A!Eddie goes a little feral before and during his ruts so he’s told the pack not to go near him for a few days. He’s known to bite, and his Alpha seems particularly interested in O!Steve’s mating gland. Thank God he still has his old muzzle or he wouldn’t be able to properly prepare for his rut. Sure he gets looks, but he figured it’s better safe than sorry. It’s just his luck though when “old reliable” completely breaks and Steve just so happened to be there. Being the good guy he is he generously offers to help which Eddie’s appreciative of he really is but fears how long his self control will last with the omega by his side like this. He figures it’s only a matter of time before he bites the seemingly unaware omega who right now is in his kitchen preparing meals for him and humming. Meanwhile said Omega is delighted that his plans are working. He does feel bad about tampering with the muzzle but if it means him and Eddie will stop dancing around each other and be mates as God intended he thinks it’ll be worth it.
i’ve mentioned feral alphas and omegas in a few posts before, but what does that mean? this post will discuss ferality,* its causes, common feral behaviors, and treatment.
*note: i will be using ‘ferality’ as opposed to the technically proper ‘ferity’ because the latter is based on the latin root and sounds pretentious, and the former is based on the english word and is more accessible
what is ferality?
ferality is a medical emergency caused most commonly by social isolation. it causes those afflicted to behave erratically, and is the most common cause of forced bites. it is one of the top ten causes of death for those over 80 years old. it is also called ‘loneliness disease’ or ‘bite fever,’ and is often euphemistically described as ‘losing oneself.’ in the past, more than a week of ferality was incurable. today, synthetic hormones and careful medically supervised management leads to over 90% of those afflicted to make a full recovery if treated before one week, and over 80% to regain most normal function if treated before two weeks. outcomes become less positive the longer someone experiences ferality, but there have only been 1,762 documented deaths directly from ferality in the US since 1980.
why does it happen?
humans in the omegaverse are pack animals not only because their ancestors saw practical advantages to living, hunting, and raising pups in groups, but because they were biologically dependent on one another. in simplest terms, interacting with pack aids the body in maintaining its optimal balance between the twelve dynamic (i.e., alpha, beta, and omega) hormones. prolonged lack of social support means that these hormones become unbalanced, leading the body to a state of multi-system disregulation.
ferality greatly reduces people’s access to the areas of the brain responsible for decision making, planning, empathy, and abstraction. it is the body’s desperate bid to regulate itself by any means necessary. those afflicted become impulsive, aggressive, and violent in some cases, so it is essential both for the afflicted person and those nearby that if you spot a feral person, you call emergency services immediately.
how do you spot it?
feral humans are fairly easy to spot based on their unusual, erratic, impulsive behavior. they may sniff the air (or other people) unsubtly, grab or touch things (or people) and fail to respond to spoken language. ferality is most commonly associated with inappropriate scent marking and biting for good reason: a feral person’s primary drive is to share scent with someone to help bring themselves back into balance. there are also some behaviors that can generally be attributed to the different dynamic sexes:
alphas
feral alphas tend to make aggressive eye contact as a posturing behavior
growling, snarling, and clicking at no one in particular
clenching and unclenching the fists and shifting from foot to foot
violence, especially toward other alphas
an acrid scent, like burning rubber or sulfur
betas
feral betas’ eyes tend to shift rapidly, settling on nothing for very long
humming, clicking, huffing at no one in particular
similar to alphas, they clench and unclench the fists and shift from foot to foot
general restlessness, moving quickly
climbing and perching inappropriately (e.g. on tables, vehicles, or buildings)
a rotting scent, like old meat or milk
omegas
feral omegas tend to make glancing eye contact—they meet someone’s eyes, hold, and look away several times
whining, purring, and clicking at no one in particular
baring the neck indiscriminately in a bid to entice a bite
hiding/burrowing (e.g. under tables or in closets. there have been several cases of feral omegas in clothing stores nesting in the clothing racks)
a chemical scent, like bleach or ammonia
how is it treated?
if you spot someone afflicted by ferality, it is essential to call for an ambulance immediately.
treatment begins in the ambulance. typically, EMS technicians anesthetize the individual for everyone’s safety. once it is safe to do so, the technicians draw blood and begin measuring vital signs and hormone levels to ensure that the individual truly is feral. in the past 30 years, rapid tests have made measuring hormone levels faster than ever. these levels are recorded and passed off to hospital triage, along with a record of any emergency hormones administered.
