#and these are YET ANOTHER DIFFERENT BREED OF DUCKS

[marigold-hills]

Your hands; mine (Stalker Remus AU) part 7

PART 1 | | PREVIOUS PART

It’s past three in the morning when Sirius falls asleep again. Not a conscious choice - he drifts off half way through telling Remus about the dataset he’s been working on at the office. It’s about marketing correlations, he said. Might as well use you as a sound board. Since you’re here.

When Remus asked who his typical listening stand-in was, Sirius said a pink rubber duck. Remus still isn’t sure if it was a joke or not.

Remus doesn’t feel the need to keep track of Sirius’ pulse this time. The worst of it seems to be behind them. Watching the steady rise-fall of Sirius’ chest where it moves with each breath is enough. Instead, he makes another cup of tea and doesn’t drink it, getting distracted instead by looking for the Wi-Fi password. He’s running very low on data. Needs to conserve it. He finds the router neatly tucked away inside of the telly cabinet. The password is written on a little laminated card next to it. The wires are all organised and secured with cable ties. It makes something inside Remus’ brain itch with pleasure.

He’s forcing himself away from Bing. Away from looking up things like

How long for a body to decompose?

When to file a missing persons report?

How to find filed missing persons reports?

He knows, despite how little sense this technology makes to him, that that’s the first step of being discovered. He’s seen Law and Order.

The local news has nothing on it about stocky men, missing or otherwise deceased. Remus refreshes the page and checks multiple websites. Then BBC, but that’s all big news about the world. He closes that quick. There’s nothing good ever to be read on BBC. The New York Times at least has crosswords, and Sudoku, and other things to occupy the mind. The BBC has death and suffering, and increasingly bad grammar.

He raids the telly cabinet again and finds a pen and some papers. He might as well work, he reasons. He can do that while counting the number of breaths per minute.

Remus has rendered countless dogs in glass, of countless breeds, but none of them does he dislike working on as much as he does pugs. It’s almost impossible not to make them look cartoonishly disfigured, with their bulging eyes and sticky-outy tongues. There’s always something so vacant in the reference photos he gets. No thoughts happening in the little brains.

He tries anyway, yet again. Sketches the dog's strange flat face over and over, until the page is filled with its likeness. Until he understands a little bit more - this is how its ear bends, this is the spot of different colour on its fur. This eye is a little more slanted than the other but it makes the dog look unnatural in the drawing.

Most of the time, owners don’t notice the peculiar uglinesses of their own dogs. They see only their cute little family-completing pet. So Remus takes liberties. Fixes up the uneven eyes and the snaggletooth.

On the sofa, Sirius sleeps easily. He turns around once to lay down on his stomach, the movement clumsy with sleep but somehow still the most graceful thing Remus has ever been granted the privilege of witnessing. That stab of want curses through him again, sharp as a new razor blade. He tells himself it’s just hunger, and grabs the sandwich he made for lunch.

It's gotten a bit squished in the pocket of his coat. The strawberry jam ripples out the side when Remus unwraps the cling film. It dribbles right onto the orange wool of his sweater vest. He likes this sweater vest - likes normal sweaters more, but it’s too warm to wear one this time of the year. He hopes the stain will come off and goes to the kitchen to dab at it with some tap water.

That seems to make it worse. The stain spreads, the wicking of the material makes the discolouration spread.

Might be a job for Remus’ Tide To Go stain remover pen. He loves his stain remover pen. It gets ample use. He’s regretting not having an emergency one to carry on his person and thinks of adding a second one to the shopping list, before he remembers he spent his allotted grocery money on a couple milkshakes and a kebab.

He doesn’t regret it. He got to feed Sirius. Maybe not by cooking, but he did provide. Sirius said he was hungry and Remus made food appear, and it was good enough to relieve the discomfort.

Remus eats half of his sandwich. The other half he puts away, wraps it back up in clingfilm and sticks it into his coat pocket. He tells himself he’ll have it for breakfast. By then, it might no longer grow in his mouth with each mastication.

On the sofa, Sirius stirs. It’s six in the morning. He opens his eyes slowly, like a cat blinking out its love at its favourite owner. Cat comparisons don’t work with Sirius, Remus thinks. There’s more of a canine to him. Brash and loyal and fierce.

On the sofa, Sirius stirs. Opens his eyes slowly, like a dog content at its favourite spot, blinking out into the world, stretching into a spot of warmth.

He looks at Remus. “Good morning,” he says. “You’re still here,” he says.

He doesn’t seem mad about it.

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨

Notes

yes, he uses Bing. Yes, he's wearing a sweater vest. I don't know what to tell you.

@tealeavesandtrash you know what you did

Tags!

@hoje--aqui

@rae-lune

@wickedcoeur

@shunstanpike

@floretissogay

@remoonysiriusly

@lunalovegoodsgirlfriend

@father-imperator

@brighterthanthou

@a-pine-cone

@annaliza999

@apcqlypse

@thabindery

[grumpyghostdoodles]

AUAAHG NO, NONO NO

I HEARD ROBERT HISSING OUTSIDE, SP I WENT TO GIVE HIM FOOD AND THIS IS WHAT I FIND

ROBERT WHY WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS????? STOP MAKING ME UNWILLINGLY STEAL MORE DUCKS. TAKE THEM BACK TO THEIR HOUSE WTF

Edit: The robert saga

[the-pen-pot]

A nod and a smile, the clink of coin -- too few, in Hans' opinion, but he was in no state to argue -- and the job was done. Really, it was no wonder so many turned to poaching. Peasants at least probably did it to fill their bellies, but was there a decent living to be made in it if you could avoid the noose. Not enough to become wealthy, perhaps, but adequately profitable that Hans was truly starting to believe his plan would work.

The tailor clucked and complained over the hides, but he handed over his money after haggling hard enough to make Hans sweat. Back home, merchants fell over themselves to be the ones to serve him. Here, it was an entirely different story. There was a distinct air of superiority from the townsfolk, as if they were doing him a charity by even deigning to trade with him. It was enough to make him fantasize about riding back into town upon a splendid horse, dressed in his absolute best, just to watch them all grovel.

He was so lost in his daydream that he almost overlooked the grey mare hitched to the picket outside the Rathaus. Of course, it would be an easy mistake to make. She was a tired old nag of no particular breeding; he only looked twice because he recognised her.

'Pebbles?'

Hans gaped stupidly at Henry's horse, taking in the cracked saddle and the bridle that had definitely seen better days. She clearly had a rider, and his belly burst into a thousand anxious butterflies as he heard a very familiar voice making a promise to the bailiff. They were in the courtyard, from the sounds of it, tucked out of sight of the main road, yet their words carried.

'I'll see if I can get the bandits to clear off, sir.'

'You, lad?' The doubt in Bailiff Thrush's voice was far from flattering, and despite himself, Hans bristled at the implied criticism of Henry's skills. 'Are you sure?'

'Aye, sir. It shouldn't be any trouble.' 

Was it his imagination, or was there a vein of uncertainty in Henry's tone?

'Very well. Come back to me when you're done.' There was the sound of one man clapping another on the shoulder: a clink of chainmail. 'There's coin in it if you can bring me proof that they're -- ah -- no longer a problem.'

'Thank you, sir.'

The scuff of footsteps sent Hans into a flurry of panic. Before he could so much as think, he ducked into the narrow space between two houses, pressing his back to the wall as he hid himself away. It was one thing to ask after Henry's welfare, which it turned out had been unnecessary, but quite another to actually run into him. Especially now, when he had nothing to show for himself. Stolen gear, a few measly groschen and a distinct lack of hygiene were nothing to brag about, whereas Henry, it seemed, was doing business with the God damn bailiff!

'Here you go, old girl.' There was the sudden familiar crunch of a horse relishing a carrot, and Hans sucked in a breath before risking a glimpse from where he had ferreted himself away.

He was not sure what he had imagined: Henry, resplendent, landing on his feet the same as always, he supposed. Instead, he saw a man dressed in a hodgepodge of armour: a rusty hauberk and a dented kettle hat, the straps swaying loose beneath his chin. His padded chausses had more than one patch to their name, and his shoes were the same ones he had been blessed with at Bozhena's. The sword that hung from his belt, at least, looked to be of reasonable quality, though a far cry from the longsword he'd wielded when they rode out of Rattay.

God alone knew where he had got the armour, such as it was. More than one piece looked as if it had been rotting in a grave prior to adorning Henry's back. Perhaps its true origins were not quite so macabre, but if a soldier turned up in that at Rattay, Captain Bernard would have a conniption. He had to admit it was a small improvement from thin linen and little else, but it seemed that perhaps Henry was struggling as much as Hans himself. 

Maybe even more so.

A sneak peak at Chapter 5 of From Fortune's Wounds 👀

[quicksilver-castiel]

In a cat's Eye

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims

Archive warnings: None

Rating: General Audiences

Summary:

They walked through a set of doors, and then another, and then Martin’s steps faltered as he was suddenly surrounded on all sides by cats. They were in cages, though not the small, cramped ones stacked atop each other that Martin had expected, but tall ones, with toys and places for the cats to jump and play. Sometimes, there were three or four cats in one cage, sometimes less, but it was still a room full of cats. Martin didn’t know how to feel about that. Jon, of course, had no such problems. His eyes lit up, and he looked around curiously, craning his neck as Isabel told him all about the different cats’ breeds and personalities.

Author's Notes:

This was written for @jonmartinweek Day 1: Cats and Pets // Feelings Realised. It's canon-divergent, could (currently) be read as a tie-in to my long fic And each doth good turns now unto the other, but you don't need to read that to understand this one.

Read on AO3 or under the cut

“Just a moment, please,” the employee called when Jon and Martin came in, throwing them a quick glance before focusing back on the people standing with her. One of them, who looked to be the father of the family of four, was handling a cat carrier, from which curious eyes were peeking out into the room.

Jon’s eyes fixed on the carrier. Martin could see him lift himself slightly onto the balls of his feet when the man moved, obscuring the view, before Jon caught himself and stood straight again, glancing around as if to see if anyone had noticed.

When Jon’s eyes met Martin’s, Martin smiled, but Jon still ducked his head and blushed slightly.

“Sorry for the wait.” The employee stepped over to them, smiling. “I’m Isabel. How can I help you?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Jon said, gripping the handle of his cane tightly while he extended the other hand towards Isabel. “We spoke on the phone, I believe.”

Isabel’s face lit up. Martin hoped it was because of the reason they were here, and not because she liked what she saw.

In any case, she shook Jon’s hand. “Ah, yes, Mr. Sims. You’re here to adopt a cat, correct?”

“Please, just Jon. And yes, that’s why we’re here.” Jon glanced at Martin, who gave him another smile, and shook Isabel’s hand in turn.

She didn’t seem deterred by the fact that Jon had brought someone else, so with a bit of luck she hadn’t gotten her hopes up.

“Have you thought at all about what you’re looking for? Kitten, adult, or senior cat?”

“An adult one. This will only be my second cat, and Martin has never had one, so…” Jon shrugged. “I suppose we’re not yet ready for a kitten or the more, ah, difficult cases.”

For some reason, Isabel’s face softened. “I see. Well then, follow me and let’s meet some of our little darlings.”

As they walked down a hallway, Jon and Isabel kept talking. Jon mentioned wanting to get an affectionate cat that liked being petted, glancing back at Martin as he did so. Martin rolled his eyes. Yes, he wanted a pet he could — you know — pet. Sue him.

Jon just smiled, and turned back towards Isabel, who was talking about different breeds and how some of their rescued cats were plenty affectionate.

They walked through a set of doors, and then another, and then Martin’s steps faltered as he was suddenly surrounded on all sides by cats.

They were in cages, though not the small, cramped ones stacked atop each other that Martin had expected, but tall ones, with toys and places for the cats to jump and play. Sometimes, there were three or four cats in one cage, sometimes less, but it was still a room full of cats.

Martin didn’t know how to feel about that.

Jon, of course, had no such problems. His eyes lit up, and he looked around curiously, craning his neck as Isabel told him all about the different cats’ breeds and personalities.

Martin took a deep breath. Then he hastened to catch up with them.

He was still wondering if coming here had been the right decision — not that he had anything against adopting a cat. In fact, he was quite looking forward to having a little furball at home, as long as it was friendly and didn’t try to scratch his eyes out.

But being here, surrounded by all these cats that stared at him with their yellow, slitted eyes, made Martin shiver.

That was, until Jon turned back to him, his face glowing with an otherworldly light that had nothing to do with the patron they both served.

“Martin, look,” Jon said, gesturing to one of the cats. Martin had no idea of the different breeds, since he hadn’t really been listening to Isabel, but it was a brown and white one, with fluffy fur. “His name is Scones.”

“Oh, that’s cute.” Martin leaned a little closer to the cage. The cat’s ears flicked, and it turned to look at them with lazy blinks.

“I was just telling Jon, Scones is our resident sweetheart. He’s three years old, and already very relaxed for his age. Quite cuddly, too. Due to his long fur, he needs to be brushed regularly though, so it’s a bit more work than with a short-hair,” Isabel explained.

Martin thought of how often he brushed and braided Jon’s hair, and only barely kept back from running his hands through the grey strands that were spilling freely over Jon’s shoulders today.

It was usually an issue of convenience for Jon to put his hair in a ponytail or a braid, though that day, he hadn’t been able to stand the tugging on his skull that either caused. This meant that he was always busy brushing back the hair that slipped out from behind his ears in an attempt to veil his face.

Not that Martin minded — he loved being able to run his hands through Jon’s hair. Though he had promised not to do so in public.

They moved on, looking at the other cats, listening to Isabel talk about their quirks and grooming needs. There were some that Martin could imagine taking home, which both put him at ease and made him anxious.

It was good that they would be able to find a fitting cat here. But how in the world were they going to choose?

There was one, an orange tabby — Isabel mentioned that ‘tabby’ wasn’t a breed, and specified it, but Martin forgot it again almost immediately — that Jon stared at for a bit longer than the others. Its name was apparently ‘Tart’, which made Martin wonder which of the different meanings the staff had chosen that for.

“She gives most people the cold shoulder, but if she likes you, she really likes you,” Isabel explained. “So far, the only one who has made his way into her heart is Mark, one of our staff. She keeps trying to sit in his lap when he’s here.”

That was adorable. Of course, there wasn’t much of a chance of Tart liking Martin, of all people. Jon, maybe, since he was a cat person and all that. But not him.

Martin sighed. It was a nice thing to daydream about, anyway.

“She’s also blind in one eye, so her depth perception is a bit off. Sometimes she gets startled when you come into her field of vision, or she runs into things.” Isabel smiled, and gestured towards another door. “Would you like to meet them a little more personally now?”

Jon was in heaven.

The room Isabel had ushered them into looked not unlike a playroom for children, though with more cat-appropriate toys. There were little doors in the wall for the cats to walk back into their cages if they had enough or needed some quiet, which was a set-up Jon would have liked for pretty much all rooms in his life.

But of course the best thing was that most of the cats stayed. Some were just lazing about, or playing by themselves, though others came towards Jon curiously, and got excited when he picked up a feather on a string.

Martin was sitting a little apart from him, tentatively reaching out to any cat that came close to him. Most of them ducked away from his hand, which he respected — Jon had long since taught him that you needed to give cats time. They would turn away from you the first few times, and once they learned that you could be trusted not to touch them when they didn’t want you to, they would seek you out in earnest.

Some cats were more immediately affectionate, though. One kept rubbing its head against Martin’s knee, demanding scratches, and another sniffed cautiously in the direction of his lap, but was startled when a third cat came looking at the new addition to the playroom.

Jon could understand the curiosity. If his experience translated at all to cats, then Martin’s lap was bound to be the most comfortable spot in the whole building.

For a moment, Jon’s hand stilled as he wondered if he was making a mistake. Would an affectionate cat take his favourite place from him?

But surely, he told himself as he continued moving the stick with the feather on a string, it was silly to be jealous of a cat. Especially if it was to be their cat, an addition to their household and possibly the closest thing they would ever have to a child.

Jon stopped his hand again when Scones caught the string and started gnawing on it instead of the feather. Jon smiled, and let his eyes wander, considering which cat would fit their criteria the most.

Then his eyes caught on Tart, who was sitting a little ways off, close to the door to its cage. She was surveying the room, not seeming to pay anything or anyone special attention, though Jon could tell from her body language that she was alert, if not tense.

Jon kept watching, and caught Tart’s eyes lingering on Martin while she blinked slowly. She turned away after a moment, but before long, she was sniffing in Martin’s direction, her butt leaving the floor for a second as she seemed to struggle with herself on whether she wanted to move or not.

It was only when Tart noticed Jon looking, and locked her one eye with his, that he turned away. Staring at something was a cat’s behaviour towards prey, and Jon didn’t want Tart to think that he was being in any way aggressive towards her.

