#unmasked and thriving

[muzsmoux]

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

[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.

[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)

[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:)

[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. ───

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.

[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. 

[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!

[talagalaxies]

It's weeks passed since I did my acolyte rewatch. And what caught me in the eye was that Osha's decision to the dark side was "foreshadowed" from the start. She's drawn to dangerous shit. Spending her me-time under a bunta tree; known to be lethal to people. Becoming a meknek, a job not just dangerous but illegal as well. On ep4, the atmosphere becomes tense when they enter the giant cicada territory. But Osha curiously touched one of them. She looks disappointed when Sol killed one of them, even feeling guilty being the cause of that giant cicada's death.

The icing in the cake for me is the final scene in ep4. This bitch of a scene right here.

This scene becomes my roman empire for weeks that this becomes my top oshamir scene for me. She should've run faster than the cheetah like I would do, or even just froze there in shock scared shitless. She may be froze in shock but that's definitely not fear in her face. She looks at this creepy dude with strange mask with wonder. Like girl, why the doe-eyes with slow & gentle blink, mouth parted and all. Now I think about it, it reminds me of Rey's face in TFA when Kylo unmasked himself. But in here, Qimir's in a mask, yet Osha looked at him in wonder. Curious, awed even.

All of the scenes before this in which she's drawn to danger, culminates to a tipping point: in which she's face-to-face with the personification of danger himself.

Shipper googles on, is this why Qimir is so drawn to her since ep2? Because he sensed her solace to danger, just as he was. Someone who matched his freak basically, something he thinks it's Mae but isn't.

If so, it'll be natural for these two danger-dwellers to dwell to each other.

Even she's in defensive state in ep6, it's no question that she's curious about the dark side, especially to her personification of the dark side: Qimir. She wears his mask on her own volition ffs. The same mask she saw at the Khofar forest, the one she must feared yet she's curious about it, now she's wearing it.

TLDR: She's dark-side adjacent. From her finding solace in danger, her being a jedi dropout because she can't resolve her negative & intense emotions (which is 100% dark side material), to her killing her father figure without remorse. Even if she agrees to train under Qimir to keep her sister safe, I won't be surprised if she does too out of curiosity as well. As established here, she's not just dark-side adjacent, but curious about it too.

I joked that she'll be a girlfailure of the dark side posts ago, but what if she isn't? The dark side is her element atp, her abilities and identity would've thrive there. Some discussions said that Darth Plagueis is after Osha, not Qimir. Because force vergence shit aside, Plagueis would want Osha too because she's thee dark side prodigy he's looking for. But unlike Qimir whose drawn to Osha because she matched his freak, Plagueis's drawn to her because he wants her freak. Shipper googles said what if Osha's drawn to the dark side will be the main conflict of her relationship with Qimir then what.

[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!

[cain-speaks]

✨ 𝙍𝙀𝘿𝙎𝙊𝙉, 𝙎𝙄𝙓-𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙀𝘿 𝙈𝘼𝘾𝘼𝙌𝙐𝙀, & 𝙒𝙐𝙆𝙊𝙉𝙂 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝘼𝙉 𝘼𝘿𝙃𝘿 𝙎/𝙊 ✨|| Various x Reader

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

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝ ➤ 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: 1,325

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

❝ 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 (who's always about work, work, work), and when you're talking to him about your fixations, he either gets irritated because he has no idea what you're talking about or because he thinks you're making fun of him since he often rambles about his inventions even if no one's listening.

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

➤ When you're finally diagnosed, Redson listens very closely. Things are starting to make sense, but you still don't have as much information as he'd like. He researches ADHD in AFAB people on his own time (and rages quite a few times that there's so little information compared to ADHD in AMAB), but he finally understands by the end of it.

➤ And boy does he feel shitty.

➤ 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 change his behaviors 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 encouraging your fixation rambles, reading up on the source material so he can ask questions.

➤ He also does his very best to read up 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 stuff 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 sorta had an inkling 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 a lot of coping mechanisms he's learned (though some have to be tweaked for your needs since autism isn't ADHD lol), and even begins to unmask more around you.

➤ Since Macaque thrives under routine/structure, he often handles reminders. He also keeps you on track, verbally and physically, if you have stuff to do. ALSO is super on you about food, 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. 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 shadowplay 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 part of 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 familar with, etc. he'll kiss you istg. Anyway this is to say the feeling is obviously mutual and he probably ends up getting into some of the stuff 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" meanwhile 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 is an overreaction, but if you don't like it then you'll just have a clone stick around in your shadow or smth and scare the shit out of anyone who decides to open their mouth.

➤ 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 stuff 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. Like "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.

➤ He's a talk shit get hit kinda guy, sorry. He barely leaves the mountain as is, so if during one of the few times someone decides to be a dick while you guys are stimming together? He'll hold back just enough, but he has no sympathy if their nose breaks.