the hospital then brings the individual to the feral ward, where they have an individual room and nesting material marked with synthetic pheromones of all three dynamics. if the individual has been feral for less than ~three days, typically this is enough to trigger their body to begin regulating itself. in some cases, the individual may need direct scent marking in order to jumpstart regulation. if it’s necessary, a nurse or technician will swab the individual’s face and neck with a cotton swab soaked in a synthetic pheromone solution.
in more moderate to severe cases, the individual may need further assistance regulating themselves. in these cases, the individual will receive intravenous hormones and extremely frequent monitoring.
typically, after a few days of hormone therapy, the individual’s body will have reached a state of equilibrium and will be able to maintain the balance itself again. however, in some severe cases, the individual’s body may be unable to maintain the balance. these people will need hormone therapy every other week indefinitely. in some cases (especially those where there is also malnutrition or other severe condition), the issue will resolve itself with time. in others, the hormone treatment is for life.
how is it prevented?
the best prevention is maintaining healthy pack bonds. if, for some reason, this is inaccessible, clinics, health departments, and hospitals typically have nesting materials marked with synthetic pheromones. in the past five years, some nesting material companies have begun offering materials marked with synthetic pheromones. in addition, matching agencies sometimes offer scent-marked clothing or nesting materials for sale, though this practice is judged fairly harshly.
During his parents messy divorce Steve starts hanging out in a seemingly abandoned dockhouse. It was the only place these days where he could find peace. Steve particularly loves the scent that’s strongest in the old house. It’s familiar but he can’t place where he smelt it before. He doesn’t know that it belongs to newly presented Eddie Munson who secretly lives there. Everyone assumes Munson cut town or worse. No one has bothered to try to find him except Wayne his uncle. You can still see missing posters of Eddies face around town, but you can tell Wayne’s kind of lost hope. At first Eddie is not happy with his territory being invaded by the young omega but as time goes on Eddie becomes fascinated by Steve. Not only because of his delicious scent but the softer side he’s now seeing from him. Eddies never seen it before. All he’s known is the cocky douchebag jock in high school. It makes Eddie start to actually like him and before long he’s planning how to reveal himself and ask Steve to be his mate. He wants to do it soon because he’s itching to start courting but he doesn’t want to freak out Steve.
Additional Tags: References to Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omegaverse, Omega Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dualsex Obi-Wan Kenobi | Obi-Wan Kenobi Produces Both Ova and Sperm, Alpha Qui-Gon Jinn, feral Alpha, Sex Pollen, Breeding Kink, Breeding
Summary:
When the leader of the refugee group asked for military escort through Separatist-infested space, General Kenobi had agreed easily. After all, the nearest camp was lightyears away and the freighter had less than no defense capability. It simply wouldn’t do to fix their ship only to abandon them. No—the 212th would accompany them to the camp, and transfer them into the care of General Jinn and the 108th Battalion.
Beyond that, Obi-Wan hadn’t given the situation much thought. He tried not to. Otherwise he would be forced to acknowledge that he had not seen his alpha in months, and the longing had crept into his dreams. He ached for Qui-Gon’s touch, for his alpha’s scent. If he allowed himself to think about it, he might go mad.
HAHAHAHA SAY LESS
i did not know that theo was argentinian before i started writing this minific (hooray for character development). that being said, i totally used google translate to generate the spanish in this minific, so please excuse any errors. i included translations at the end!
🏈🔥 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣 🔥🐂
Ridgeline parties were legendary.
Not in a wow, what a classy event kinda way. More like in a these dumbasses are gonna set something on fire before midnight kinda way. Makes sense ‘cos most students here are idiots with too much money.
Think about it. You get a campus full of rich kids, scholarship athletes, and trust-fund babies, throw in a shitload of tequila, and what do you get?
Fuckin’ craziness.
There was always a fight. Always. Two finance bros throwing punches over a beer pong game, some drunk asshole trying to fight the fridge, some jock getting too cocky and needing to be humbled.
Something always got broken. A window. A TV. An expensive ass table that was never meant to be danced on but was always the first victim of the night. And there was always someone blackout drunk before 11PM—if we rolled up as a pack, you could count on it to be Kyle.
And the best part?
Nobody gave a fuck.
Some rich kid’s daddy would pay to replace whatever got destroyed. The football team had boosters willing to bail people out. If the cops got called, someone’s lawyer uncle would make it disappear.