He could have slow-blinked at her, of course, but it was better for him to focus back on the cats near him, anyway. One of them was trying to attack the stick he was holding, and Jon made sure to distract it with the feather at the other end instead.

Jon was so absorbed in the game that several minutes passed until he even so much as glanced at Martin again — though then his eyes were glued to him, and to Tart, who was swishing about him, never quite touching.

“Oh, erm, hello,” Martin said, chuckling a little nervously. He was probably remembering the stories about her being cold with most people, and was worried that she might not like him.

Tart sniffed at Martin’s arm, then circled him again, only to sniff at his knee on the opposite side.

Then she rubbed her head against his knee.

“Oh,” Martin made again, looking startled, though it was soon replaced by a slightly confused delight. “Hi there.”

He reached out hesitantly. Tart turned away, putting some distance between them with measured steps.

Then she looked back.

Martin had dropped his hand, and held it out to another cat to sniff instead.

In the same slow, but confident pace as before, Tart circled back, and pushed away the other cat.

“Hi again…?” Martin asked, his hand hovering over her uncertainly.

Tart just looked at him, blinking slowly. Martin blinked back, confused.

Then Tart got onto her hind paws, and headbutted Martin’s hand.

The smile that spread on Martin’s face as he was finally allowed to pet the cat was breathtaking. Jon always thought that he was the most handsome man alive, but in that moment, he looked practically ethereal.

Then Martin looked up at Jon, still glowing with joy and a little bit of pride, and Jon couldn’t help but smile back.

“Made a friend?” he asked teasingly, causing Martin to duck his head in slight embarrassment.

“I guess she likes me?” Martin said, continuing to pet the very satisfied-looking cat. She had her good eye closed — her bad eye was permanently closed anyway — and was leaning into Martin’s touch.

It didn’t take long for Tart to climb into Martin’s lap, curling up there. Jon noticed that none of the other cats would get close to Martin then, and figured it was because they didn’t particularly like Tart.

“She’s purring!” Martin exclaimed suddenly, startling Tart a little, though she settled down again soon enough. “Aww, she’s so cute. Jon, can you take a picture?”

Jon’s face was starting to hurt from how big his smile was. It dimmed a little when he struggled to get up, his leg aching after his time on the floor, but he managed to stand and walk over to Martin without too much effort.

“Say cheese,” Jon said as he had his phone camera trained on the adorable pair of gingers.

Martin just grinned, and Tart stayed where she was, only flicking her ear in Jon’s direction.

The pictures didn’t quite do the reality of the moment justice, but they were cute enough. Considering Jon’s usual struggles with getting a half-decent picture — a fact that always made both Martin and Tim snicker and make teasing comments about the pupil of the Eye not having an eye for photos —  they were even pretty good.

“Do we have a winner, then?” Jon asked when Martin handed him back the phone after inspecting the pictures.

“Oh, I-I think so? I mean, if you’re okay with it.” Martin didn’t often bring out the puppy eyes, but when he did, Jon didn’t stand a chance.

Not that he had any issue with adopting Tart, silly name or not.

“Should we call her something else?” Jon just asked, and reached out to pet her himself.

Tart peeked an eye open to glare at him, making Jon stop in his tracks. He blinked at her.

She didn’t blink back.

Only when Jon removed his hand did Tart close her eyes again, burrowing herself deeper into Martin’s lap.

Oh dear. Jon was going to be in competition with the cat after all, wasn’t he?

Martin didn’t seem to have noticed the little row, since he continued scratching between Tart’s ears enthusiastically. “You’re not naming her. Otherwise we’ll just end up with a Sergeant, or a Lieutenant-Commander, or something.”

“That’s not fair,” Jon said, omitting the fact that he had indeed been considering Sergeant as a name. “I was actually thinking about something like Miss Claw-lace.”

Martin looked at him weirdly. “You were?”

“Nancy Catstor would also be a contender.”

For a long beat, Martin just stared at him. Then he sighed fondly, shaking his head. “I stand by my opinion — you don’t get to name this cat. Or any, for that matter.”

“Why’s that?” Jon asked, huffing.

His suggestions were quite clever, after all, weren’t they?

“Jon, I love you, but those are terrible. We’ll give her a normal cat name.”

“What, so she won’t get bullied by her cat schoolmates?” Jon deadpanned, making Martin snort out a giggle.

“Exactly. It’s hard to be a little kitty cat, you don’t have to make it harder,” he said, smiling, one hand still buried in Tart’s fur.

“Yes, clearly, it’s an awful lot to be a cat being lovingly petted by a gentle giant,” Jon said dryly. “I would shudder to be subjected to the same cruel fate.”

Martin grinned. “So if a giant picked you up right now and put you in his lap…”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Shut up. What would you name her, then?”

“Hmmm. What about Butterscotch?”

Jon scoffed. “And that’s better than Nancy Catstor?”

“... Yeah, Jon, it really is,” Martin said, looking like he was holding back laughter.

“We might as well keep her name, then, if you’re just going to name her after a different pastry.”

“Yeah, but Tart is mean. Butterscotch is cute.”

Jon huffed. Then something came to him, and he smiled slyly. “We could call her Martina.”

“I’m sorry?”

Jon shrugged, even as his smile grew wider. “She does have the same hair colour as you.”

“Yeah, well, she’s also picky in who she lets near her — like you,” Martin countered unfairly.

“Hey,” Jon grumbled.

“We could call her Joanna.”

Jon kept grumbling.

“Our little tabby daughter, Joanna Sims-Blackwood.”

Jon stopped grumbling, his breath hitching. “Ah.”

“She gets her looks from me and her personality from you,” Martin kept teasing.

“Shut up.” Jon meant to make it sound scathing, he really did, but infuriatingly, it came out tender and loving.

“Maybe we can train her to research statements,” Martin joked.

Jon shivered. “Best not.” He reached out again, but this time for Martin, putting a hand on his arm. “We should probably talk to Isabel before we go about renaming Tart. We haven’t adopted her yet.”

“Right.” Martin looked like he would have gotten up together with Jon, if he hadn’t had his lap full of cat.

“I’ll go fetch her. You sit tight.”

Martin chuckled. “Don’t really have a choice on that, do I?” He kept stroking Tart’s fur, humming in time with her purrs.

Those two were utterly adorable.

As Jon grabbed his cane and went to look for Isabel, he didn’t know that the reason Tart had lost an eye had been because she had been staring at other cats with an unblinking gaze, causing them to become aggressive.

He didn’t know that the tether to the entity that loomed over them all had almost been broken with the gash across her eye, and had only been preserved through her own cowardice, which had prompted her to run away quickly, thus sparing her other eye.

He didn’t know that for her, everything had started with a bulging spider. Or that it was the fear of its hairy legs and its web that kept her wary of most people.

He would know, one day, of course. Not that day, but soon enough.

But by then, little Butterscotch would have become Jon and Martin’s little furry daughter.

She got her looks from Martin, and her personality from Jon.

And some mannerism from her godfather, the Eye.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter 2: Mutual Aid Among Animals (continued)

Migrations of birds.— Breeding associations. — Autumn societies. — Mammals: small number of unsociable species. — Hunting associations of wolves, lions, etc. — Societies of rodents; of ruminants; of monkeys. — Mutual Aid in the struggle for life. — Darwin’s arguments to prove the struggle for life within the species. — Natural checks to over-multiplication. — Supposed extermination of intermediate links. — Elimination of competition in Nature.

As soon as spring comes back to the temperate zone, myriads and myriads of birds which are scattered over the warmer regions of the South come together in numberless bands, and, full of vigour and joy, hasten northwards to rear their offspring. Each of our hedges, each grove, each ocean cliff, and each of the lakes and ponds with which Northern America, Northern Europe, and Northern Asia are dotted tell us at that time of the year the tale of what mutual aid means for the birds; what force, energy, and protection it confers to every living being, however feeble and defenceless it otherwise might be. Take, for instance, one of the numberless lakes of the Russian and Siberian Steppes. Its shores are peopled with myriads of aquatic birds, belonging to at least a score of different species, all living in perfect peace-all protecting one another.

“For several hundred yards from the shore the air is filled with gulls and terns, as with snow-flakes on a winter day. Thousands of plovers and sand-coursers run over the beach, searching their food, whistling, and simply enjoying life. Further on, on almost each wave, a duck is rocking, while higher up you notice the flocks of the Casarki ducks. Exuberant life swarms everywhere.”[24]

And here are the robbers — the strongest, the most cunning ones, those “ideally organized for robbery.” And you hear their hungry, angry, dismal cries as for hours in succession they watch the opportunity of snatching from this mass of living beings one single unprotected individual. But as soon as they approach, their presence is signalled by dozens of voluntary sentries, and hundreds of gulls and terns set to chase the robber. Maddened by hunger, the robber soon abandons his usual precautions: he suddenly dashes into the living mass; but, attacked from all sides, he again is compelled to retreat. From sheer despair he falls upon the wild ducks; but the intelligent, social birds rapidly gather in a flock and fly away if the robber is an erne; they plunge into the lake if it is a falcon; or they raise a cloud of water-dust and bewilder the assailant if it is a kite.[25] And while life continues to swarm on the lake, the robber flies away with cries of anger, and looks out for carrion, or for a young bird or a field-mouse not yet used to obey in time the warnings of its comrades. In the face of an exuberant life, the ideally-armed robber must be satisfied with the off-fall of that life.

Further north, in the Arctic archipelagoes,

“you may sail along the coast for many miles and see all the ledges, all the cliffs and corners of the mountain-sides, up to a height of from two to five hundred feet, literally covered with sea-birds, whose white breasts show against the dark rocks as if the rocks were closely sprinkled with chalk specks. The air, near and far, is, so to say, full with fowls.”[26]

Each of such “bird-mountains” is a living illustration of mutual aid, as well as of the infinite variety of characters, individual and specific, resulting from social life. The oyster-catcher is renowned for its readiness to attack the birds of prey. The barge is known for its watchfulness, and it easily becomes the leader of more placid birds. The turnstone, when surrounded by comrades belonging to more energetic species, is a rather timorous bird; but it undertakes to keep watch for the security of the commonwealth when surrounded by smaller birds. Here you have the dominative swans; there, the extremely sociable kittiwake-gulls, among whom quarrels are rare and short; the prepossessing polar guillemots, which continually caress each other; the egoist she-goose, who has repudiated the orphans of a killed comrade; and, by her side, another female who adopts any one’s orphans, and now paddles surrounded by fifty or sixty youngsters, whom she conducts and cares for as if they all were her own breed. Side by side with the penguins, which steal one another’s eggs, you have the dotterels, whose family relations are so “charming and touching” that even passionate hunters recoil from shooting a female surrounded by her young ones; or the eider-ducks, among which (like the velvet-ducks, or the coroyas of the Savannahs) several females hatch together in the same nest or the lums, which sit in turn upon a common covey. Nature is variety itself, offering all possible varieties of characters, from the basest to the highest: and that is why she cannot be depicted by any sweeping assertion. Still less can she be judged from the moralist’s point of view, because the views of the moralist are themselves a result — mostly unconscious — of the observation of Nature.[27]

Coming together at nesting-time is so common with most birds that more examples are scarcely needed. Our trees are crowned with groups of crows’ nests; our hedges are full of nests of smaller birds; our farmhouses give shelter to colonies of swallows; our old towers are the refuge of hundreds of nocturnal birds; and pages might be filled with the most charming descriptions of the peace and harmony which prevail in almost all these nesting associations. As to the protection derived by the weakest birds from their unions, it is evident. That excellent observer, Dr. Couës, saw, for instance, the little cliff-swallows nesting in the immediate neighbourhood of the prairie falcon (Falco polyargus). The falcon had its nest on the top of one of the minarets of clay which are so common in the cañons of Colorado, while a colony of swallows nested just beneath. The little peaceful birds had no fear of their rapacious neighbour; they never let it approach to their colony. They immediately surrounded it and chased it, so that it had to make off at once.[28]

Life in societies does not cease when the nesting period is over; it begins then in a new form. The young broods gather in societies of youngsters, generally including several species. Social life is practised at that time chiefly for its own sake — partly for security, but chiefly for the pleasures derived from it. So we see in our forests the societies formed by the young nuthatchers (Sitta cæsia), together with tit-mouses, chaffinches, wrens, tree-creepers, or some wood-peckers.[29] In Spain the swallow is met with in company with kestrels, fly-catchers, and even pigeons. In the Far West of America the young horned larks live in large societies, together with another lark (Sprague’s), the skylark, the Savannah sparrow, and several species of buntings and longspurs.[30] In fact, it would be much easier to describe the species which live isolated than to simply name those species which join the autumnal societies of young birds — not for hunting or nesting purposes, but simply to enjoy life in society and to spend their time in plays and sports, after having given a few hours every day to find their daily food.

And, finally, we have that immense display of mutual aid among birds-their migrations — which I dare not even enter upon in this place. Sufficient to say that birds which have lived for months in small bands scattered over a wide territory gather in thousands; they come together at a given place, for several days in succession, before they start, and they evidently discuss the particulars of the journey. Some species will indulge every afternoon in flights preparatory to the long passage. All wait for their tardy congeners, and finally they start in a certain well chosen direction — a fruit of accumulated collective experience — the strongest flying at the head of the band, and relieving one another in that difficult task. They cross the seas in large bands consisting of both big and small birds, and when they return next spring they repair to the same spot, and, in most cases, each of them takes possession of the very same nest which it had built or repaired the previous year.[31]

This subject is so vast, and yet so imperfectly studied; it offers so many striking illustrations of mutual-aid habits, subsidiary to the main fact of migration — each of which would, however, require a special study — that I must refrain from entering here into more details. I can only cursorily refer to the numerous and animated gatherings of birds which take place, always on the same spot, before they begin their long journeys north or south, as also those which one sees in the north, after the birds have arrived at their breeding-places on the Yenisei or in the northern counties of England. For many days in succession — sometimes one month — they will come together every morning for one hour, before flying in search of food — perhaps discussing the spot where they are going to build their nests.[32] And if, during the migration, their columns are overtaken by a storm, birds of the most different species will be brought together by common misfortune. The birds which are not exactly migratory, but slowly move northwards and southwards with the seasons, also perform these peregrinations in flocks. So far from migrating isolately, in order to secure for each separate individual the advantages of better food or shelter which are to be found in another district — they always wait for each other, and gather in flocks, before they move north or south, in accordance with the season.[33]

Going now over to mammals, the first thing which strikes us is the overwhelming numerical predominance of social species over those few carnivores which do not associate. The plateaus, the Alpine tracts, and the Steppes of the Old and New World are stocked with herds of deer, antelopes, gazelles, fallow deer, buffaloes, wild goats and sheep, all of which are sociable animals. When the Europeans came to settle in America, they found it so densely peopled with buffaloes, that pioneers had to stop their advance when a column of migrating buffaloes came to cross the route they followed; the march past of the dense column lasting sometimes for two and three days. And when the Russians took possession of Siberia they found it so densely peopled with deer, antelopes, squirrels, and other sociable animals, that the very conquest of Siberia was nothing but a hunting expedition which lasted for two hundred years; while the grass plains of Eastern Africa are still covered with herds composed of zebra, the hartebeest, and other antelopes.

Not long ago the small streams of Northern America and Northern Siberia were peopled with colonies of beavers, and up to the seventeenth century like colonies swarmed in Northern Russia. The flat lands of the four great continents are still covered with countless colonies of mice, ground-squirrels, marmots, and other rodents. In the lower latitudes of Asia and Africa the forests are still the abode of numerous families of elephants, rhinoceroses, and numberless societies of monkeys. In the far north the reindeer aggregate in numberless herds; while still further north we find the herds of the musk-oxen and numberless bands of polar foxes. The coasts of the ocean are enlivened by flocks of seals and morses; its waters, by shoals of sociable cetaceans; and even in the depths of the great plateau of Central Asia we find herds of wild horses, wild donkeys, wild camels, and wild sheep. All these mammals live in societies and nations sometimes numbering hundreds of thousands of individuals, although now, after three centuries of gunpowder civilization, we find but the débris of the immense aggregations of old. How trifling, in comparison with them, are the numbers of the carnivores! And how false, therefore, is the view of those who speak of the animal world as if nothing were to be seen in it but lions and hyenas plunging their bleeding teeth into the flesh of their victims! One might as well imagine that the whole of human life is nothing but a succession of war massacres.