➤ 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) .❞

[roe-and-memory]

for a little while after he comes to radiator springs, lightning definitely is in a constant state of fight or flight (mostly flight)

it comes with the trauma of being neglected and rejected repeatedly, hes terrified the the town will do the same thing to him that his parents did — or they’ll be just like the people he wanted to desperately to be friends with — so on, and so forth.

it also comes with the unmasking process — getting insanely overstimulated insanely quickly because being tied down feels Crowding . and having this many people care about you, to the point it ends in almost constant conversation with someone, can start to feel suffocating. and the fact he cant prepare himself for the day anymore because its such an out of wack routine doesnt help one bit.

so, he needs an escape.

its dumb, kind of, and sometimes his little adventures around the desert suffice enough, but it starts becoming more of an issue and he starts needing somewhere repetitive to go.

the cow fields just on the county line, the gravel road that leads to a deserted farmhouse, its age showing in each plank of wood that hangs off its nails, rotting from the rain and weather, grains of sand embed in each crack — lightning finds comfort in one of those empty fields.

first, its leaving to go sit in the long grass, pulling little bits and pieces of it out of the dirt and taking interest in how, somehow, after years of abandonment, it seems to thrive - how the cows keep living, being fed occasionally by mater, but for the most part just surviving off of the grass in their pen. he wonders why they stay. - he would find himself watching the sun disappear behind the mountains and cliffs of cadillac range, taking deep breaths, basking in the sound of the wind whistling and crickets chirping.

when his fears start getting worse, he steals one of the plastic lawn chairs out of docs shed and leaves it out there, sometimes stealing a beer out of the fridge despite how much he hates them. he rarely drinks them anyways, maybe a few sips or so for enough of a buzz to get rid of the anxiety in his bones, but otherwise he always gets home with a bottle still half full, going to waste down the drain.

doc never worries about this. its a part of the process of teaching someone that Some People in the world arent out to get them — sometimes people genuinely mean it with their care — so he can understand that these mini getaways are just his kid taking time to calm down, rationalize, and figure stuff out.

as the months pass, he becomes less terrified, he doesnt need to really disappear anymore, he starts taking sally out there with him. he lays a blanket in the grass and they stare at the sky together in silence.

the longer he stays out there in that field, the more he realizes hes here to stay. he doesnt need to come out here to calm down, instead he can sit in his bedroom and breathe.

eventually, that plastic lawn chair is deserted in that field, the smooth, white surface becoming scratchy and dirty with rain and wind. no one goes out to clean it, because no one needs it anymore.

[theautisticnotebook]

this disability pride month, here's a reminder that all autistic people deserve love, care and respect.

queer autistic people

autistic people of color

fat autistic people

autistic children

autistic teenagers

autistic adults

autistic seniors

diagnosed autistic people

self diagnosed autistic people

undiagnosed autistic people

autistic people who have never heard the word "autism"

mentally ill autistic people

physically disabled autistic people

autistic people with comorbid conditions

autistic people who have other disabilities

autistic people who don't consider their autism a disability

people with autism who don't like using "autistic" for themselves

autistic people who seem 'off-putting' or 'strange'

autistic people who's autism gets easily trivialized

nonverbal autistic people who use other means of communication

hyperverbal autistic people who use too many words

autistic people who get so lost in special interests they lose track of time

autistic people who's special interests are weird or unusual

autistic people who don't make eye contact

autistic people who do

autistic people who cant control their tone or volume

autistic people who cant control their facial expressions

autistic people who cant mask

autistic people who don't know how to unmask

autistic people with 'cute', small stims

autistic people with large, noticable stims that cant be uwufied easily

sensory seeking autistic people

sensory avoidant autistic people

autistic people with savant skills

autistic people without savant skills

autistic people who cant hold or have a job

autistic people who can

autistic people in abusive homes

autistic people who have trauma

autistic people who's autism plays a role in their trauma*

autistic people who are struggling

autistic people who are thriving

autistic people who are just existing

autistic people everywhere, you are loved and appreciated. thank you for being here <3

*yes I know that's like all of us

[squirrelbee]

I am very excited for the next generation of autistics. It's far more likely for them that if their parents are autistic, too, they already knew for a long time. Maybe the next generation of autistics grows up with more unmasked autistic parents. Maybe they will grow up in a neurodiversity affirming home. Maybe they will have autistic parents who can help them discover their own autistic identity. So many parents realize they are autistic themselves after one of their kids got diagnosed. They find out in their forties, fifties or even later. Many of them find out after a lifetime of suffering and feeling alienated and different. A lifetime of not being able to put words to their experiences. Many of them carry so much pain. Maybe the next generation of autistics will have parents who carry less pain. Who carry many more joyful moments regarding their autistic identity. Maybe the next generation of autistics can see their autistic parents thrive and be their authentic self so they know, they can too.

[aoflameandco]

GrimmNell: character study

Well-well-well, I mentioned once that my GrimmNel brainrot is far from being over - so here we go! What else's to analyze about them though? Well, this time we have a new subject to focus on... the Bleach personality quiz!

Yes, I know it's a bit questionable source for a character study, but let me explain! June 2011. The third Bleach Official Character Book UNMASKED was released in Japan. This databook was mostly famous for giving Ulquiorra a more detailed backstory and showing more of Halibel and her Fracción. However, there was another small tidbit for Arrancar's fans - the official quiz from Kubo - Which Bleach character are you? 

