likes that system, so there is LOTS of screaming. They get good at recognizing what different screams mean, like "I want food," "I need to be changed," or just, "I want to spend time with someone."

Charlie makes her a small communication card and keeps it clipped to a lanyard that Vaggie can wear. It has all her favorite foods, toys, and people, for when she really needs to be specific.

She also keeps a large chewie on that lanyard. Without it, Vaggie's prone to putting nearly anything in her mouth, be it her clothes, blankets, crayons, whatever. All her shirts have tiny little holes from her gnawing.

Vaggie has lots of sensory needs. Some of them, like food and smells, she's very restrictive about. She has very few foods she'll eat in her headspace, and abhors any lotions or powders on her skin.

For other senses, she just can't get enough of them. As a former soldier who was VERY active, her body's used to heavy input to her muscular and balance systems (proprioception and vestibular). This honestly scared Lucifer at first because she would do some very unsafe things to soothe her body, like running into walls at full speed or climbing up on the kitchen counters. It took him a long time to realize what the hell she was doing, let alone how he could help her.

But once he got it, he got it. He set up so many "sensory stations" for her in both his room as well as Vaggie's. She's got trampolines, a crash pad, a swing attached to the ceiling, and a baby bouncer custom built for her. She can have SO much energy and often ends up running between all four of these when she's regressed.

It's important to note that she's on trampoline #4. Numbers 1-3 were just no match for her boundless energy.

Side note: that boundless energy may also come at night, as Vaggie has a hard time regulating her sleep. Lucifer is such a Bewildered Dad over her, but their late nights have made way for good bonding time. Vaggie honestly feels just as safe with Lucifer as she does Charlie. Her little family.

Vaggie can be very repetitive with what she enjoys, especially TV or music. She can play the same 3-second clip over and over again and bust out laughing every time.

Vaggie also loves COLORS. Her blocks are her favorite toy because of just how many beautiful colors they come in. Pastels, primaries, jewel tones, you name it. She loves sorting them by color, shade, tones, etc.

Baby Vaggie is a huge fan of messy play. Charlie loves playing in the sandbox or pool with her, and splashing is so mesmerizing to her. She also loves just getting into things, like makeup, slime, food, shower gels, whatever. She can absolutely DEMOLISH a room.

But that comes with the stipulation that she gets to be clean after! The jetted tub in their room is her favorite place to be after a long day being big or little! She just has to be watched very closely by someone so she can stay safe (and of course, NOT destroy the bathroom).

Because being little is the only time Vaggie seems to not want to suppress herself, Charlie encourages her to regress often. She loves Baby Vaggie! And Vaggie always seems so much more content after a couple of hours in babyspace. It's just a good balance, and it's a system that works for them!

[asktheyigamaster]

You're this "Kohga" guy, right?

Well, my name is Pyrit. I am a Lynel, specifically a Golden one. I've been told I'm the strongest of my kind.

I hear you've been brainwashing Sheikah and Hylians into your cause. That's not okay. I may reject Ganondorf but I am aware nonetheless his rules, and that he hates brainwashing. I'd hope I know this, seeing as I was creating from his malice about seventy or so years before the Calamity.

I have a small request. See below a map of my territory. If I catch any Yiga members in this territory, understand, that you will be down members.

Also note. If it gets to be way too much for me, I myself will Hunt. You. Down.

And believe me, I am a scytheman who has way more ease with sickles and scythes than any of your footsoldiers, blade masters and even you yourself combined. Do not mess with me. I do not play your games. Your blood will be spilt in my hands across Hyrule, and I will be more than happy to display your unmasked face on a plaque in the Castle of Hyrule.

Heed my warning. Keep your goddess forsaken men OUT of my territory.

Hey, @a-random-yiga get a load of this stupid thing!

Threatening me, as if the way Yiga have thrived during the Calamity and especially the Upheaval is by being unable to deal with Monsters! The Nerve!

...