Association and mutual aid are the rule with mammals. We find social habits even among the carnivores, and we can only name the cat tribe (lions, tigers, leopards, etc.) as a division the members of which decidedly prefer isolation to society, and are but seldom met with even in small groups. And yet, even among lions “this is a very common practice to hunt in company.”[34] The two tribes of the civets (Viverridæ) and the weasels (Mustelidæ) might also be characterized by their isolated life, but it is a fact that during the last century the common weasel was more sociable than it is now; it was seen then in larger groups in Scotland and in the Unterwalden canton of Switzerland. As to the great tribe of the dogs, it is eminently sociable, and association for hunting purposes may be considered as eminently characteristic of its numerous species. It is well known, in fact, that wolves gather in packs for hunting, and Tschudi left an excellent description of how they draw up in a half-circle, surround a cow which is grazing on a mountain slope, and then, suddenly appearing with a loud barking, make it roll in the abyss.[35] Audubon, in the thirties, also saw the Labrador wolves hunting in packs, and one pack following a man to his cabin, and killing the dogs. During severe winters the packs of wolves grow so numerous as to become a danger for human settlements, as was the case in France some five-and-forty years ago. In the Russian Steppes they never attack the horses otherwise than in packs; and yet they have to sustain bitter fights, during which the horses (according to Kohl’s testimony) sometimes assume offensive warfare, and in such cases, if the wolves do not retreat promptly, they run the risk of being surrounded by the horses and killed by their hoofs. The prairie-wolves (Canis latrans) are known to associate in bands of from twenty to thirty individuals when they chase a buffalo occasionally separated from its herd.[36] Jackals, which are most courageous and may be considered as one of the most intelligent representatives of the dog tribe, always hunt in packs; thus united, they have no fear of the bigger carnivores.[37] As to the wild dogs of Asia (the Kholzuns, or Dholes), Williamson saw their large packs attacking all larger animals save elephants and rhinoceroses, and overpowering bears and tigers. Hyenas always live in societies and hunt in packs, and the hunting organizations of the painted lycaons are highly praised by Cumming. Nay, even foxes, which, as a rule, live isolated in our civilized countries, have been seen combining for hunting purposes.[38] As to the polar fox, it is — or rather was in Steller’s time — one of the most sociable animals; and when one reads Steller’s description of the war that was waged by Behring’s unfortunate crew against these intelligent small animals, one does not know what to wonder at most: the extraordinary intelligence of the foxes and the mutual aid they displayed in digging out food concealed under cairns, or stored upon a pillar (one fox would climb on its top and throw the food to its comrades beneath), or the cruelty of man, driven to despair by the numerous packs of foxes. Even some bears live in societies where they are not disturbed by man. Thus Steller saw the black bear of Kamtchatka in numerous packs, and the polar bears are occasionally found in small groups. Even the unintelligent insectivores do not always disdain association.[39]

However, it is especially with the rodents, the ungulata, and the ruminants that we find a highly developed practice of mutual aid. The squirrels are individualist to a great extent. Each of them builds its own comfortable nest, and accumulates its own provision. Their inclinations are towards family life, and Brehm found that a family of squirrels is never so happy as when the two broods of the same year can join together with their parents in a remote corner of a forest. And yet they maintain social relations. The inhabitants of the separate nests remain in a close intercourse, and when the pine-cones become rare in the forest they inhabit, they emigrate in bands. As to the black squirrels of the Far West, they are eminently sociable. Apart from the few hours given every day to foraging, they spend their lives in playing in numerous parties. And when they multiply too rapidly in a region, they assemble in bands, almost as numerous as those of locusts, and move southwards, devastating the forests, the fields, and the gardens; while foxes, polecats, falcons, and nocturnal birds of prey follow their thick columns and live upon the individuals remaining behind. The ground-squirrel — a closely-akin genus — is still more sociable. It is given to hoarding, and stores up in its subterranean halls large amounts of edible roots and nuts, usually plundered by man in the autumn. According to some observers, it must know something of the joys of a miser. And yet it remains sociable. It always lives in large villages, and Audubon, who opened some dwellings of the hackee in the winter, found several individuals in the same apartment; they must have stored it with common efforts.

The large tribe, of the marmots, which includes the three large genuses of Arctomys, Cynomys, and Spermophilus, is still more sociable and still more intelligent. They also prefer having each one its own dwelling; but they live in big villages. That terrible enemy of the crops of South Russia — the souslik — of which some ten millions are exterminated every year by man alone, lives in numberless colonies; and while the Russian provincial assemblies gravely discuss the means of getting rid of this enemy of society, it enjoys life in its thousands in the most joyful way. Their play is so charming that no observer could refrain from paying them a tribute of praise, and from mentioning the melodious concerts arising from the sharp whistlings of the males and the melancholic whistlings of the females, before — suddenly returning to his citizen’s duties — he begins inventing the most diabolic means for the extermination of the little robbers. All kinds of rapacious birds and beasts of prey having proved powerless, the last word of science in this warfare is the inoculation of cholera! The villages of the prairie-dogs in America are one of the loveliest sights. As far as the eye can embrace the prairie, it sees heaps of earth, and on each of them a prairie-dog stands, engaged in a lively conversation with its neighbours by means of short barkings. As soon as the approach of man is signalled, all plunge in a moment into their dwellings; all have disappeared as by enchantment. But if the danger is over, the little creatures soon reappear. Whole families come out of their galleries and indulge in play. The young ones scratch one another, they worry one another, and display their gracefulness while standing upright, and in the meantime the old ones keep watch. They go visiting one another, and the beaten footpaths which connect all their heaps testify to the frequency of the visitations. In short, the best naturalists have written some of their best pages in describing the associations of the prairie-dogs of America, the marmots of the Old World, and the polar marmots of the Alpine regions. And yet, I must make, as regards the marmots, the same remark as I have made when speaking of the bees. They have maintained their fighting instincts, and these instincts reappear in captivity. But in their big associations, in the face of free Nature, the unsociable instincts have no opportunity to develop, and the general result is peace and harmony.

Even such harsh animals as the rats, which continually fight in our cellars, are sufficiently intelligent not to quarrel when they plunder our larders, but to aid one another in their plundering expeditions and migrations, and even to feed their invalids. As to the beaver-rats or musk-rats of Canada, they are extremely sociable. Audubon could not but admire “their peaceful communities, which require only being left in peace to enjoy happiness.” Like all sociable animals, they are lively and playful, they easily combine with other species, and they have attained a very high degree of intellectual development. In their villages, always disposed on the shores of lakes and rivers, they take into account the changing level of water; their domeshaped houses, which are built of beaten clay interwoven with reeds, have separate corners for organic refuse, and their halls are well carpeted at winter time; they are warm, and, nevertheless, well ventilated. As to the beavers, which are endowed, as known, with a most sympathetic character, their astounding dams and villages, in which generations live and die without knowing of any enemies but the otter and man, so wonderfully illustrate what mutual aid can achieve for the security of the species, the development of social habits, and the evolution of intelligence, that they are familiar to all interested in animal life. Let me only remark that with the beavers, the muskrats, and some other rodents, we already find the feature which will also be distinctive of human communities — that is, work in common.

I pass in silence the two large families which include the jerboa, the chinchilla, the biscacha, and the tushkan, or underground hare of South Russia, though all these small rodents might be taken as excellent illustrations of the pleasures derived by animals from social life.[40] Precisely, the pleasures; because it is extremely difficult to say what brings animals together — the needs of mutual protection, or simply the pleasure of feeling surrounded by their congeners. At any rate, our common hares, which do not gather in societies for life in common, and which are not even endowed with intense parental feelings, cannot live without coming together for play. Dietrich de Winckell, who is considered to be among the best acquainted with the habits of hares, describes them as passionate players, becoming so intoxicated by their play that a hare has been known to take an approaching fox for a playmate.[41] As to the rabbit, it lives in societies, and its family life is entirely built upon the image of the old patriarchal family; the young ones being kept in absolute obedience to the father and even the grandfather.[42] And here we have the example of two very closely-allied species which cannot bear each other — not because they live upon nearly the same food, as like cases are too often explained, but most probably because the passionate, eminently-individualist hare cannot make friends with that placid, quiet, and submissive creature, the rabbit. Their tempers are too widely different not to be an obstacle to friendship.

Life in societies is again the rule with the large family of horses, which includes the wild horses and donkeys of Asia, the zebras, the mustangs, the cimarrones of the Pampas, and the half-wild horses of Mongolia and Siberia. They all live in numerous associations made up of many studs, each of which consists of a number of mares under the leadership of a male. These numberless inhabitants of the Old and the New World, badly organized on the whole for resisting both their numerous enemies and the adverse conditions of climate, would soon have disappeared from the surface of the earth were it not for their sociable spirit. When a beast of prey approaches them, several studs unite at once; they repulse the beast and sometimes chase it: and neither the wolf nor the bear, not even the lion, can capture a horse or even a zebra as long as they are not detached from the herd. When a drought is burning the grass in the prairies, they gather in herds of sometimes 10,000 individuals strong, and migrate. And when a snow-storm rages in the Steppes, each stud keeps close together, and repairs to a protected ravine. But if confidence disappears, or the group has been seized by panic, and disperses, the horses perish and the survivors are found after the storm half dying from fatigue. Union is their chief arm in the struggle for life, and man is their chief enemy. Before his increasing numbers the ancestors of our domestic horse (the Equus Przewalskii, so named by Polyakoff) have preferred to retire to the wildest and least accessible plateaus on the outskirts of Thibet, where they continue to live, surrounded by carnivores, under a climate as bad as that of the Arctic regions, but in a region inaccessible to man.[43]

Many striking illustrations of social life could be taken from the life of the reindeer, and especially of that large division of ruminants which might include the roebucks, the fallow deer, the antelopes, the gazelles, the ibex, and, in fact, the whole of the three numerous families of the Antelopides, the Caprides, and the Ovides. Their watchfulness over the safety of their herds against attacks of carnivores; the anxiety displayed by all individuals in a herd of chamois as long as all of them have not cleared a difficult passage over rocky cliffs; the adoption of orphans; the despair of the gazelle whose mate, or even comrade of the same sex, has been killed; the plays of the youngsters, and many other features, could be mentioned. But perhaps the most striking illustration of mutual support is given by the occasional migrations of fallow deer, such as I saw once on the Amur. When I crossed the high plateau and its border ridge, the Great Khingan, on my way from Transbaikalia to Merghen, and further travelled over the high prairies on my way to the Amur, I could ascertain how thinly-peopled with fallow deer these mostly uninhabited regions are.[44] Two years later I was travelling up the Amur, and by the end of October reached the lower end of that picturesque gorge which the Amur pierces in the Dousse-alin (Little Khingan) before it enters the lowlands where it joins the Sungari. I found the Cossacks in the villages of that gorge in the greatest excitement, because thousands and thousands of fallow deer were crossing the Amur where it is narrowest, in order to reach the lowlands. For several days in succession, upon a length of some forty miles up the river, the Cossacks were butchering the deer as they crossed the Amur, in which already floated a good deal of ice. Thousands were killed every day, and the exodus nevertheless continued. Like migrations were never seen either before or since, and this one must have been called for by an early and heavy snow-fall in the Great Khingan, which compelled the deer to make a desperate attempt at reaching the lowlands in the east of the Dousse mountains. Indeed, a few days later the Dousse-alin was also buried under snow two or three feet deep. Now, when one imagines the immense territory (almost as big as Great Britain) from which the scattered groups of deer must have gathered for a migration which was undertaken under the pressure of exceptional circumstances, and realizes the difficulties which had to be overcome before all the deer came to the common idea of crossing the Amur further south, where it is narrowest, one cannot but deeply admire the amount of sociability displayed by these intelligent animals. The fact is not the less striking if we remember that the buffaloes of North America displayed the same powers of combination. One saw them grazing in great numbers in the plains, but these numbers were made up by an infinity of small groups which never mixed together. And yet, when necessity arose, all groups, however scattered over an immense territory, came together and made up those immense columns, numbering hundreds of thousands of individuals, which I mentioned on a preceding page.

I also ought to say a few words at least about the “compound families” of the elephants, their mutual attachment, their deliberate ways in posting sentries, and the feelings of sympathy developed by such a life of close mutual support.[45] I might mention the sociable feelings of those disreputable creatures the wild boars, and find a word of praise for their powers of association in the case of an attack by a beast of prey.[46] The hippopotamus and the rhinoceros, too, would occupy a place in a work devoted to animal sociability. Several striking pages might be given to the sociability and mutual attachment of the seals and the walruses; and finally, one might mention the most excellent feelings existing among the sociable cetaceans. But I have to say yet a few words about the societies of monkeys, which acquire an additional interest from their being the link which will bring us to the societies of primitive men.

It is hardly needful to say that those mammals, which stand at the very top of the animal world and most approach man by their structure and intelligence, are eminently sociable. Evidently we must be prepared to meet with all varieties of character and habits in so great a division of the animal kingdom which includes hundreds of species. But, all things considered, it must be said that sociability, action in common, mutual protection, and a high development of those feelings which are the necessary outcome of social life, are characteristic of most monkeys and apes. From the smallest species to the biggest ones, sociability is a rule to which we know but a few exceptions. The nocturnal apes prefer isolated life; the capuchins (Cebus capucinus), the monos, and the howling monkeys live but in small families; and the orang-outans have never been seen by A.R. Wallace otherwise than either solitary or in very small groups of three or four individuals, while the gorillas seem never to join in bands. But all the remainder of the monkey tribe — the chimpanzees, the sajous, the sakis, the mandrills, the baboons, and so on — are sociable in the highest degree. They live in great bands, and even join with other species than their own. Most of them become quite unhappy when solitary. The cries of distress of each one of the band immediately bring together the whole of the band, and they boldly repulse the attacks of most carnivores and birds of prey. Even eagles do not dare attack them. They plunder our fields always in bands — the old ones taking care for the safety of the commonwealth. The little tee-tees, whose childish sweet faces so much struck Humboldt, embrace and protect one another when it rains, rolling their tails over the necks of their shivering comrades. Several species display the greatest solicitude for their wounded, and do not abandon a wounded comrade during a retreat till they have ascertained that it is dead and that they are helpless to restore it to life. Thus James Forbes narrated in his Oriental Memoirs a fact of such resistance in reclaiming from his hunting party the dead body of a female monkey that one fully understands why “the witnesses of this extraordinary scene resolved never again to fire at one of the monkey race.“[47] In some species several individuals will combine to overturn a stone in order to search for ants’ eggs under it. The hamadryas not only post sentries, but have been seen making a chain for the transmission of the spoil to a safe place; and their courage is well known. Brehm’s description of the regular fight which his caravan had to sustain before the hamadryas would let it resume its journey in the valley of the Mensa, in Abyssinia, has become classical.[48] The playfulness of the tailed apes and the mutual attachment which reigns in the families of chimpanzees also are familiar to the general reader. And if we find among the highest apes two species, the orang-outan and the gorilla, which are not sociable, we must remember that both — limited as they are to very small areas, the one in the heart of Africa, and the other in the two islands of Borneo and Sumatra have all the appearance of being the last remnants of formerly much more numerous species. The gorilla at least seems to have been sociable in olden times, if the apes mentioned in the Periplus really were gorillas.

We thus see, even from the above brief review, that life in societies is no exception in the animal world; it is the rule, the law of Nature, and it reaches its fullest development with the higher vertebrates. Those species which live solitary, or in small families only, are relatively few, and their numbers are limited. Nay, it appears very probable that, apart from a few exceptions, those birds and mammals which are not gregarious now, were living in societies before man multiplied on the earth and waged a permanent war against them, or destroyed the sources from which they formerly derived food. “On ne s’associe pas pour mourir,” [We do not associate to die] was the sound remark of Espinas; and Houzeau, who knew the animal world of some parts of America when it was not yet affected by man, wrote to the same effect.