Means zero consequences, even dumber decisions, and the kind of parties that made people famous on campus. If you did something stupid enough, people would be talking about it for damn near months.
And tonight was already looking even worse than usual. Loud. Too many bodies. Too much tequila. Too many drunk idiots bumping into each other like it was some kind of goddamn mosh pit.
I was sweaty, tired, and already two beers deep, following Zach through the mess, just tryin’ to get to the goddamn kitchen. Big dogs gotta eat and all that. Except it all went wrong.
One minute, I was shoving some dude waving a beer pong paddle around like a weapon outta my way, then next thing I knew, I felt something crash into my chest, and—
Cold. Wet. Sticky.
I froze. Looked down. Saw red liquid soaking into my hoodie, dripping down my sweatpants, trailing down my fucking thigh. Christ. I looked like I’d pissed myself.
Fucking hell.
“What the fuck—” I snapped, voice already edged with pissed-off aggression, ready to light into some drunk frat bro about how this was my favorite goddamn team hoodie and he was damn well gonna pay for it. Except the frat bro started speaking a lot louder than me, with a lot more aggression. And… gibberish?
"¡Maldito hijo de puta!" The guy threw his hands up, glaring like I was the problem. "¿Tienes mierda en los ojos o qué? ¡Mira por dónde caminas, gran idiota!"
"Excuse me?" I barked, blinking down at him, still processing the fact that the dude who just spilled his drink on me was the one who was madder than a wet hen.
And what the hell was he sayin’? What language was that? French? German? I had no fuckin’ clue. But he was yelling at me. Me. As if I wasn’t a six foot six alpha weighing almost three hundred pounds who flattened people for a living.
He didn’t stop. He kept going, fast as hell and loud. Thank the Lord I hadn’t had any liquor, ‘cos I would’ve gotten dizzy from how fast his hands were moving. Fuckin’ blur.
“¡Dios mío, qué desastre! ¿Eres estúpido o qué? ¡Mira lo que hiciste, grandullón! Además de eso, estás ahí parado como un idiota. No hay manera de que seas real.”
I just stood there, dumbfounded, squinting at him. I didn’t understand a goddamn word he was spewin’. Then I stopped trying to listen and actually looked at the guy. Got the shock of my life, too—he wasn’t a frat bro.
Nah. He was the farthest thing from it.
He was tiny. Omega. I knew instantly ‘cos he had a scent patch on his neck and he sure as hell wasn’t an alpha. And even though he was wearing a scent patch, I swore I could smell him. He smelled rich. Real rich.
And he looked—
Goddamn, he was beautiful.
I’m talkin’ dark hair, messy but perfect, like he meant for it to fall over his forehead like that. Tan skin, gold under the shitty party lights, sharp fucking cheekbones that coulda cut glass. Dark-eyed like a doe and pink-lipped, wearing smudged eyeliner and gloss.
And his outfit, now that I was seeing it, was gonna put me into a stroke. The more I stared at it, the more I could literally feel my brain stop working. A nothing shirt, netted and oversized, hanging off his tiny frame like a ratty blanket. I could see straight to his skin. His stomach. His nipples.
They were as pink as his mouth.
He wore jeans that looked like he’d painted them on, tight and black and ripped at the thighs. His waist was small as fuck. Hell, every bit of him was small. Tiny. The kinda tiny I wondered if I could touch without breaking.
Jesus Christ, he was pretty. Real pretty. And if I knew vibes—which I did—he was the trouble kinda pretty.
And I was standing there, drenched in some fruity-smelling shit, in a sweatshirt and joggers like some kind of fuckin’ scrub. I couldn’t even be mad anymore. I should’ve been—‘cos who the fuck spills their drink on you and starts cussing you out—but instead, my dumbass brain decided to hyperfocus on the guy’s mouth.
I didn’t know what he was sayin’ but I liked how wet that glossy stuff made his lips looked. And so did my dick. A lot. I almost thanked God for my sweatpants, except I realized they were soaked and if I got any harder, everyone was going to get their eye poked out.
Then the guy stopped mid-rant.
And we just—
Locked eyes.
His lips were still parted, like he had more to say. His chest was rising, fast, breathless from all the yelling. I didn’t feel Zach beside me anymore, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything. The whole party disappeared.
It was just tequila in the air, drink dripping down my chest, my entire outfit ruined, and this tiny, furious, fuckin’ beautiful omega staring up at me.