Are you a Gloom-made Lynel? I have to assume so, can't really think of a way a Malice monster could become sapient. Either way you are quite a special creature. This. This doesn't happen. Maybe I can use it to mount a resistance to monster cullings. OH I can see it already, protests against eliminating potentially sapient beings, "MONSTERS CAN BE PEOPLE" graffitied to the sides of Hyrule castle ruins. The Princess WOULD fall for this.

Creature! The Yiga will NOT respect your territorial claims, like we have never respected a single official ban of our activity for thousands of years of operation. And frankly you're no problem to avoid at all.

But we will humor it!

Since you don't want to see my men, FFFFFFINE! how. About. My WOMEN?! I am going to order one of the Yiga very best, @inthestripclubstraightupjorkinit to find you and try to convince you to reconsider your hostile attitude towards the clan. Why not give peace a shot, big guy?

P.S. while saying we brainwash people is semantically correct, since we do clean people's mind off of misinformation, that's not how the term is used colloquially. I believe the word you were looking for was "educate".

[skambigbang]

SKAM Big Bang 2024 IS NOW CONCLUDED

Once again we are closing another successful year of stories for the SKAM universe. Some stories are still finishing, because life interferes. We hope that you have enjoyed reading our stories, and stick around to read the ones that are finishing up. If you're still reading some, or have not read them all, please do so and continue to leave Kudos and kind comments, because we've been thriving on those all summer.

A hearty congratulation and thank you to all our participants - writers, artists and betas - for making this a successful event. We will be making posts highlighting the beautiful art pieces for everyone to enjoy, please show some love to all artists.

You can find the collection here

We want to thank our mods for organizing, publicizing and keeping everyone on track and motivated.

We will be celebrating art in the coming days as we prepare to turn this event over to a new set of Mods. Keep your eyes peeled for announcements to join the new ModSquad, and we hope to bring you new wonderful stories next summer.

*********************************************************************

It's the 15th and last week of SKAM Big Bang 2024, the following 20 stories are posted to the collection.

The Dream of Life (M) by Flatfootmonster with art by Alterlove2021

I turn to you (when I can’t sleep through the lonely night) (T) by selfsufficient with art by Hodge (COMPLETE)

To Build A Home (E) by Happily_Evak_After with art by CelesteKayy (COMPLETE)

The Cure (E) by Anna _Driesen2121 and Viola_player1 with art by monikacharaabi

Some say I should learn to cry but I only learned how to fly (T) by Arfel with art by Garce (COMPLETE)

The Time of our Lives (M) by Sprookjes with art by Pauline 

Murder at 21:21 (M) by Hodge with art by Laika (COMPLETE)

Superstar (M) by Miniloc Island and Ghostcat with art by Parallel-Univers

Parallel pieces of You & Me by Jules with art by Katmylittlesunshine (COMPLETE)

Attraction - (M) by Laika and Midlifecrisis with art by Eirabach (COMPLETE)

Blessings of Babylon - (T) by Veronese_green with art from Bean Awake (COMPLETE)

Heated Rivalry (E) by Beulaugh with art by Polaris.Artwork (COMPLETE)

Blood in the Water (E) by Tea with art by Mariana/MiranhasArt (COMPLETE)

Him (M) by Maddie with art by CelesteKayy

I’m trying hard to fit among your scheme of things (E) by JackFrost_Sander with art by Hodge

Cracks in the Ice (E) by AltErLove2021 with art by Mazarin

As His Own Soul (M) by Midlife Crisis with art by Miranhasart (COMPLETE)

Cinderfella (T) by TeeJaySnow with art by Garce (COMPLETE)

Unmasked (M) by Prevalent_Masters with art by AltErLove2021 (COMPLETE)

From Christmas Eve to Wedding Vows (M) by SamuelFauvel 123 with art by Jazzi_123 (COMPLETE)

****

Check out these stories in the 2024 Skam Big Bang collection and show them all the love 🎉 because Kudos and comments are super appreciated, especially for our first-time authors.