Association is found in the animal world at all degrees of evolution; and, according to the grand idea of Herbert Spencer, so brilliantly developed in Perrier’s Colonies Animales, colonies are at the very origin of evolution in the animal kingdom. But, in proportion as we ascend the scale of evolution, we see association growing more and more conscious. It loses its purely physical character, it ceases to be simply instinctive, it becomes reasoned. With the higher vertebrates it is periodical, or is resorted to for the satisfaction of a given want — propagation of the species, migration, hunting, or mutual defence. It even becomes occasional, when birds associate against a robber, or mammals combine, under the pressure of exceptional circumstances, to emigrate. In this last case, it becomes a voluntary deviation from habitual moods of life. The combination sometimes appears in two or more degrees — the family first, then the group, and finally the association of groups, habitually scattered, but uniting in case of need, as we saw it with the bisons and other ruminants. It also takes higher forms, guaranteeing more independence to the individual without depriving it of the benefits of social life. With most rodents the individual has its own dwelling, which it can retire to when it prefers being left alone; but the dwellings are laid out in villages and cities, so as to guarantee to all inhabitants the benefits and joys of social life. And finally, in several species, such as rats, marmots, hares, etc., sociable life is maintained notwithstanding the quarrelsome or otherwise egotistic inclinations of the isolated individual. Thus it is not imposed, as is the case with ants and bees, by the very physiological structure of the individuals; it is cultivated for the benefits of mutual aid, or for the sake of its pleasures. And this, of course, appears with all possible gradations and with the greatest variety of individual and specific characters — the very variety of aspects taken by social life being a consequence, and for us a further proof, of its generality.[49]

Sociability — that is, the need of the animal of associating with its like — the love of society for society’s sake, combined with the “joy of life,” only now begins to receive due attention from the zoologists.[50] We know at the present time that all animals, beginning with the ants, going on to the birds, and ending with the highest mammals, are fond of plays, wrestling, running after each other, trying to capture each other, teasing each other, and so on. And while many plays are, so to speak, a school for the proper behaviour of the young in mature life, there are others, which, apart from their utilitarian purposes, are, together with dancing and singing, mere manifestations of an excess of forces — “the joy of life,” and a desire to communicate in some way or another with other individuals of the same or of other species — in short, a manifestation of sociability proper, which is a distinctive feature of all the animal world.[51] Whether the feeling be fear, experienced at the appearance of a bird of prey, or “a fit of gladness” which bursts out when the animals are in good health and especially when young, or merely the desire of giving play to an excess of impressions and of vital power — the necessity of communicating impressions, of playing, of chattering, or of simply feeling the proximity of other kindred living beings pervades Nature, and is, as much as any other physiological function, a distinctive feature of life and impressionability. This need takes a higher development and attains a more beautiful expression in mammals, especially amidst their young, and still more among the birds; but it pervades all Nature, and has been fully observed by the best naturalists, including Pierre Huber, even amongst the ants, and it is evidently the same instinct which brings together the big columns of butterflies which have been referred to already.

The habit of coming together for dancing and of decorating the places where the birds habitually perform their dances is, of course, well known from the pages that Darwin gave to this subject in The Descent of Man (ch. xiii). Visitors of the London Zoological Gardens also know the bower of the satin bower-bird. But this habit of dancing seems to be much more widely spread than was formerly believed, and Mr. W. Hudson gives in his master-work on La Plata the most interesting description, which must be read in the original, of complicated dances, performed by quite a number of birds: rails, jacanas, lapwings, and so on.

The habit of singing in concert, which exists in several species of birds, belongs to the same category of social instincts. It is most strikingly developed with the chakar (Chauna chavarria), to which the English have given the most unimaginative misnomer of “crested screamer.” These birds sometimes assemble in immense flocks, and in such cases they frequently sing all in concert. W.H. Hudson found them once in countless numbers, ranged all round a pampas lake in well-defined flocks, of about 500 birds in each flock.

“Presently,” he writes, “one flock near me began singing, and continued their powerful chant for three or four minutes; when they ceased the next flock took up the strains, and after it the next, and so on, until once more the notes of the flocks on the opposite shore came floating strong and clear across the water — then passed away, growing fainter and fainter, until once more the sound approached me travelling round to my side again.”

On another occasion the same writer saw a whole plain covered with an endless flock of chakars, not in close order, but scattered in pairs and small groups. About nine o’clock in the evening, “suddenly the entire multitude of birds covering the marsh for miles around burst forth in a tremendous evening song.... It was a concert well worth riding a hundred miles to hear.”[52] It may be added that like all sociable animals, the chakar easily becomes tame and grows very attached to man. “They are mild-tempered birds, and very rarely quarrel” — we are told — although they are well provided with formidable weapons. Life in societies renders these weapons useless.

That life in societies is the most powerful weapon in the struggle for life, taken in its widest sense, has been illustrated by several examples on the foregoing pages, and could be illustrated by any amount of evidence, if further evidence were required. Life in societies enables the feeblest insects, the feeblest birds, and the feeblest mammals to resist, or to protect themselves from, the most terrible birds and beasts of prey; it permits longevity; it enables the species to rear its progeny with the least waste of energy and to maintain its numbers albeit a very slow birth-rate; it enables the gregarious animals to migrate in search of new abodes. Therefore, while fully admitting that force, swiftness, protective colours, cunningness, and endurance to hunger and cold, which are mentioned by Darwin and Wallace, are so many qualities making the individual, or the species, the fittest under certain circumstances, we maintain that under any circumstances sociability is the greatest advantage in the struggle for life. Those species which willingly or unwillingly abandon it are doomed to decay; while those animals which know best how to combine, have the greatest chances of survival and of further evolution, although they may be inferior to others in each of the faculties enumerated by Darwin and Wallace, save the intellectual faculty. The highest vertebrates, and especially mankind, are the best proof of this assertion. As to the intellectual faculty, while every Darwinist will agree with Darwin that it is the most powerful arm in the struggle for life, and the most powerful factor of further evolution, he also will admit that intelligence is an eminently social faculty. Language, imitation, and accumulated experience are so many elements of growing intelligence of which the unsociable animal is deprived. Therefore we find, at the top of each class of animals, the ants, the parrots, and the monkeys, all combining the greatest sociability with the highest development of intelligence. The fittest are thus the most sociable animals, and sociability appears as the chief factor of evolution, both directly, by securing the well-being of the species while diminishing the waste of energy, and indirectly, by favouring the growth of intelligence.

Moreover, it is evident that life in societies would be utterly impossible without a corresponding development of social feelings, and, especially, of a certain collective sense of justice growing to become a habit. If every individual were constantly abusing its personal advantages without the others interfering in favour of the wronged, no society — life would be possible. And feelings of justice develop, more or less, with all gregarious animals. Whatever the distance from which the swallows or the cranes come, each one returns to the nest it has built or repaired last year. If a lazy sparrow intends appropriating the nest which a comrade is building, or even steals from it a few sprays of straw, the group interferes against the lazy comrade; and it is evident that without such interference being the rule, no nesting associations of birds could exist. Separate groups of penguins have separate resting-places and separate fishing abodes, and do not fight for them. The droves of cattle in Australia have particular spots to which each group repairs to rest, and from which it never deviates; and so on.[53] We have any numbers of direct observations of the peace that prevails in the nesting associations of birds, the villages of the rodents, and the herds of grass-eaters; while, on the other side, we know of few sociable animals which so continually quarrel as the rats in our cellars do, or as the morses, which fight for the possession of a sunny place on the shore. Sociability thus puts a limit to physical struggle, and leaves room for the development of better moral feelings. The high development of parental love in all classes of animals, even with lions and tigers, is generally known. As to the young birds and mammals whom we continually see associating, sympathy — not love — attains a further development in their associations. Leaving aside the really touching facts of mutual attachment and compassion which have been recorded as regards domesticated animals and with animals kept in captivity, we have a number of well certified facts of compassion between wild animals at liberty. Max Perty and L. Büchner have given a number of such facts.[54] J.C. Wood’s narrative of a weasel which came to pick up and to carry away an injured comrade enjoys a well-merited popularity.[55] So also the observation of Captain Stansbury on his journey to Utah which is quoted by Darwin; he saw a blind pelican which was fed, and well fed, by other pelicans upon fishes which had to be brought from a distance of thirty miles.[56] And when a herd of vicunas was hotly pursued by hunters, H.A. Weddell saw more than once during his journey to Bolivia and Peru, the strong males covering the retreat of the herd and lagging behind in order to protect the retreat. As to facts of compassion with wounded comrades, they are continually mentioned by all field zoologists. Such facts are quite natural. Compassion is a necessary outcome of social life. But compassion also means a considerable advance in general intelligence and sensibility. It is the first step towards the development of higher moral sentiments. It is, in its turn, a powerful factor of further evolution.

If the views developed on the preceding pages are correct, the question necessarily arises, in how far are they consistent with the theory of struggle for life as it has been developed by Darwin, Wallace, and their followers? and I will now briefly answer this important question. First of all, no naturalist will doubt that the idea of a struggle for life carried on through organic nature is the greatest generalization of our century. Life is struggle; and in that struggle the fittest survive. But the answers to the questions, “By which arms is this struggle chiefly carried on?” and “Who are the fittest in the struggle?” will widely differ according to the importance given to the two different aspects of the struggle: the direct one, for food and safety among separate individuals, and the struggle which Darwin described as “metaphorical” — the struggle, very often collective, against adverse circumstances. No one will deny that there is, within each species, a certain amount of real competition for food — at least, at certain periods. But the question is, whether competition is carried on to the extent admitted by Darwin, or even by Wallace; and whether this competition has played, in the evolution of the animal kingdom, the part assigned to it.

The idea which permeates Darwin’s work is certainly one of real competition going on within each animal group for food, safety, and possibility of leaving an offspring. He often speaks of regions being stocked with animal life to their full capacity, and from that overstocking he infers the necessity of competition. But when we look in his work for real proofs of that competition, we must confess that we do not find them sufficiently convincing. If we refer to the paragraph entitled “Struggle for Life most severe between Individuals and Varieties of the same Species,” we find in it none of that wealth of proofs and illustrations which we are accustomed to find in whatever Darwin wrote. The struggle between individuals of the same species is not illustrated under that heading by even one single instance: it is taken as granted; and the competition between closely-allied animal species is illustrated by but five examples, out of which one, at least (relating to the two species of thrushes), now proves to be doubtful.[57] But when we look for more details in order to ascertain how far the decrease of one species was really occasioned by the increase of the other species, Darwin, with his usual fairness, tells us:

“We can dimly see why the competition should be most severe between allied forms which fill nearly the same place in nature; but probably in no case could we precisely say why one species has been victorious over another in the great battle of life.”

As to Wallace, who quotes the same facts under a slightly-modified heading (“Struggle for Life between closely-allied Animals and Plants often most severe”), he makes the following remark (italics are mine), which gives quite another aspect to the facts above quoted. He says:

“In some cases, no doubt, there is actual war between the two, the stronger killing the weaker; but this is by no means necessary, and there may be cases in which the weaker species, physically, may prevail by its power of more rapid multiplication, its better withstanding vicissitudes of climate, or its greater cunning in escaping the attacks of common enemies.”

In such cases what is described as competition may be no competition at all. One species succumbs, not because it is exterminated or starved out by the other species, but because it does not well accommodate itself to new conditions, which the other does. The term “struggle for life” is again used in its metaphorical sense, and may have no other. As to the real competition between individuals of the same species, which is illustrated in another place by the cattle of South America during a period of drought, its value is impaired by its being taken from among domesticated animals. Bisons emigrate in like circumstances in order to avoid competition. However severe the struggle between plants — and this is amply proved — we cannot but repeat Wallace’s remark to the effect that “plants live where they can,” while animals have, to a great extent, the power of choice of their abode. So that we again are asking ourselves, To what extent does competition really exist within each animal species? Upon what is the assumption based?

The same remark must be made concerning the indirect argument in favour of a severe competition and struggle for life within each species, which may be derived from the “extermination of transitional varieties,” so often mentioned by Darwin. It is known that for a long time Darwin was worried by the difficulty which he saw in the absence of a long chain of intermediate forms between closely-allied species, and that he found the solution of this difficulty in the supposed extermination of the intermediate forms.[58] However, an attentive reading of the different chapters in which Darwin and Wallace speak of this subject soon brings one to the conclusion that the word “extermination” does not mean real extermination; the same remark which Darwin made concerning his expression: “struggle for existence,” evidently applies to the word “extermination” as well. It can by no means be understood in its direct sense, but must be taken “in its metaphoric sense.”

If we start from the supposition that a given area is stocked with animals to its fullest capacity, and that a keen competition for the sheer means of existence is consequently going on between all the inhabitants — each animal being compelled to fight against all its congeners in order to get its daily food — then the appearance of a new and successful variety would certainly mean in many cases (though not always) the appearance of individuals which are enabled to seize more than their fair share of the means of existence; and the result would be that those individuals would starve both the parental form which does not possess the new variation and the intermediate forms which do not possess it in the same degree. It may be that at the outset, Darwin understood the appearance of new varieties under this aspect; at least, the frequent use of the word “extermination” conveys such an impression. But both he and Wallace knew Nature too well not to perceive that this is by no means the only possible and necessary course of affairs.

If the physical and the biological conditions of a given area, the extension of the area occupied by a given species, and the habits of all the members of the latter remained unchanged — then the sudden appearance of a new variety might mean the starving out and the extermination of all the individuals which were not endowed in a sufficient degree with the new feature by which the new variety is characterized. But such a combination of conditions is precisely what we do not see in Nature. Each species is continually tending to enlarge its abode; migration to new abodes is the rule with the slow snail, as with the swift bird; physical changes are continually going on in every given area; and new varieties among animals consist in an immense number of cases — perhaps in the majority — not in the growth of new weapons for snatching the food from the mouth of its congeners — food is only one out of a hundred of various conditions of existence — but, as Wallace himself shows in a charming paragraph on the “divergence of characters” (Darwinism, p. 107), in forming new habits, moving to new abodes, and taking to new sorts of food. In all such cases there will be no extermination, even no competition — the new adaptation being a relief from competition, if it ever existed; and yet there will be, after a time, an absence of intermediate links, in consequence of a mere survival of those which are best fitted for the new conditions — as surely as under the hypothesis of extermination of the parental form. It hardly need be added that if we admit, with Spencer, all the Lamarckians, and Darwin himself, the modifying influence of the surroundings upon the species, there remains still less necessity for the extermination of the intermediate forms.

The importance of migration and of the consequent isolation of groups of animals, for the origin of new varieties and ultimately of new species, which was indicated by Moritz Wagner, was fully recognized by Darwin himself. Consequent researches have only accentuated the importance of this factor, and they have shown how the largeness of the area occupied by a given species — which Darwin considered with full reason so important for the appearance of new varieties — can be combined with the isolation of parts of the species, in consequence of local geological changes, or of local barriers. It would be impossible to enter here into the discussion of this wide question, but a few remarks will do to illustrate the combined action of these agencies. It is known that portions of a given species will often take to a new sort of food. The squirrels, for instance, when there is a scarcity of cones in the larch forests, remove to the fir-tree forests, and this change of food has certain well-known physiological effects on the squirrels. If this change of habits does not last — if next year the cones are again plentiful in the dark larch woods — no new variety of squirrels will evidently arise from this cause. But if part of the wide area occupied by the squirrels begins to have its physical characters altered — in consequence of, let us say, a milder climate or desiccation, which both bring about an increase of the pine forests in proportion to the larch woods — and if some other conditions concur to induce the squirrels to dwell on the outskirts of the desiccating region — we shall have then a new variety, i.e. an incipient new species of squirrels, without there having been anything that would deserve the name of extermination among the squirrels. A larger proportion of squirrels of the new, better adapted variety would survive every year, and the intermediate links would die in the course of time, without having been starved out by Malthusian competitors. This is exactly what we see going on during the great physical changes which are accomplished over large areas in Central Asia, owing to the desiccation which is going on there since the glacial period.

To take another example, it has been proved by geologists that the present wild horse (Equus Przewalski) has slowly been evolved during the later parts of the Tertiary and the Quaternary period, but that during this succession of ages its ancestors were not confined to some given, limited area of the globe. They wandered over both the Old and New World, returning, in all probability, after a time to the pastures which they had, in the course of their migrations, formerly left.[59] Consequently, if we do not find now, in Asia, all the intermediate links between the present wild horse and its Asiatic Post-Tertiary ancestors, this does not mean at all that the intermediate links have been exterminated. No such extermination has ever taken place. No exceptional mortality may even have occurred among the ancestral species: the individuals which belonged to intermediate varieties and species have died in the usual course of events — often amidst plentiful food, and their remains were buried all over the globe.

In short, if we carefully consider this matter, and, carefully re-read what Darwin himself wrote upon this subject, we see that if the word “extermination” be used at all in connection with transitional varieties, it must be used in its metaphoric sense. As to “competition,” this expression, too, is continually used by Darwin (see, for instance, the paragraph “On Extinction”) as an image, or as a way-of-speaking, rather than with the intention of conveying the idea of a real competition between two portions of the same species for the means of existence. At any rate, the absence of intermediate forms is no argument in favour of it.

In reality, the chief argument in favour of a keen competition for the means of existence continually going on within every animal species is — to use Professor Geddes’ expression — the “arithmetical argument” borrowed from Malthus.

But this argument does not prove it at all. We might as well take a number of villages in South-East Russia, the inhabitants of which enjoy plenty of food, but have no sanitary accommodation of any kind; and seeing that for the last eighty years the birth-rate was sixty in the thousand, while the population is now what it was eighty years ago, we might conclude that there has been a terrible competition between the inhabitants. But the truth is that from year to year the population remained stationary, for the simple reason that one-third of the new-born died before reaching their sixth month of life; one-half died within the next four years, and out of each hundred born, only seventeen or so reached the age of twenty. The new-comers went away before having grown to be competitors. It is evident that if such is the case with men, it is still more the case with animals. In the feathered world the destruction of the eggs goes on on such a tremendous scale that eggs are the chief food of several species in the early summer; not to, say a word of the storms, the inundations which destroy nests by the million in America, and the sudden changes of weather which are fatal to the young mammals. Each storm, each inundation, each visit of a rat to a bird’s nest, each sudden change of temperature, take away those competitors which appear so terrible in theory.