The quiz was extremely simple.  Add up the numbers of your full date of birth and don't forget your blood type. Voila! In the end you get a short profile about your Bleach "personality type", which highlights the key qualities of this particular character.

Now, y'all know where I'm going with this. So, what's like to be like Grimmjow- or Nel according to the databook? Let's check it!

And- Even without any translation, we immediately bump into the first problem. There's only Nel's profile. Not Nelliel's.

Well, they're the same person! It would be weird to separate them, right? But yeah... there's a solid difference in a way her kid and adult forms act.

So the question remains - can we apply this profile's info to the adult Nelliel? Let's read it to find out.

a bit messy not word to word translation's incoming, pls take it with a grain of salt

Cheerful and playful

Nel type!

Good at opening people's hearts. Very quick to make bonds, no matter with who - friends or foes. She is attentive and good at conveying information to those around her. But sometimes she says too much.

• works at her own pace • high sense of camaraderie • doesn't run away from difficulties • hero of justice

Ofc this info perfectly fits baby Nel. She quickly befriended Ichigo, even though he was a shinigami; she was a sort of his guide, explaining how Hueco Mundo works; also she is a big chatterbox, saying surprisingly harsh things sometimes. Her attentive side shined during the Ichigo vs Grimmjow fight, when she noticed Orihime's turmoil and gave her a good advice. She is surely down for justice, but it's a little bit difficult to fight for it in her small body. So the real Nelliel has to step up.

Same qualities but a different approach - that's what I would say about adult!Nel. And it's very visible when it comes to her later interactions with Grimmjow, esp in CFYOW.

But before giving some bright examples, let's take a look at his quiz profile as well - to understand the similarities and contrasts between these two characters.

Responsible but mischievous

Grimmjow type

There's still a bit of a boyish heart (shounen no kokoro) in him. But deep inside he's unexpectedly serious and has a sense of responsibility. He catches the information fast and adapts quickly, but his tendency to get bored could be a problem. If he'll improve this aspect, good fortune is likely to come his way.

• has a sense of responsibility • thrives in adversity • quickly adapts • gets bored easily

And - the quiz highlighted thrice (!) that Grimmjow is indeed a responsible person. Something Nelliel didn't expect as well. As a true hero of justice she was prepared to stop Sexta as soon as he starts an unnecessary violence. But to her surprise - Grimmjow was far from an uncontrollable beast and followed his own codex.

A sense of responsibility didn't turn Grimmjow into an obedient boy though. Him and Nel keep arguing due to their different perspectives - especially when it comes to handling the former enemies.

Nelliel easily bonds with anyone - quincy, Aura, etc., meanwhile Grimmjow picks a fight as a first option. This choice isn't just a result of his bloodthirst though. Grimmjow's survival instincts are strong, so he always stays on guard and doesn't trust easily. That's why he warns Nelliel that her pacifism might end up badly for them all.

Another proof that even though he acts as if he doesn't belong to the group, Grimm isn't as indifferent as he pretends to be. Very responsible of him, huh?

Yet there's another obstacle in their dynamic. Their pacing. Grimmjow is quick to adapt and quick to act, meanwhile Nelliel doesn't like to rush and prefers to gather as much information as possible.

Hard to say who's wrong in this case. Quick reaction benefited Grimmjow in general, but ofc Nel likes to remind him about Askin's incident, her favorite argument to cool him down.

And usually her persuasion works, surely Grimm argues back but still stops. When his stubbornness wins though- there's no way that Nelliel will just let him go. She'll do everything to find him, stop him and bring him back.

Nel complaints but doesn't give up on her fellow arrancar, no matter how difficult the other side is. Knowing Grimmjow's past, the sense of camaraderie isn't an empty word for him too. With creak he opens up to Nel, sharing his thoughts with her. Even though she is too bold with her words sometimes, it doesn't look like Sexta feels a grudge against her.

Grimmjow isn't a friendly type. He likes to fight, but a disappointed look quickly appears on his face, if his enemy doesn't meet expectations. He gets bored easily, he always needs some action. And yet- for some reason Nelliel got his attention.

There's no doubt that he sees her as a nice opponent, he even provoked her to fight with a smirk. He easily forgets anyone who didn't pique his interest and yet Nel's reiatsu is safely stored in his memory.

However, it wouldn't be correct to reduce Grimmjow's attention to a desire to fight, when we have several scenes of him watching Nelliel's peaceful shenanigans. He was calmly watching over kid Nel in anime probably wondering about the connection between this brat and the mighty Tres, he was dying of boredom, but still didn't take his eyes off her tea party in the novel. Even Halibel noticed it and offered him to join, but ofc he proudly refused.

So what did we confirm again? Even though Grimmjow and Nelliel share rather opposite views when it comes to socializing or making decisions, some of their character traits are surprisingly compatible. Grimmjow gained some respect points, when Nel started to notice his responsible side, meanwhile he opened up to her pushy yet reliable presence. Nelliel doesn't give up on her persuasion and he doesn't get bored of arguing with her. Covering eo's flaws they make quite a powerful duo, isn't?

So let's hope we'll see more of their rocky bond next season~