He slowly dragged his dark gaze down my front, like he was assessing the damage. He absolutely saw my hard dick. And if the way his lips parted and eyes narrowed meant what I thought it did… he approved.
It was confirmed when he lifted those slitty doe eyes back to mine. And fucking smirked.
Smirked.
I swear to God, I was fuckin’ fried after that. My entire body locked up, every single alpha instinct in my blood losing its goddamn mind. He was looking at me like he wanted to drop to his knees and choke on me.
So I did the only thing that made sense. I ripped my shirt off.
⸻ 🍷 🎭 𝑻𝒆𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒐 𝑨𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊 🎭 🍷 ⸻
Let’s be clear: a party is never just a party.
A party is networking. Strategy. Power. The more people you know, the more valuable you are, and the more people owe you favors, the stronger your influence. You never know who you’ll need down the road—a professor’s son, an athlete with school-wide pull, a legacy kid whose family has donated enough to make problems disappear.
These parties? They’re the real social battlegrounds of Ridgeline.
And me? I play to win.
Which is why I was currently standing in front of the hugest man I’d ever seen in my entire life and assessing my next move. After spilling my drink on him and calling him an unreal, disaster of a huge idiot.
My drink was still dripping down his chest, staining his stupid sweatshirt, but he didn’t look mad anymore. No, he was looking at me like I was a goddamn problem.
And I was. I had just become a huge fucking problem. For him. Not that he knew that… yet.
The second I’d really looked at him, really taken him in—the wide, muscled frame, the cut jawline, the heavy alpha presence, the way his big hands flexed at his sides like he was trying not to touch me—I made a decision.
I was going to ride this man like a goddamn polo pony.
His scent was all over me now. Faint, but there—something thick, deep, warm, like grass and sweat and spice. Even through the scent patch, I could feel the static in the air, the tension crackling between us, my body reacting before my brain could stop it.
And then I looked down and saw it.
Dios mio.
My gaze dragged down shamelessly, lingering right where it shouldn’t, where the half-soaked sweatpants he wore weren’t doing a damn thing to hide what he was working with.
It was big. Huge. Obscene. The kind of thick, heavy bulge that had no business existing in polite society. It was so obvious, too—hard as fuck, pressed against the soft fabric, straining, pulsing.
I felt my lips part on instinct, my thighs clenching as heat pooled low in my gut. My body wanted. My brain started playing filth on a loop. I wanted that—all of it. I wanted to drop to my knees right here, in the middle of this goddamn party, and find out exactly how much of him I could take before I choked.
I wanted to watch his cock stretch me open, thick and hot, wanted to feel his hands gripping me, his teeth dragging down my throat, his voice low and guttural in my ear.
He looked like he could break me in half.
And I wanted him to.
When I finally looked back up at him, his eyes were locked onto mine, dark, blown, and wrecked as hell. Clocking me clocking him. I knew that look.
He wanted the exact same things I wanted. He was not subtle about it. His fingers twitched at his sides, his breath heavy, nostrils flaring. Every single muscle he had quivered, like a stallion about to buck.
So I swallowed, slow and deliberate. Gave him a little smirk. Ran my tongue over my bottom lip, just to see if he’d track the movement.
He did.
Got you, big guy.
My tongue was loading itself with something sly when he suddenly reached for the back of his hoodie, gripped the fabric in two fists, and yanked it up and over his head in one fluid motion. Whatever I’d been about to say died instantly at the pure mass in front of me.
I had seen big men before, of course. Had been surrounded by alphas my whole life. But this one?
If the hoodie he’d worn hadn’t stated “RIDGELINE WOLFPACK” in bold letters, I would’ve known he was an athlete just by his body. All cut muscle, broad and thick and glistening under the shitty party lights, chest heaving, veins popping in his forearms.
Magnífico. I felt every last one of my hormones activate. I had to actually press my lips together to stop the sound that almost escaped.
I fully expected him to grab me. Haul me up against him. Trot out some cheesy pickup line related to me “owing him” something. I’d given him the perfect opening, after all. But he didn’t.
He extended a fucking hand.
"Brody Wilson," he said, voice rough as hell, jaw clenched like his own name was an afterthought to whatever the hell he was thinking.
I almost laughed. How formal.
Too formal, considering we had just eyefucked each other to hell and back, I was one second away from climbing him like a jungle gym, and this man was introducing himself like we were at a corporate networking event.