As to the facts of an extremely rapid increase of horses and cattle in America, of pigs and rabbits in New Zealand, and even of wild animals imported from Europe (where their numbers are kept down by man, not by competition), they rather seem opposed to the theory of over-population. If horses and cattle could so rapidly multiply in America, it simply proved that, however numberless the buffaloes and other ruminants were at that time in the New World, its grass-eating population was far below what the prairies could maintain. If millions of intruders have found plenty of food without starving out the former population of the prairies, we must rather conclude that the Europeans found a want of grass-eaters in America, not an excess. And we have good reasons to believe that want of animal population is the natural state of things all over the world, with but a few temporary exceptions to the rule. The actual numbers of animals in a given region are determined, not by the highest feeding capacity of the region, but by what it is every year under the most unfavourable conditions. So that, for that reason alone, competition hardly can be a normal condition but other causes intervene as well to cut down the animal population below even that low standard. If we take the horses and cattle which are grazing all the winter through in the Steppes of Transbaikalia, we find them very lean and exhausted at the end of the winter. But they grow exhausted not because there is not enough food for all of them — the grass buried under a thin sheet of snow is everywhere in abundance — but because of the difficulty of getting it from beneath the snow, and this difficulty is the same for all horses alike. Besides, days of glazed frost are common in early spring, and if several such days come in succession the horses grow still more exhausted. But then comes a snow-storm, which compels the already weakened animals to remain without any food for several days, and very great numbers of them die. The losses during the spring are so severe that if the season has been more inclement than usual they are even not repaired by the new breeds — the more so as all horses are exhausted, and the young foals are born in a weaker condition. The numbers of horses and cattle thus always remain beneath what they otherwise might be; all the year round there is food for five or ten times as many animals, and yet their population increases extremely slowly. But as soon as the Buriate owner makes ever so small a provision of hay in the steppe, and throws it open during days of glazed frost, or heavier snow-fall, he immediately sees the increase of his herd. Almost all free grass-eating animals and many rodents in Asia and America being in very much the same conditions, we can safely say that their numbers are not kept down by competition; that at no time of the year they can struggle for food, and that if they never reach anything approaching to over-population, the cause is in the climate, not in competition.

The importance of natural checks to over-multiplication, and especially their bearing upon the competition hypothesis, seems never to have been taken into due account The checks, or rather some of them, are mentioned, but their action is seldom studied in detail. However, if we compare the action of the natural checks with that of competition, we must recognize at once that the latter sustains no comparison whatever with the other checks. Thus, Mr. Bates mentions the really astounding numbers of winged ants which are destroyed during their exodus. The dead or half-dead bodies of the formica de fuego (Myrmica sævissima) which had been blown into the river during a gale “were heaped in a line an inch or two in height and breadth, the line continuing without interruption for miles at the edge of the water.”[60] Myriads of ants are thus destroyed amidst a nature which might support a hundred times as many ants as are actually living. Dr. Altum, a German forester, who wrote a very interesting book about animals injurious to our forests, also gives many facts showing the immense importance of natural checks. He says, that a succession of gales or cold and damp weather during the exodus of the pine-moth (Bombyx pini) destroy it to incredible amounts, and during the spring of 1871 all these moths disappeared at once, probably killed by a succession of cold nights.[61] Many like examples relative to various insects could be quoted from various parts of Europe. Dr. Altum also mentions the bird-enemies of the pine-moth, and the immense amount of its eggs destroyed by foxes; but he adds that the parasitic fungi which periodically infest it are a far more terrible enemy than any bird, because they destroy the moth over very large areas at once. As to various species of mice (Mus sylvaticus, Arvicola arvalis, and A. agrestis), the same author gives a long list of their enemies, but he remarks: “However, the most terrible enemies of mice are not other animals, but such sudden changes of weather as occur almost every year.” Alternations of frost and warm weather destroy them in numberless quantities; “one single sudden change can reduce thousands of mice to the number of a few individuals.” On the other side, a warm winter, or a winter which gradually steps in, make them multiply in menacing proportions, notwithstanding every enemy; such was the case in 1876 and 1877.[62] Competition, in the case of mice, thus appears a quite trifling factor when compared with weather. Other facts to the same effect are also given as regards squirrels.

As to birds, it is well known how they suffer from sudden changes of weather. Late snow-storms are as destructive of bird-life on the English moors, as they are in Siberia; and Ch. Dixon saw the red grouse so pressed during some exceptionally severe winters, that they quitted the moors in numbers, “and we have then known them actually to be taken in the streets of Sheffield. Persistent wet,” he adds, “is almost as fatal to them.”

On the other side, the contagious diseases which continually visit most animal species destroy them in such numbers that the losses often cannot be repaired for many years, even with the most rapidly-multiplying animals. Thus, some sixty years ago, the sousliks suddenly disappeared in the neighbourhood of Sarepta, in South-Eastern Russia, in consequence of some epidemics; and for years no sousliks were seen in that neighbourhood. It took many years before they became as numerous as they formerly were.[63]

Like facts, all tending to reduce the importance given to competition, could be produced in numbers.[64] Of course, it might be replied, in Darwin’s words, that nevertheless each organic being “at some period of its life, during some season of the year, during each generation or at intervals, has to struggle for life and to suffer great destruction,” and that the fittest survive during such periods of hard struggle for life. But if the evolution of the animal world were based exclusively, or even chiefly, upon the survival of the fittest during periods of calamities; if natural selection were limited in its action to periods of exceptional drought, or sudden changes of temperature, or inundations, retrogression would be the rule in the animal world. Those who survive a famine, or a severe epidemic of cholera, or small-pox, or diphtheria, such as we see them in uncivilized countries, are neither the strongest, nor the healthiest, nor the most intelligent. No progress could be based on those survivals — the less so as all survivors usually come out of the ordeal with an impaired health, like the Transbaikalian horses just mentioned, or the Arctic crews, or the garrison of a fortress which has been compelled to live for a few months on half rations, and comes out of its experience with a broken health, and subsequently shows a quite abnormal mortality. All that natural selection can do in times of calamities is to spare the individuals endowed with the greatest endurance for privations of all kinds. So it does among the Siberian horses and cattle. They are enduring; they can feed upon the Polar birch in case of need; they resist cold and hunger. But no Siberian horse is capable of carrying half the weight which a European horse carries with ease; no Siberian cow gives half the amount of milk given by a Jersey cow, and no natives of uncivilized countries can bear a comparison with Europeans. They may better endure hunger and cold, but their physical force is very far below that of a well-fed European, and their intellectual progress is despairingly slow. “Evil cannot be productive of good,” as Tchernyshevsky wrote in a remarkable essay upon Darwinism.[65]

Happily enough, competition is not the rule either in the animal world or in mankind. It is limited among animals to exceptional periods, and natural selection finds better fields for its activity. Better conditions are created by the elimination of competition by means of mutual aid and mutual support.[66] In the great struggle for life — for the greatest possible fulness and intensity of life with the least waste of energy — natural selection continually seeks out the ways precisely for avoiding competition as much as possible. The ants combine in nests and nations; they pile up their stores, they rear their cattle — and thus avoid competition; and natural selection picks out of the ants’ family the species which know best how to avoid competition, with its unavoidably deleterious consequences. Most of our birds slowly move southwards as the winter comes, or gather in numberless societies and undertake long journeys — and thus avoid competition. Many rodents fall asleep when the time comes that competition should set in; while other rodents store food for the winter, and gather in large villages for obtaining the necessary protection when at work. The reindeer, when the lichens are dry in the interior of the continent, migrate towards the sea. Buffaloes cross an immense continent in order to find plenty of food. And the beavers, when they grow numerous on a river, divide into two parties, and go, the old ones down the river, and the young ones up the river and avoid competition. And when animals can neither fall asleep, nor migrate, nor lay in stores, nor themselves grow their food like the ants, they do what the titmouse does, and what Wallace (Darwinism, ch. v) has so charmingly described: they resort to new kinds of food — and thus, again, avoid competition.[67]

“Don’t compete! — competition is always injurious to the species, and you have plenty of resources to avoid it!” That is the tendency of nature, not always realized in full, but always present. That is the watchword which comes to us from the bush, the forest, the river, the ocean. “Therefore combine — practise mutual aid! That is the surest means for giving to each and to all the greatest safety, the best guarantee of existence and progress, bodily, intellectual, and moral.” That is what Nature teaches us; and that is what all those animals which have attained the highest position in their respective classes have done. That is also what man — the most primitive man — has been doing; and that is why man has reached the position upon which we stand now, as we shall see in the subsequent chapters devoted to mutual aid in human societies.

[anonsally]

Day 2 in Chile: Birding along the central coast

After a decent night's sleep, we got up early this morning for our birding tour. The guide and a driver picked us up at 8am and we had an epic day of birding! It was cold but mostly sunny, so not as cold as yesterday except when it was very windy. The guide told us that this is one of the best times of year to visit Chile, bird-wise, because a lot of birds that breed further south migrate here in the winter... as do a lot of birds who breed further north!

We did spend a lot of the day in the car in between birding, but that was fine actually as it gave Wife (who is an introvert) a break from interacting and it also meant less time in the sun and wind. And we saw lots of birds, nearly all of which were new for me.

The guide hasn't shared the eBird list with me yet so I'm sure I won't remember everything, but here's what I remember (not chronologically, and I've tried to put my favorites near the top, but not really in order and they were all exciting in one way or another):

Humboldt penguins! We were pretty lucky; I think there were about 30 of them hanging out on a small island preserve very close to the beach.

Inca terns. These were very beautiful and unusual-looking terns, dark grey with long white whiskers and red beaks, with a yellow spot at the base, and red feet.

Grey gulls starting to get their breeding plumage. I thought these were very cute, elegant gulls.

A giant hummingbird. Which... is not an exaggeration. It was enormous. Too big to hover. But clearly hummingbird shaped. Totally incongruous!

Tufted tit-tyrant. (The Tufted Tit-Tyrants is my new band.) Probably one of the cutest birds I've ever seen.

Peruvian boobies

Peruvian pelicans--not too different from the brown pelicans we see at home, but larger.

Three kinds of cormorant: Most were neotropic cormorants, but we also saw a couple of guanay cormorants, and several of the very beautiful red-legged cormorant.

Southern lapwings. Kind of a patchwork pattern of coloration.

Two rufous-chested dotterels, one of which was getting its breeding plumage.

Three kinds of cinclodes: gray-flanked (which breed in the Andes but winter on rocky beaches), seaside (larger), and (I think?) buff-winged.

Two kinds of oystercatchers: blackish and American (I don't think I'd seen the American kind before; the ones in California are black oystercatchers).

Yellow-billed pintails

Yellow-billed teals

Diuca finches

Lake duck (similar to a ruddy duck)

Rufous-collared sparrows (apparently more common than house sparrows in Chile, and infinitely cuter!)

Coscoroba swans, which looked less mean and more friendly than our usual swans

red-gartered coots

Great shrike-tyrants

Long-tailed meadowlark. Startlingly red face and front.

Chimango caracaras, which were the raptors I'd seen on the way from the airport. Apparently there are no corvids here, but these fill that ecological niche. We saw two of them eating a dead meadowlark.

Dusky tapaculo. The guide made limited use of playback in the one foresty stop. This bird is very shy but we did manage to get a decent view of it.

Variable hawk.

Harris's hawk

Great grebes

White-tufted grebes

Brown-hooded gulls

Chilean mockingbirds

Two kinds of swallows: blue-and-white and Chilean

Chiloe wigeons

black vultures

a rufous-tailed plantcutter

Austral thrushes

Austral blackbirds

We also saw sea lions and a couple of otters!

We had them drop us off at a restaurant in Viña Del Mar, which saved them some driving and meant we could try a restaurant we were interested in. We drank Pisco sours (a great cocktail!) and--as usual--ordered too much food. Then we managed to get a bus back to Valparaíso and had a steep walk back up to the hotel, as the funiculars don't run late.

[ethernetmeep]

whenever i dream there is a few set locations that are familiar to me. funnily enough, these locations don’t exist in reality— they are locations made for a dream, only exist in a dream, and yet are experienced more than once. one of these locations is a long, extraneous wetland of sorts. there is tall grass & in most of my dreams i am unable to do more than look out into the water & yearn someday to be apart of it. however, in one of my dreams today, i was able to experience it myself. i was able to stand near the sand & float in the water & ask someone on their boat if i was able to come along. there was a switch they flipped, of sorts, and once flipped the water started moving a different direction & animals started to appear. i was tasked with not touching any of them. i agreed; they are all wild animals, and i wish to respect their beings. i floated head first into a duck, saw a horse, tiger, so many miscellaneous creatures. i was able to step onto a small island where the establishment of the people with the boat lay. there were even more creatures there— i took photos, to the best of my ability. i was able to help them with octopus breeding & viewing populations on another, separate island. i saw a huge cicada & several mantises. on the horizon, i turned & saw several huge buildings— nuclear power plants on the water. i was captivated with everything, truly captivated.

of course, we cannot sit & enjoy everything forever— the dream eventually ends, the world in it dies. the dream i had after that consisted of finding dorms to stay in, however they are not that of a usual dorm and go on continuously like a line. all the rooms are generally small, which makes sense, but its less of a square and.. well, i mean i already said it. theres something profound to my dreams, where i both am running to and from many things. in one dorm, there were too many people— too crowded. in another, the structuring was simply off. in the last one which i settled in, i then have to deal with reality looming over my shoulders. literally? literally. it is so… odd, and i cant describe why or how. apparently my room in the shared dorm (which is more kinda like an RV, now that i say it) has a huge window & is near a pond. i make a snow cone. it is small. i believe i try to offer this snow cone, attempt at humanity, but we all know how those end. i waded in the water & had person i recognize sit on rocks in the distance. didnt talk to him, obviously. i didnt get to enjoy the great egrets as much as i wanted to. i seem to never get to enjoy things as much as i want to, in most of my dreams. its infuriating.

of course, waking up & writing about it begs the question of if all my dreams are like this. i had one previously during the morning about gravity falls & what would happen if there was a one off made about how bill can still see through the people he’s possessed. there was a knight in that dream, hues of dark blue & violet, covered in flowers. there was so much of a mix it’s incomprehensible to name it all now.

to be honest, i think the worst dreams are when its a decent structure & you’re genuinely having fun in this temporary world & it gets ruined. awful dreams are when they include snippets from reality & make you go haha, remember that? remember this funny thing? yeah, how youre like evil and need to be killed & how uncomfortable it is to be around you? remember that, here it is.

anyway idk how to end this. thank you for reading & looking at my blog as always, its so odd im seen but its nice. hashtag make dreams less awful.

[vallorouslly]

The beauty is something he may never truly get accustomed to. There is a moment in which he wonders about the ethics of a rather innocent swim, but then the thought comes to a halt when the realization hits that Asgardians would do no harm like that which humans would to a place like this. The melancholic frustration hits him like a train and he is easy to let his gaze wander to Thor. He drinks this place in on another level. It's quite a privilege to witness. Like he's finally come to a place he may call home again.

The jovial tone to his voice saturates the moment and their comradery seems to shift. Logan begins removing his holster from his belt loops when Thor strips with such ease that Logan knows he is of a different breed. Cheeks momentarily grow warm at the sight of him, such a pure specimen and suddenly he's jumping in. Offering a perfect distraction to remove his jeans and remain in shirt and boxers. He will not suffer the hardship of denim chafe on the way back to the ship. Nor is he quite comfortable yet with Thor seeing the totality of his scarring.

Eyes watch Thor through the crystal clear water and earns the god a smirk as Logan jumps in head first. The temperature mildly shocks his system aside from the way this water feels so lightweight, as if it's clean and pure. It simply allows him to glide along unhindered. As he surfaces, running a hand back through his hair, he noticed his entire body is tingling, catching his breath to swim nearer to Thor though he gazes around them, below them, in awe.

"What, you thought I was just gonna supervise and let you have all the fun?" He teases with a smile, daring a gentle splash of the water at the god before he notices the way it shimmers with a slight blue light around their disruptions. Another gentle smile and Logan takes a soft breath to hold, ducking under the surface to glide through, staring at the bottom of the cave. There appear to be some deposits of some sort of flora deep down, on the sides there's some stones and gleaming shimmers that make him wince. Returning to break the surface, deep breath in before he speaks. "This place is amazing."

[ ϟ ]—There was still residual warmth left where Logan's hand had clasped his, a brief lingering but still carrying some unspoken familiarity in it. A tether of sorts, somehow grounding the thunderer in the moment.

Ther ease with which he allowed himself to be led was mildly strange, the god who so often strode ahead, who so often dictated the path. And yet, on this verdant world that hummed with life, with that certain something that thunderer had yearned for for so long, he allowed himself to follow without question.

Elation grows, expands with every inhale of breath, and fuels the burst of energy in his being, urging him into a sprint that is trailed by joy-filled laughter.

Cave mouth yawns wide, and there are several loud exhales, the god shifting his stance as he surveys the descent. Not quite a challenge - there is no battle here, no fear to be conquered - merely the quiet thrill of discovery, of movement, of existing in the wake of Logan's infectious energy.

For a moment realization overcomes him, how rare it is, how seldom he has known such moments untainted by duty or expectation, how long it has been since he had simply... lived.

The climb that follows is effortless, massive body still accustomed to such exertions, and when reaching the cavern floor Thor's breath catches. The lake gleams, alive with its own luminescence, light curling across its surface like a whisper of something divine. Not akin to Asgard's golden spires or the wild, untamed expanses of storm or even their lakes, tucked away between the mountain ranges, but in the way a secret is beautiful - hidden, waiting, untouched by the weight of the outside world.

Carrying its own, enticing Seidr magic.. he could feel it reaching for his own from the depths...

Cutting through the god's reverie is Logan's voice, twinged with familiar mischief, grin responded to with a mirrored one by the Asgardian.

A huff of breath is released then, half amusement, half something fonder, deeper in nature, and rolling his shoulders, letting the tension that so often coils there slip free as he steps forward.

' You speak as if there is even a question.'

Thor's grin turns softer then, large arms stretching only momentarily before all clothing is disposed of, plucked away from his body in the most urgent and unceremonious fashion. What follows is a final flex of muscle, and then the leap, the rush of air sharp against his skin before the water swallows him whole.

It is shockingly cool, wrapping around him like silk, and as he breaches the surface with a low, rumbling laugh, hars shake of wet golden locks send droplets scattering into the cavern air.

' Well? ' A brow is raised then, voice laced with mirth. 'Have you not the mettle to follow? '

[tsumtsumrry]

Sex Therapist

WC: 3.3k 

warnings: riding the tiger (thigh riding), unprotected sex, language, a pinch of fluff, bit of soft dom!harry, a teensy bit of a breeding kink, and kinda pwp (porn without plot) 

and he’s not actually a sex therapist 

He’s striding towards the door with you trailing behind him, attempting to apologize for the fact that you weren’t even present the whole time he was literally inside you.

“Yeah, sorry. I just don’t―” 

“Think it’s gonna work out? Yeah I gathered that.” he scoffs, his voice laced with venom. 

Yet another one night stand gone to shit.

“I’m sorry―” you insist but he opens the door and walks right out of it before you can even finish your sentence.

It wasn’t entirely your fault, it wasn’t interesting, nothing made you want to be present. He just wasn’t doing it for you. 

Yeah his ego must’ve taken a blow but it’s better than “leading him on”, per se, and having him finish while you just sit there and regret it all. 

You blow a frustrated raspberry and walk over to your couch to plump yourself down on it, immediately regretting even talking to him at that bar tonight. He could’ve been a bit nicer about the whole thing. Even though you know you shouldn’t, you can’t help but feel a little guilty, and the way he seemed so disappointed only made you feel worse. God, you really need to grow a fucking backbone. 

The worst part is you feel painfully sexually frustrated but you aren’t even in the mood to touch yourself, you just need someone to fix it for you. You desperately need someone to fix it for you. 

You opt for just eating dinner, having a long bath and going to sleep, hopefully by tomorrow this dreadful overflow of sexual desire will leave you with some rest 

Wishful thinking.

                                                          🟔

“Delicious, don’t ya think?” 

You nod and hum and the taste of the pie, somehow it’s unlike any other you’ve tasted and you can’t thank Harry enough for introducing it to you.

“This is like heaven. How in the world did you find these?” you breathe out, your voice in something like a breathy daze like drawl. 

“A friend of a friend.” He says, chuckling at your current state. He can’t even blame you though, it really is that good. 

“I fucking love your friends.” You mumble and he chuckles with squinted eyes.

“‘Kay, now that I’ve loosened you up with food, mind telling me what’s been going on with you lately?” He says, his tone bordering a coax. It surprises you, the fact that he noticed and the fact that he’s bold enough to ask.

You and him don’t talk all that much, you have mutual friends, and when he’s in town he always says that you’re the first person he calls, but you don’t really believe him. It’s probably something he says just to be kind, that is his brand after all. 

“Hmm?” you pretend to be clueless, taking another bite of pie. You could always lie, it’s not like he’d know the difference, right? 

“You’ve been so, like, tense? I don’t know how to explain it but I can literally feel how on edge you are.”

Harry notices you’re looking anywhere but at him and he ducks his head to try and catch your line of vision, “hmm? What’s going on? You okay?” 

Your heart flutters a bit at his genuine concern, but you know you still can’t vocalize the fact that you desperately need to get laid to someone you loosely consider a friend. 

“M’fine, Harry,” you notice his look of pure disbelief, “really, I am.” 

“You sure? Like I said I can feel how tense you are, and I’m never wrong about these kinds of things…” he trails off, his eyes flicking to the movement of you licking some of the pie remnant off of your bottom lip. “You can tell me, you know. I don’t bite and I’ve been told I’m a great listener. 

You bite your lip in thought and once again his eyes follow, only this time you catch it. 

It’s when he says your name with genuine worry in his voice that you finally look him in the eye and open your mouth to speak. 

“Okay you have to promise not to laugh, or, like, judge.” you rush out, honestly not believing you’re actually doing this. It kind of helps that you and him aren’t all that close, it’s easier to tell him that it would be to tell someone else. He also just radiates charm and comfort, something that you’re sure he’s using to his advantage. 

“I promise. Already told you I’m a great listener, love. Now what’s been bothering you?” 

“I just, I’ve been so wound up and I can’t seem to fix it.” you finally say, hoping he gets what you mean by “wound up”.

“Well I usually meditate, trust me it works wonders. And if you really need it I’m sure I could book like one of those cool masseuse thingies for you.” 

You groan quietly and he frowns.

“No, H, I―I’ve been wound up.” You stress the words more and you can see exactly when the realization flashes in his eyes. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

“Well, do you have any problems with, like, finding people?” he offers quietly, trying to allude to one night stands.

“Yes actually. They can never―”

“Get you off?” he quips and your breath stutters with laughter. You mumble a small “yeah” and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head. 

“You ever tell them what you want?” he asks and you frown. You’ve just realized that no, no you don’t. 

“No…” you mumble. 

“Well there it is.” he says with a tone of finality and you pout. 

“I mean I know I should, but sometimes I don’t wanna be giving cues while I’m having sex with someone, you know?” you speak softly, almost like you're embarrassed and you guess Harry can tell, because next time he speaks he makes sure his voice is soft and reassuring. 

“No I get it, but you know most blokes are pretty lost when it comes to pleasing a woman in the bedroom. I know it must suck but you gotta help ‘em out a bit.”

“Yeah…” you pout again and Harry smiles softly at it, “I just want someone to like, know me, you know? Or just know a woman’s body in general.” 

“I get it, love. Can I give you a tip?” he says , his eyes swimming with something you can’t quite pin down.

“Sure.”

“Tell them exactly what you want, every single thing. Being vocal is very important. Everything you’re feeling or not feeling, you should tell them.”

“Everything?” 

“Everything.” He says, looking you right in the eyes as he’s fiddling with his pretty rings. He leans down to get another bite of pie and you look around in thought.

You feel stupid for what you’re about to ask but you feel like you owe it to yourself to really get all you can from this rare type of conversation you’re sure you won’t have with anyone else besides a sex therapist. “Do you have any idea of what I should like...say?” 

Harry pauses his chewing and his eyebrows raise in the slightest, you catch a tick in his jaw and you immediately regret asking the question. But just like he has been this whole night, he seems to read your mind and instantly answers your question like it’s the most casual thing he’s ever heard. 

“For example,” he clears his throat, “if something feels good you can say good, if it’s not doing anything for you, tell them, and tell them how to...make it feel good.” 

“And if they still don’t do it right?” 

“Find someone new.”

“I feel like I’ve looked everywhere.” 

“Maybe you need someone familiar.” 

You can tell he almost regretted it when he said it, but there was also something of what seemed like determination in his eyes. You can only imagine the mental battle he’s having right now. 

“Someone...familiar?” You say, your tone is nothing less than breathless.

“Mhm...someone you know, someone you trust, someone that can take care of you.” You know Harry’s noticed your change in breathing, the way you tried to subtly press your thighs together, you know he’s noticed and that’s why his voice has lowered to a calculated sultry tone that you know he only reserves for times like this. He’s downright seducing you and you don’t seem to have a problem with it, “any ideas?”

Now he’s just teasing. 

You shake your head no, your breaths coming out as shallow puffs. 

It’s only now you noticed that he’s been leaning in, he positions his mouth near your ear and his breath makes your entire body erupt in goosebumps, “do you want me to show you what it’s like? Hmm? Show you what it’s like to be cared for?”

You’ll be embarrassed later for how fast you agree, but that’s not important right now. 

“Can I touch, pretty girl?” he whispers, pressing kisses below your ear, smirking when you gasp. “Hmm? Can I?”

“Yes. Please.” 

All you get is a hum in response. He’s been keeping his hands to himself the entire time, but as soon as you gave the okay, his large hands moved to your thigh, trailing higher and higher but never quite getting where you want. 

“Gonna let me kiss you?” he whispers again and you nod quickly. As soon as his lips envelop yours you let out a satisfied sigh, one that he returns with a hum and a small smile. 

He moves his hands to your waist, swiftly ridding you of your leggings and your underwear after he asks for consent, his lips quirking from how quickly you said yes. 

You notice him pause, he’s watching you with dark, hungry eyes, almost like he’s trying to figure out what to do with you. You feel sort of self conscious sitting here all exposed. You go to put your legs together but you’re immediately stopped by what sounds like a disappointed tut. Harry shakes his head, ‘don’t. Please.” 

“Do somethin’ for me?” he asks and you nod softly. He pats his right thigh and you immediately know what he’s insinuating, you can feel the wetness reach your thighs. 

You straddle his thigh, taking a sharp intake of breath when his muscles flex under you, directly on your core. 

“This okay?” he asks.

“Yes, yes. Please.”  

He smirks and places his hands on your hips, your eyes are squeezed shut, the butterflies that you feel all over overwhelming you. 

“Open your eyes, poppet. Look at me.” Harry rasps, his forest green eyes moving rapidly across your face like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory. “So pretty. Always thought you were so pretty.” 

You open your eyes, immediately meeting his, you can see them soften at the nervousness you’re sure is swimming in yours. 

“You okay? You’re comfortable with all this? You know we can stop. As soon as you aren’t comfortable.” Harry says, his voice staying hushed and low, creating what feels like a safe bubble around the two of you.

“Yeah, m’okay. Promise.” you whisper out, and he shoots you a reassuring smile. 

He rests his hands on your hips, tightening his grip when you hum and the warmth of his hands, and drags your hips in one slow, long roll on his thigh, “so wet. Feels so nice and wet on my thigh” He marvels, committing to a rhythm of slow, sensual rolls, having you panting and moaning on top of him. 

“Look so pretty getting y’self off on my thigh like this. So fuckin’ pretty.” His thigh hitches up, causing you to gasp and crash down onto his chest. You nuzzle your head into his neck and he coos, bringing one of his hands up to your hair to pet you some. “Okay, baby?”

Baby. Your heart almost aches at the pet name. He’s really showing you what it feels like to be cared for. The whole nine yards. 

“Yeah, s’just...a lot. Feels really good.” you mumble into his neck, you can almost feel him shudder when your breath hits his skin. 

“Want more?” he whispers in your ear. You almost want to moan at how close he is.

“Yeah. Please.” 

He keeps one hair in your hair, caressing and petting you, while the other resumes the movements of your hips on his thigh, speeding up. You gasp out in a bit of surprise and he hums. The skin skin contact is driving you completely insane, the muscles on his thigh are so toned and firm and perfect, so so perfect. It feels perfect. 

You hadn’t realized you’ve been whispering it out loud until he coos at you yet again, squeezing your waist in encouragement. “Mhm. You’re so perfect.” he whispers. 

You feel the familiar simmering in your belly, the tightening feeling that makes you wonder if you’re actually going to explode, only this time it’s more intense. Probably because you’re proper turned on and have a guy under you that knows exactly what he’s doing and that thought, that thought just makes your release speed towards you faster.

“Harry.” you whine. “Gonna come. Please―”

“Go ‘head. Come all over my thigh, pretty girl. Make a mess of me. Please, I need to see it.” he encourages you, watching as you tremble on him and your eyes roll into the back of your head, letting the pleasure completely overtake you. 

You’re chanting out mindless praises and Harry’s comforting voice is helping you come down, ground you and make you feel safe. 

“Good girl. Did so good. Came so pretty.” he praises, pressing kisses to your shoulder. 

When your hand falls from his neck to his stomach, you immediately become aware of how hard he is. You look down, he’s hard, leaking even and you have no idea what’s come over you but you want it so bad. 

“Harry.” 

“Hmm, baby?” he whispers back, still peppering kisses all over your upper body. 

“Fuck me.”

He hums again, this one a little higher than the last and his lips finally break away from your body, “fuck you? Are you sure, love? I don’t wanna preas―” 

“You’re not. Please, please. I need you to fuck me.” 

“S’okay baby. I will. M’gonna fuck you.” 

“Thank you, thank you.” you chant, reaching down to give his cock, slow firm tugs. His mouth parts and he moans lowly, watching as your pretty hand works him, “condom?” he whispers, resuming his kisses on your skin. 

“M’clean, and on the pill. Don’t want one.” Now this, this is something you never do. You never go without a condom. But you just need him. You need him to the point where you don’t want any barriers in the way, you just want to feel him. And the thought of him filling you up, the thought of being filled up by Harry, is nearly sending you into overdrive. 

“I’m clean too, would never hurt you. You’re sure, though?” he double-checks. It’s downright mortifying how fast you nod. 

“Right. You ready for me?” he mutters and you look up to meet his eyes, dark green clouded with lust and you just want to get so fucking lost in them. You cannot believe how cliché and sappy and all you’ve done is hump his thigh like a teenager, but you can’t find it in you to care.  

“Please.” Is all you say. He lifts you up some and positions the tip at your entrance, swiping his cock between your folds, up to your clit and back down again, groaning at how wet you are. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous cunt.” he whispers, almost like he was saying it to himself. He finally slides himself in and you both gasp. He’s so...big.

Again you didn’t realize you'd said it out loud until he lets out a breathy chuckle, “thanks, baby. Y’pretty pussy is squeezing me so tight, fuck.” 

“Okay to move?” he whispers, nipping and sucking at your neck, humming every time you let out a breathy moan. 

“Yeah, please move.” you all but moan out. 

He lifts your hips up slowly, so so slowly, and brings them back down the same in a sensual roll. 

“Fuck.” he whines. And god is that the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. You love vocal men, hate it when they act like a rock and expect you to make all the noise. You’re so glad that Harry is one of the good ones. 

“You feel like a fucking dream, baby. So good on my cock.” he moans, directly into your ear and you shudder on top of him. 

You’re riding him, but he’s doing all the work, thrusting up into you and making you practically scream and tremble on top of him, “Oh my fuckin―Harry!” 

“That’s right, baby. You getting what you need? Tell me. Remember? You gotta tell me, sweet girl.” he rasps, moaning when you tighten around him at his words. 

“Yeah, yeah. S’good, so good.” you mumble, barely coherently as he scrambles your brain. 

He lays you down, hiking your leg over his shoulder and starts to get right back to fucking you into oblivion. A tingle runs down your spine at the new angle and you whimper out a weak call of his name. 

You’re both sweating, you start to meet his thrusts, watching as his mouth drops at the feeling. “Yeah, baby. Fuck me back. Just like that, sweet girl.” 

He can see it in your eyes, how much you want this release, scratch that, need this release, and he’s more than fucking willing to give it to you.

“You need to come? Hmm? Need me to rub your clit so you can come on my cock?” When you moan out a broken “yes” he tuts, “Tell me then. Tell me exactly what you need.” 

“Please rub my clit, Harry. Make me come, I need to come.” you mumble out. 

“Good girl. Such a good girl.” he says with so much pride and warmth in his voice you feel like melting into the couch. 

“Your good girl. Yours. Please.”

“Yeah, baby? All mine.” he leans down and for the first time tonight, he kisses your lips. And if you melted into the couch before you’re a puddle now. 