I let my gaze drag down to his outstretched palm, then back up to his face, raising a brow like I was considering it. Then I ignored his hand completely, instead turning to the nearest bar table and plucking up two tequila shots.
I held one out to him, tilting my head, letting my lashes drop just a little, smirk curving lazy, indulgent, hungry.
"Here, Brody Wilson."
I watched his eyes flicker, something sharp and dangerous flashing behind them.
Then, to my absolute delight, instead of reaching for the shot I was offering, he grabbed both. Tipped his chin up. Without breaking eye contact, without hesitating for even a single second, he slammed them back.
One. Then the other. Downed them like they were fucking water. Like he was proving a point.
And oh, I liked that. Stupid American alpha jock with an ego and giant dick?
Target acquired, my brain purred. Time to play.
TRANSLATIONS
"¡Maldito hijo de puta! ¿Tienes mierda en los ojos o qué? ¡Mira por dónde caminas, gran idiota!" = "You fucking son of a bitch! Do you have shit in your eyes or what? Watch where you're walking, you big idiot!"
“¡Dios mío, qué desastre! ¿Eres estúpido o qué? ¡Mira lo que hiciste, grandullón! Además de eso, estás ahí parado como un idiota. No hay manera de que seas real.” = “My God, what a disaster! Are you stupid or what? Look what you did, big guy! On top of that, you're standing there like an idiot. There’s no way you’re real.”
MoShang | Scum Villain Self-Saving System
Omegaverse
01-12-2022
I'm working on day 31 for my editing of kinktober, and I just got this picture in mind:
Tiny alpha Shang Qinghua who doesn't look like much, who goes feral after seeing his mate getting hurt and no one would have expected how violent and enraged such a small alpha could be.
They had thought that a pregnant northern king would be easier to attack, and the moment Shang Qinghua sees even the smallest injuries on his mate he just totally loses it
When he's done with whichever demon that came he's soaked in the blood, breathing heavily from how much he had forced his body.
Then he search for Mobei-Jun who stayed on the side, barely actually hurt, even if it was a rare thing to see him even slightly injured.
Shang Qinghua doesn't calm down and come back to normal for a while, even when Mobei-Jun allows him to hold him close, examining him and making sure he's alright while Mobei-Jun gently purrs to calm him down, murmuring softly while assuring him he's alright
Shang Qinghua is crying when he's properly back to his normal state, babbling about how scared he was when he saw his pregnant mate in danger and hurt
Even once they get to their room Shang Qinghua won't leave his side, cuddling and rubbing his scent all over him, making sure over and over that his injury is alright
I just like the idea that tiny alpha Shang Qinghua that doesn't look like much is just one dangerous force of nature once he goes feral for his mate he just wants to protect
Warnings: AOB, mentions of medical things, mentions of needles, mentions of abuse, feral alphas, light swearing, angst, hurt/comfort, mental health issues
Feral alpha AU
Case file No.5643
Cases name: Dean Winchester
Cases D.O.B January 24, 1979
Cases age: 45
Background:
Dean Winchester (feral alpha) was found in the underground raid in a place called ‘Ascended’ raid was completed by head officer Jody Mills (alpha) and her team on November 14th 2022. Dean Winchester (feral alpha) was placed in quarantine and given appropriate medical attention before moved to the Alphas corp building 203 on January 10th 2023. First assign to Dr Harper (female, beta) unresponsive to methods and treatments remains in a ‘feral’ state transfer required. Second assigning to Dr Freeman (male, beta) unresponsive to methods and treatment, remains in a ‘feral’ state transfer required. Now on head of the Dean Winchester case Dr Y/L/n, waiting for report and outcome
Signed by head of department Carver Edlund
You walked quickly down the white hall, this was your first day on the Winchester case. You had your tablet in hand and your assistant Charlie behind you.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” She asked and you kept your eyes ahead. You were nervous, hell you might have a breakdown before going in, but you were determined to help this alpha.
“I am sure” you nodded heading to his room. The guard nodded his head in a greet and opened the door. Charlie said her goodbyes and departed as you were checked for anything on your person before heading into a small room. You didn’t know what to expect, all feral alphas were different. Dean Winchester sat in the corner where his bed was. His mattress was on the floor and his frame was obviously thrown against the wall and discarded. You gulped slightly thankful for the glass between you both.
“Morning Mr Winchester” you said through the mic but he didn’t respond.