His thumb finally lands on your clit and he starts to rub tight, quick, circles, driving you so close to the brink so fast. 

“So close, so close. M’gonna come. Harry, please.” 

“Come for me, baby. Know you can. Soak my cock. I need to feel you.” he spews out encouragement, moaning along with you as yours become more frequent and loud. 

“Fuck yes, Harry.” is all you say before you go completely silent. Your mouth opening in a silent scream as you find your release, spasming uncontrollably on Harry, but his rhythm never falters.

“Good fucking girl. Christ.” he mumbles, not stopping his circles on your clit. 

“Please come for me, Harry.” you whine out, bringing your hands up to interlock behind his neck. 

“Yeah? Where do you want it?” he says, his voice sounding a beautiful type of strained.

“Inside. Inside me.” 

The only time Harry’s rhythm falters is when he hears those words. You’re gonna fucking ruin him.

“Bet you’re just fucking dying for me to fill you up, fill you with my cum. You love it don’t you?” he taunts you. 

“Yes. I want all of it.” 

“Gonna fuckin’ c-come” He whines loudly before he thrusts into you  five times in an uneven pattern and you can feel when it’s inside you. It’s so warm and primal and intimate and you don’t think anything compares to the feeling. 

“Baby.” he breathes out before he collapses on top of you, suddenly craving the skin to skin contact and warmth of your body. “You are...remarkable. For lack of a better word.” and you’re both giggling. 

“Mmm, y’so warm.” he whispers with a kiss to your slightly parted lips.

“Thank you. Thank you so much, H.”

“Anything for your angel face.” he smirks. 

[dimepdf]

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐔𝐏 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐎. + 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. in his defense, it was you who initially mentioned having baby fever. Toji wasn't at fault since you were the one who influenced him in getting you pregnant.

pairing. toji fushinguro x reader

genre and warnings. 18+ under cut MDNI, established relationship, pwp, body worship, manhandling, size difference, oral (female receiving), eating it from the BACK, fingering, pregnancy kink(?), breeding kink, dirty talk, stomach bulge, teasing, table fucking NOT BETA'D YET | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

There was just something about the feeling of your soft skin against his that had Toji wanting to press against you constantly, cherishing how wonderful your body was and exactly how reacted once his hands caressed it like you were the most variable thing dear to him in his life. 

He loved how easily he could control the movement of you hips just form the firm grip of his big hands guiding and lifting your body in the perfect position, how easily he could just lift you up and push you against the kitchen island to fuck you just how he had been thinking about all day.

His finger tracing down the curve of your arches back as your feet almost dangling from the floor, as your torso pressed against the smooth cold marble counter. “Let's get you outta these,” he hummed, hooking your panties under his fingers by the elastic and pulling them down to your thighs giving you just a little moment of space to shimmy them down to your feet to kicking them aside. 

His fingers roaming against the curve of your ass, enticing a small gasp to pull from your throat that sounded like music to Toji’s ear as he lowered to his knees his hands spreading open your thighs to dip his tongue between your legs and against your pussy. 

His hands reposition to have a better grasp of his fingers leaving an indent against the plush of your skin as his hand held you spread open just perfect for the other to toy with your pussy.

“stay still.” his low commanded the moment that your legs twitched from the feeling of his fingers slipping in between your wet lips and inside of you his entire attention pulled to how easily your cunt had clenched against his digits welcoming them to reach deeper inside of you. 

It was like ever since you had joked about having major baby fever, showing him a Tiktok of a couple and their adorable toddler being all cute. It was like you had switched something on in his brain. His hands not being able to be away from you as all he could think about was fucking you on every surfface in your home and stuffing you full until you were carrying his baby.

You struggle to hold yourself up against the counter, not bothering to cover any of your whines or whimpers as each time Toji curved his fingers inside of you sending a spark up your body the more he teases you with his fingers the more you felt like wobbly mess ready to melt into a puddle at any moment. “Please, Toji i can’t,” you had managed to stutter out, his breath from his small sigh brushing against your skin. 

“So needy, and for what?” he mutters biting back a smirk as he crawls closer between your legs, his fingers pulling out of you only to grab your thighs spreading them apart once more to duck in between them to get another taste. 

You had to stop yourself from pressing against this face the moment his tongue laps against your clit, pulling a long whine from your mouth as he holds you into place to eat you out.

He frees one of his hands from your leg to fumble against the material of his cotton pants, grinding into his hand to ease the throbbing erection that was trapped against his boxers. His moans of pleasure sending vibratees that sparked against the places that his tongue touched, the wet noises of him licking and sucking at your psusy like he was a feral animal making your first orgasm leaving you trembling your head ducking low against the counter as your body threatened to fall slack. 

Toji was a little less mericalful eating you out through the entire spasm of your high until he pulled away, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth and spinning you around and lifting you up by the back of your knees to lay with your back resting against the counter. 

He doesnt bother to hide his smirk, seeing you already all fucked out trying to catch your breath even as he leaned down to stick his tongue in your mouth making you get a taste of yourself, the kiss making your toes curl as your legs went to wrap around his hips yanking him forward the feeling of his dick bumping against the warmth between your thighs making him moan agianst your mouth. 

“Holy shit, it’s like youre begging to get fucked full princess.” you wanted to give back some sort of protest, hoping to find just a smidge of dignity left inside of you to bite back some saractist remark, but the moment that your mouth had opened Toji had pushed down his boxers and shoved the head of his cock inside of you with a shared groan.

“Shit,” Toji drags out, his rough pace not letting up as he holds himself together by a tight grasp around your lifted leg, the other pressing the pouch of your stomach already dizzy from feeling himself pistoning in and out of you. each thrust leaving you feeling entirely full as he buries himself to the hilt.

“Aw, you take my take so good, you just can’t wait for me to fuck you full, huh?” Toji grabs the arm that you had covering your face, pushing it away and grabbing your sternly by the chin forcing you to make eye contact with him just to see his hypnotizing pearly white smirk.

Titling your head up to ecasp from your grasp, he had already gotten the reaction he wanted from the moment you clenched tighter around him from the contact. Your hips jerking from the the feeling of his fingers instead finding themselves between your legs, rubbing rough circles against your clit with the flat his of thumb.

“Talk to me baby,” he encourages, your mouth opening to but failing to actually form any proper sentences from the relentless pace of his thrusts. You wanted to sob from how good he was making your body feel, from how cool his touch felt against the boiling temperature of your skin. 

Your stomach already tightening from just the sight of Toji starting to unravel from your pussy, his head ducking low as he spits out a string of swears his hands grasping around your hips to fuck into your even more harder then he was before. 

Your orgasm hitting you both hard as Toji grunts at the feeling of your pulsing against his dick, his body slumping down on top of you with an arm to hold up most of his weight.

His hips letting up chasing after that flame that had him moaning like a modern day porn star in your ear as he shot thick white strings inside of you. 

Making sure that he had filled you with every drop, the thought of him filling your tummy full making you light headed. “You okay baby?” you whispered as Toji caught his breath, his head hidden ducked around in the crook of your neck the feeling of his bare chest heaving against yours.

Your fingers went up to comb through the mess of his dark nest of hair, the vibration of him humming tickling your against your shoulder. 

“Fuck, okay, “ he huffs standing up straight, his eyes tracing down your body before grabbing you by the thighs and yanking you closer to the edge of the counter.  “Round two lets go.”

🔖 TAGGING IN RBG

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[synthetickitsune]

A Prince and His Flower ✧ k.sy

Pairing: Prince!Hoshi x reader Genre: fluff, royalty au/arranged marriage au Summary: You know that love is something to be overlooked for the sake of politics, but maybe you wish your upcoming marriage with Soonyoung was more than a practical affair. You try not to get your hopes up, not very successfully, but who could blame you when the prince seems as smitten with you as you are with him? Word count: 2k A/N: based on this imagine by @imagine-svt; I'm still not happy about how this turned out but I've already rewritten and edited this twice and I just love the idea so much and I've tried ㅠㅠ

It was arguably pretty random when Soonyoung asked you, hours earlier - and in hindsight it seems important to stress it was also only hours before the ball - about your favorite flower.

It was cute too. The way he tried to be nonchalant, but his cheeks soon had that pinkish tint to them as he went through the small talk he wrapped the question in. His hum was thoughtful, nod slow, as he took in your answer. It was… strange.  

Then again, Soonyoung is like that sometimes. You’ve learned it’s better to just humor him. He’s too stubborn and when he starts pouting, your heart and your will get too weak to resist him. It’s unfair. Honestly, you don’t understand how the future king can be so lovable and carefree when he’s chatting with you and yet so unyielding and wise during diplomatic meetings. How are you supposed to stay rational and unaffected when faced with that?

Sometimes you wonder if he had a say in choosing his future partner. He isn’t the type to let others dictate what his life is going to be like - well, at least not all of its aspects. Being a crown prince, his hands are pretty much tied. Of course he can’t live his life as he wants to, but from all that he’s told you, he doesn’t seem to mind the responsibility, and is preparing for his future role dutifully. At the same time, instead of horse riding and shooting ducks and whatnot, he demanded to learn how to dance. You found the idea ridiculous when you first heard about it - or rather the image of young Soonyoung stomping his feet and demanding his father, the king, to allow him to learn dance was too funny in your head. Months and many occasions of actually seeing him dance later, you have to say it was the best decision the king has ever made to let his son pursue his passion instead of forcing the traditional hobbies ‘fit for a king’ onto him. Not that he could avoid them completely, but they didn’t make up his entire personality - as was the case with some of the other princes you’ve met throughout your life.

So maybe it’s not all that impossible that he’d be the one to choose you as his future partner… right? 

You really have no idea why you keep hurting yourself thinking about it. It doesn’t matter, after all. One way or another, that’s how it is. Besides, your future marriage was decided long before you actually met. So even if it was him who suggested it, the reason behind it wouldn’t be the great chemistry you have now, or how easily you can communicate and make each other laugh, or how teasing and bickering come to you as naturally as supporting and comforting one another. None of that was true back then - you were strangers, barely even aware of each other’s existence. The reason for your marriage was, naturally, political. And that would remain to be true regardless of who came up with it. 

Maybe you just wished your life and marriage was different from breeding horses and dogs. Just something practical, meant to be efficient and to serve a purpose, to produce certain results.

Maybe you just wished there was more to it. Fate, perhaps, or something like love at first sight.

It was easy to fall in love with Soonyoung. Too easy. And it’s impossible to ignore those feelings - or to hide them you’re sure, even if you hope for the contrary. Again, you shouldn’t be blamed since you can’t help it. You love him. You just don’t want to. Because you can’t be sure it’s not all just your mind trying to protect itself - that’s what you tell yourself, despite knowing it’s more of a question whether he feels something towards you too. 

Of course, you’re the one who witnessed firsthand the growth of your relationship. You’ve seen it all - from the initial polite curiosity, to the genuine curiosity, to the fond and, you’d like to believe, loving gaze he wears whenever he looks at you. The one that makes your heart race. Soonyoung's feelings towards you are obviously warm. Maybe you'd be willing to believe he feels the same as you do, that he's just as in denial and protection mode as you are, if only you were thinking rationally.

But you're far from rationally thinking, stuck on the hurtful fact that no one takes your feelings seriously. That had the marriage not been arranged and were you feeling the same, and if they were mutual, nobody would care.

Sometimes you wish you were only mere commoners, allowed to fall in love and marry and not care about the impact your actions will have. Then you could have the marriage you wish for, based on mutual respect and love. One where he would watch you with those eyes of his, so full of love it’s suffocating.

He’s watching you now, with those loving eyes, from where he stands on the opposite side of the ball room. It’s too far to actually see him and the details on his face, but you’ve seen the way he looks at you more than enough times to know. You’re so stupid to be imagining it.

And he’s so stupid too. Watching you instead of paying attention to his advisors that are no doubt telling him how the ball will proceed or the introductions being made. Yet you still blush, your heart fluttering. You could almost imagine that your marriage is more than just a deal.

People often tell you that you sabotage your own happiness, and you wonder whether they’re right.

Because even though he’s looking at you like he can’t see anyone else, all you think about is how this could all be just a play he puts on. A lie you don’t even believe in yourself, but you try.

Because even as Soonyoung walks towards you, and you see the flower in his pocket and recognize it as your favorite, you focus on the logistics - the flower is native to your kingdom, hours away, there’s no way anything could be done to get it here in time - rather than the flower as a gesture. You have to, because if you don’t you might start believing it’s a sign of more than just an observance of formalities. 

“May I have this dance?” the prince smiles, offering you his hand. You accept, of course, and you try not to shiver at the perfect feeling of your hand in his. 

He guides you through the steps with practiced ease. You know he loves to dance and that he's a much better dancer than you. He’s a perfectionist, you remind yourself, and he must be annoyed with the mistakes you make and that’s why he holds you so tight, why he presses your bodies together any chance he gets. Anyone would be lucky to dance with him. He could make anyone look like they possess skills on par with his.

You avoid his eyes even though you feel his gaze on you. Instead your eyes remain glued to the flower. It reminds you of home, of your childhood and time long ago when you weren’t in love with a prince who’s all you could wish for. Is a genuinely love-filled marriage too much to ask for?

“It’s really pretty,” the prince says and it startles you enough that your eyes meet his. He noticeably perks up and you curse yourself. That tiny smile he wears is too adorable not to fall for. “I was thinking we could use them for our wedding too.”

Your steps falter, but he’s quick to adjust to it, making the mistake seem natural. 

“Is something wrong? You’ve been distant today,” he lowers his head and his voice, close enough that you could forget the world if you allowed yourself the luxury.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you tell him curtly. The wedding… It’d be beautiful, and you can’t say that you weren’t thinking that the flowers of your kingdom would be perfect. Maybe that’s why it hurts more. It doesn’t feel right planning a wedding with someone who’s just the perfect match in the current socio-political context.

“Look, I know everyone keeps staring at me,” he sighs, and it surprises you again. Now that you look around, you see that he’s right. Every man and woman is looking at Soonyoung, and despite your better judgment you use the next twirl to move closer to him. You see him biting his lip to start smiling and it’s not good for your heart. “I know, but I really tried to make them see I’m yours.”

Definitely not good for your heart. Your head spins and you blame it on the dancing.

“How did you get the flowers here?” you ask instead, try to deflect before you start overthinking. But he starts blushing and it’s just as lethal. He’s so nervous it’s you who has to correct him this time.

“I… I actually arranged for them to be grown here, in the greenhouses behind the castle,” he says and winces at your expression, “I’m sorry! I just wanted you to feel more at home here, and these were the only ones I remembered from my trip to your kingdom.”

Something about your shock must be registering in his brain as anger because he keeps whispering apologies and explanations and god, your friends were right, weren’t they? This isn’t something you do just to seem like the perfect husband in the eyes of the people of your partner’s kingdom.

“I wanted to propose to you with them. I thought it’d show I accept our differences - and I know it’s stupid, okay? I just wanted to do something romantic,” he deflates a little, but it matches the music, completely natural and inconspicuous to the onlookers. You think your heart is going to burst. You’re so stupid. He’s so stupid. “I know you’re not marrying me because you want to, but I really like you, and I want to grow old with you… even if you only like me as a-”

“Why didn’t you say something?” you hiss, and alright, you might be a little angry, or maybe it’s just the adrenaline, “God, Soonyoung, why didn’t you say you like me? I thought you only saw this as a business.” He looks as bewildered as you feel. 

“I thought it was obvious!” he whisper-shouts. It’s fortunate that you’re a little bit away from the other couples and the people standing around the room. “Do you think I’d sneak out for anyone else? Or give them private dance lessons? Or grow flowers for them - and don’t even get me started on that! That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done!”

“What are you talking about?” you try to mind your volume, you really do, “You got people for that!”

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t be right!” he argues right back and you’re really bringing too much attention to yourselves, “That wouldn’t be romantic at all! I wanted to do this for you and-”

You swear you’re not one to break the decorum. 

You never act in any way that could tarnish your or your kingdom’s reputation. 

So you have no idea why your arms are around Soonyoung’s neck and why you’re kissing him in front of everyone.

The music’s stopped, and he’s kissing back, and maybe they’re still playing you just can’t hear them over the heartbeat in your ears. 

You keep your eyes closed, so you can’t see the smiles on your and the prince’s fathers’ faces. But you hear the buzz around you and feel Soonyoung smile into the kiss and so you smile too.

Your friends were right. You should’ve realized, but having the prince confess makes up for the lost time, as does the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands around your waist pulling you so close to him. And perhaps, just perhaps, you like that everyone knows he’s yours and you’re his and that it’s not just for the show.

[spiritual-activity]

Headcanons! (Isaac & Nigel)

[Warning: Contains spoilers and talk of death (of course there will be)]

Have fun reading!