“My names Dr Y/L/n, I’ll be your-“ you stopped your sentence when green eyes met yours. Your breath got caught in your throat as he stared at you.
“Your head officer” you finished nodding as you tapped at your tablet. His hair was unkept and long, his beard obviously grown, he was also wearing no clothes, but the way his legs were kept everything covered. You read over the other Drs notes, not many treatments worked with him, especially with the glass there. One of the Drs went in, got a response just not the best one and ended up in the medical department, while Dean was tranquillised.
You stood nodded to the guard who opened Deans door. You walked in minding the thrown bed and kept your distance. Dean was watching you like a hawk, he didn’t blink often and made sure to watch every movement you made as you grabbed a discarded pillow and sat down.
“I am Dr Y/l/n” you said.
“I’m a part time soon to be full time officer here I’ve worked three cases in my last five years you will be my fourth” you hoped to gain some conversation with him.
“I live nearby the facility at a farm house owned by my parents, I have 3 cows, 2 sheep and 6 chickens there and a dog named Champ” you watched his eyes peek with interest and you took it as a good sign.
“Dean do you know your age?” You started questions. He nodded and you felt a little relief go through you.
“Do you know where you are?” You asked and he nodded again.
“Some of these questions may be hard or triggering, I will take in account your response and try to avoid them or the topic for the time being till you’re ready” you said tapping on your tablet to get the questionnaire.
“You were found in a place called ‘ascended’ one of the lesser known underground black markets” you stopped checking to see his response but got nothing.
“Officer Jody Mills got you and five other alphas out, did you know or have any relation to the other alphas there?” You asked and saw him tense but shake his head.
“Ok, it says you were a pleasure alpha, house alpha, as well as use and abuse as well as fighter” you winced at the words.
“Are these correct?” You asked and he nodded.
“Do you know what ascended is? In the underground establishments?” You asked and he nodded.
“Did you have many omega owners?” You said and he snapped his head to you. You jolted a bit in surprise as his eyes darkened. You noted that quickly and went to move onto a next question but it was too late. The alpha had crossed the room quickly and pinned you under him, hand on your neck. He didn’t squeeze though just kept his hold as he stared you down. The guards came in shock guns aimed as you held a hand up to stop them.
“Don’t!” You said looking at the alpha. His eyes were swirling with feral emotions, he was breathing harshly but he didn’t harm you.
“He won’t hurt me” you said quietly hoping you were correct. He leant down swiftly, pressing his nose to your scent gland before a disapproving growl left him. The guards shot them and stunned him off the shock going to you also. You jolted a bit your breath getting knocked out of you. Dean was quick to recover though as a guard went to help you up, the alpha body slammed him to the ground and began to punch him. Despite the helmet Dean kept punching knuckles bloodying as he went. He was torn off, shocked again and you were dragged out. You were pissed smacking the guard off you.
“You idiot!” You snapped and the guard was taken aback.
“He wasn’t hurting me he was trying to find my scent!” You glared at the guard through the mask and sighed.
“He growled Dr” she said.
“Because he wouldn’t be able to smell me due to the implant” you sighed rubbing your neck from the shock that went through you.
“He hasn’t had progress in months! He was responsive to me and now we’ve thrown him in a corner!” You sighed making her leave the room. You looked at his unconscious form on the bed and sighed quietly.
I'm reading a cute little fic where a male omega goes into labor but they didn't know they were pregnant because they never had any symptoms, their alpha goes feral when they hear their omega's pained cry. I got long winded sorry but what's your thoughts on alphas going feral?
Well, I've never heard of feral used in that context.
The kind of feral I've heard about is when they pretty much turn into a literal wild animal who cannot be a part of society anymore because they are past the point of communication/logic. A feral alpha isn't dangerous because they'll start just eating everything, they're dangerous cause like a tiger or bear, they sort of do whatever they want.
A feral alpha cannot speak, they don't have any sort of instinct for a mate really, they just become like a wolf in the wild. They would now only have like fight/flight, hunting, and sheltering instincts. When provoked, they could become violent.
------
In your context, I guess the author just meant that they couldn't think about anything other than their omega, like super emotionally dialed in. Blind to the world.
If they actually went feral over their omega having a baby, that certainly wouldn't be a relationship that would last long! Going through labor is pretty much the most natural body process in the omegaverse, if you had an alpha that was psychologically averse to that it would be a pretty bad situation for the omega.
You wouldn't want a wild bear inside your house when you gave birth!