*Isaac*

I like to think that he is from Virginia, so he has a slight southern accent. He hides it well, but it does slip out every now and then. The accent does come out during specific pronunciations and whenever he is caught off guard. He doesn't hide it around Nigel, however.

The Iliad is one of his favorite Greek stories. Can and will recite it word for word. Give him a quote from it and he can tell exactly which book and line it came from.

This man is autistic. You can't tell me any different. The war was sensory hell for him. His handkerchief is essentially a main grounding object for him due to the texture. He will also fidget with the handkerchief when he is nervous. Prefers his room without too much light, but just enough to see (i.e. candles).

Has an extent amount of knowledge about horses. He grew up raising horses on the farms of either family members or family friends. He took great care of his horse (Chestnut- a bay-colored Arabian stallion) during the war since it reminded of the one he had took care of as a boy. Can name the breed of any horse just by looking at them for a second.

Tired a good chunk of the time. Dying of dysentery was not great- dehydration and malnourishment really took a toll on him in the afterlife. Some days, he can manage, but is really sluggish and attempts to hide it from everyone. Other times, it's hard to get out of the bed.

Has a scar on the left side of his face. Obtained said scar from trying to fix the bayonet onto the gun, dropping it and attempting to catch it, with the blade slicing him in the process. Proceeds to say he got it in a fight with another British soldier, but only few know the truth. (Nigel)

Loves giving Nigel top-of-the-head kisses due to his height.

Forgot everything he was originally going to say while proposing to Nigel. Practiced in the mirror for a full hour, went to go propose, then forgot everything due to nerves. Made up something he guessed was what he originally planned. Turned out great either way!

*Nigel*

Has named every duck on the property. Every duck has a different mannerism and/or marking that makes it subtle to tell which is which. Only him and a few other ghosts can tell which duck is which. (His favorite duck is Percy, a mallard that follows him around from time to time)

Has documented over 2 centuries worth of ant drama. By documented, I mean remembered everything and has not forgot a single event. He has given Isaac an overview of the lore so he can rant about what is going on in the ant colony.

Prefers The Odyssey over The Iliad. Him and Isaac have "debates" over which is superior. They both know that both stories are great on their own, but enjoys having to defend their favorite. It adds a bit of fun to their days.

Big on pet names for his beloved. Seems to come up with a different one every hour. Commonly used ones include: "love", "darling", and any variation of "dove" and "dear".

Enjoys the sudoku puzzles that Sam leaves out. Isaac joins him half of the time to assist in the solving. Record time to solve one alone is 5 minutes. With Isaac, 3 minutes.

Contrary to what Isaac says, Nigel fell first. Caught a glimpse across the field and saw him attempting to instruct his men on how to properly fix bayonets. It did not end well for Isaac, but Nigel thought it was adorable.

Complements Isaac's accent every chance he gets. Absolutely adores the accent.

Has a small poem book inside of his coat. He has most likely read it over 1000 times, and yet still enjoys it as well as the first time reading it.

There will be more to come!

[sukirichi]

true gift

A god like Naoya is about to see how his little mortal is hiding a true gift.

REQUEST.  deity au + virgin sacrifice for naoya + reader with worship kink

CONTENT/WARNINGS. virginity loss, naoya isn’t nice, mentions of blood,  murder, abduction, praise kink, slight degradation, fingering, overstimulation, slight breeding kink, creampie, orgasm denial, mentions of slavery, face fucking, reader is willingly consenting to pain, reader is a masochist, naoya is a sadist 

NOTES. ah...it feels so natural to write naoya...also can someone send me some good erotic hentai panels, yay <3

Today is the day – the one you’ve been prepared for ever since you’ve forced to make acquaintance with the blinding darkness and smell of rust.

What time is it? Is it morning, night...maybe somewhere in the middle?

There’s no telling, not when you’ve been staring at the pitch black darkness for what seems like forever. It’s been too long, so long, that you’ve forgotten what the world looks like. It’s like one day you’re helping your family tend to the farms when rough hands grabbed at you, and you’re shoved in a cold, dark cellar before you could even say good bye.

Oddly enough, the servants – or at least that’s what you assume they are, since they’ve been nothing but tight lipped and inherently obedient to a faceless figure – have taken extreme care of you.

Twice a day, they’d open the cellar, the sound of keys rustling and nearly muted footsteps like music into your ears. The slight sliver of light passing through from the outside is immediately concealed within a split second, a black smooth material wrapped around your eyes before they strip you off. Normally, you’d complain and fight back, but you’ve lost all the will to even defend yourself at this point.

You’ve given up a long time ago, and life’s been a lot more tolerable ever since.

Today isn’t any different. Maybe it was hours ago, two servants had came in to wash away the grime and dirt from your body before you felt something combing through your hair. Then, you felt it. A smooth, cold blade running up and down every inch of your body, rendering you immobile in fear even breathing could cut you open.

It didn’t. If anything, you felt a lot smoother, lighter, and freer.

“Is she bare?” an old, croaky feminine voice echoed in the small room, equally wrinkled hands removing the strap of your bra off before she lathers a rose-scented cream all over your body. “Naoya-sama prefers his slaves hair-free, you know that. Not even stubble is allowed, do you understand? Keep shaving her until she’s spotless.”

Naoya-sama.

So that’s where you were. It all made sense now.

For as long as you could remember, that name’s been spoken with terror, the slight tremble of voices and darkened eyes pooled with fear never absent in the presence of his name. You’ve never seen him, but you know enough to understand that he’s a prominent figure especially in your little village. He’s not human, but he’s not exactly a god either – at least, not one that people would willingly worship.

You’ve heard telltales on how his beauty alone had women dropping to their feet, the malice in those eyes of his enough to make even the strongest warriors stick to his side in fear of what he’s capable of.

He’s as old as time and as strong as the steady flow of the river you and your people have always bathed in. It doesn’t make sense that someone as fearsome as he was is living at the mountains where nothing but quiet, peaceful people rejoiced, but the more you think about it, of course he’d prefer his people submissive, heads always ducked in fear and shaking in terror.

This whole time, you thought you’d been sold off to a neighbouring clan head because your clan didn’t have enough funds to pay for the latest trade.

In a way, you’d feel a lot luckier if the former had happened instead, because there’s really no proper way of making sound of the fact you’re sacrificed to your own deity, Naoya Zen’in, after not completing your offerings to him for ten whole moons.

It’s bad, horribly so, and you should be shaking, should be crying, should be wishing for death instead, so then why are you deferential? You don’t complain when two rough hands pull you from the ground and keep your arms tight in shackles at your lower back, vision still obscured by this cloth as you’re guided somewhere – someplace that all the sacrificed women for your deity are received.

Your feet are sloppy and smacking against the hardwood floor, heart pulsing in your tongue for all the wrong reasons. Faintly, you can smell a rose-scented candle and water splashing, but it doesn’t register until you’re immersed under it.

You gasp, hair flattening onto your skin while you look around blindly, struggling to clutch onto something as your feet keep slipping into the tub.

You’ve never been into a tub before; much less recognize the soft, paper-like objects floating into the water with you. Head swaying side to side until water is sprayed everywhere, a firm hand keeps your head in place just as a pumice stone is scrubbed into your skin. It’s not painful, but the rough scraping sensation feels sensitive from your skin that hasn’t been exposed to normal, breathing air for who knows how long.

“Stop moving,” that same elderly voice commanded, and her assistants, most likely, move quickly into extending your limbs until you’re sprawled out everywhere. “We are to make you perfect, presentable, lavishing in front of our deity himself.”

“B-but —”

“You have no right to speak!” You’re left stunned as your cheek bruises red, lips wet from the water as you pant. The sting on your skin becomes more pronounced, but you dare not speak, opting to keep your lips shut instead. The elderly woman takes notice of your behaviour, humming before she makes you stand up, that same blade swiping down your exposed regions. “You learn fast and submit well. I think we have a worthy sacrifice for tonight.”

“She is gorgeous too, my Lady.”

“She should be,” comes a retort, your jaw clenched as you keep still. She forces your legs further apart until you’re embarrassingly exposed, the rose petals in the water sticking into some corners of your skin. “If she was not, she’d be dead already. It’s her pretty face that’s keeping her alive at this point.”

Everything is a blur after that.

One moment, they’re shaving you, the next you’re thrown from one body to another. They perform all sorts of things – towel drying your hair, exfoliating your skin, plucking your eyebrows to perfection before applying a shimmer to your cheeks and something sticky and glossy to your lips, then finally you feel the warmth of silk robes you could never afford even if you work yourself to death caressing your body.

After that, you’re locked inside a much bigger room, the blindfold falling off your face slowly.

You blink in surprise.

The room isn’t that dark, but dim enough, and your heart beats louder in your chest when you see the size of the room. It’s ten times bigger than your village meeting point, a large tatami bed sat in the middle. From one side, a window is open, allowing you to see the white illumination of the moonlight that looks hauntingly romantic.

Candles are lit on either sides of the room, and your gaze lands on odd whip-like weapons placed proudly on the walls.

Your legs are wobbly as you stand, life just coming back into your unused muscles. Making your way towards it, you reach out to touch this...weapon that’s still somewhat coated with the stench of blood. It’s immaculately clean and the leather is shiny, though it’s clear this has been used for far more gruesome situations before.

I think we have a worthy sacrifice for tonight.

You recoil your hand that’s a breath away from coming into contact with it, terror plaguing deep into your bones as you take a step back.

You’re a sacrifice, an offering, sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice – you’re brought here to die, and your god would kill you himself. Others may have considered it an honour to have died from the mercy of his hands, your oh-so divine lord who’s brought prosperity and wealth into your land, but you turn away, breathing hard as you make a break for the door.

But you never made it.

Your back lands into someone’s chest, a slight gasp falling from your lips before you’re pummelled into the ground, strong hands pinning your arms above your head. Eyes widening, you come face to face with your deity, his fox-eyes lined with dark kohl sharpening his already predatory features, ears pierced with tiny skulls and black dots.

His knee nudges your leg open and you groan, the sound making his eyes dart at you in warning before he smirks upon seeing you make no move to get away from him.

“As I’ve heard,” his deep voice cuts through the eerie silence of the room, the night so mute not even birds or insects cricketed at the presence of your deity’s need to have you for himself. “You are a compliant little lamb sent to the slaughter,” you shiver as his fingers run to caress the side of your face, his free hand undoing the knots that keeps your modesty. Naoya hums deep in his throat when the cloth falls to the sides, revealing perky nipples that pushed closer and closer to his awaiting lips at each heavy breath you took.

“You are stunning,” he praises, using a thumb to graze over the hardened bud. It’s barely a touch, but you’re sensitive, wholly new to this that you whimper. The sound is humiliating and utterly pathetic, your teeth coming down to capture your lips.

This displeases him entirely and Naoya taps your lips open, glaring at your wide, fearful yet aroused gaze. “You do not ever conceal such shameful sounds when I’m above you, do you understand?” You nod shakily, freeing your lip from its confines. Naoya snickers, chest puffing up with pleasure before he leans back to his calves, pushing the rest of your robe to the side until you’re completely exposed to him.

Your breathing grows more laboured when Naoya spreads your legs open, smirking as you whimper at the stretch of having your knees flattened by your sides. Legs placed on top of his knees, your elevated posture gives him more access to your bare pussy, his gaze zeroing in on the gleaming arousal that’s beginning to form on your lips.

“So fucking wet,” he comments, using both his thumbs to pry your pussy apart. You moan at the sensation of him pressing down on a part of you that you don’t know existed, and Naoya laughs, the sound sinister yet erotic. “You’re a virgin.”

It’s not a question – it’s a statement he takes pride in, especially because he knows he’s the chosen one to take something precious away from you.

“I’ve always loved virgins,” Naoya’s hands roam all across your body, slowly, sensually, passionately, the rough, calloused hands running under your legs to hitch them up behind his broad back, to cup your soft ass before he cups your pussy, groaning into your neck when he feels you leak and he’s barely touching you to begin with. It makes his ego swell when your hands wrap around his neck; he hates being touched by mere, lowly mortals like you, but you are undeniably gorgeous and so wanting of him that he allows you just this once. “Always so sensitive – do you want to be good for your deity? Hm?”

“Y-yes!” you cry out, eyes snapping shut when he suddenly inserts a finger in.

The feeling is foreign yet not totally unwelcomed, but you grimace anyway at the slight sting his digits bring. Naoya pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy to coax your arousal to drip further into the sheets like a waterfall, your nails digging into his robes while he watches you with a smirk. He laughs when your eyes widen at the second finger pushing in, thumb rubbing over your clit until your legs tremble around him.

“Virgins are always so gorgeous once they finally learn of pleasure,” he scoffs to himself.

You look at him straight in the eye, mouth falling open while small gasps fall through at the speed he’s pushing into you at.

Something begins to form in your lower bally until your body grows utterly warm, something...something close about to snap when he pulls his fingers out of you, throwing his head back in laughter when you cry for the first time that night.

Naoya stares at the way your gaze darts from his cum-soaked fingers back to your drenched core, brows raised cockily before he stands up, his figure looming over you. “What? Got something to say?” you only whimper in response, closing your legs as you try to provide answers to the brooding confusion punching at the back of your skull.

The sound of faint rustling brings you back to life, your eyes snapping to witness your god undressing himself, the robes falling from his shoulders too wonderfully that the mere sight of him has you clenching around nothing.

Fat cock standing tall and proud, tip red and glistening with pre-cum and a body carved by fellow gods himself, the rumours were right.

He is beautiful, and it’s no lie that his slaves aren’t really slaves to begin with, not when all of them have been so eager to please him, just to have a taste of this divine being that stands before you. Naoya easily reads your face; from the slightly parted lips, thighs rubbing together and hands looming dangerously to your core – you look so needy it’s actually fucking pathetic.

He’s slow in his movements, languid and taking his time because he’s got time and more in this world that he never cares about wasting something he has a plethora of.

Naoya makes himself at home above you again, basking in the way you’re struggling to breathe even without his hands on you. It doesn’t take long before he pushes two of his fingers inside your mouth, clenching his jaw when you open your mouth submissively, innocent eyes blinking up at him as you take your juices into your mouth.

You’re a natural at this, he observes, tongue expertly swirling around his digits until you’ve licked it clean. Naoya pats your cheek affectionately, his own way of applauding you for your work.

Under him, you grow shy and abashed, arms covering your bare breasts because he’s a god, why should he be pleased with you?

Naoya doesn’t give you enough time to think before he’s hauling you upwards, your shoulders shoved back onto the ground. You kneel below him in prayer and he tugs at your hair, forcing you to look at him, or rather his cock that’s slipping past your lips. You gag when he pushes his length all the way inside, the tip of it hitting the back of your throat.

Naoya sighs at finally being taken in – you should be grateful he even fingered you – his hands guiding your head to bob up and down him.

You do well at pleasing him even through the tears, clutching at his thighs while you suck in his length and swirl your tongue around the prominent veins. Naoya watches with hooded eyes as your cheeks hollow just to take his whole length in – and again, you’re a natural – so eager to please him too when you keep pushing and pushing, his cock repeatedly hitting the back of your throat.

His muscles ripple above you while he lets out a long, drawn out groan, nails scratching your scalp. You feel him twitch inside you and that’s when he takes over, snapping his hips ruthlessly until you’re left gagging and sucking his cock helplessly.

Your saliva is dribbling at the edges of your mouth, looking so fucked out and whore-like while he pushes himself to the edge. He doesn’t care that you’re choking and your eyes are zooming out of focus from not being able to breathe. He doesn’t care that you could die from asphyxiation, he doesn’t care because you’re his sacrifice – if you can’t even do this simple thing, then how else could you prove you’re worthy to live?

You know this too because you force yourself to breathe through your nose instead, wanting to show that you are worthy, that you can please and take him however he pleases you to.

Naoya isn’t stupid, he can see what you’re doing and can read your mind even in his lust-driven state. Nothing edges him more than a good, submissive whore. Now that he knows you’re willing to do anything without complaints, Naoya pulls his cock out just seconds away from orgasm, pushing you back into the mat with a grunt.

“You’re so fucking good for me,” he hisses and pushes both your legs to the side, your body bent and pussy left open for him.

Naoya groans as he slides himself inside you. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but your virgin cunt is still too tight and new to this that you scream around him, subconsciously clenching around him harder.

“You’d do anything for me, yeah?” he challenges, cupping your face while he rams into you hard, uncaring that your walls are beyond abused and a ring of blood is already coating his cock. This isn’t the first time he’s taken someone’s purity, but this is the first time he’s had someone look gratified that he’s hurting them, fuelling him to fuck harder into you despite the steady stream of tears down your face. “Look at you – so obedient,” he pinches your nipples and rolls them between fingers, growling at the way your pained moan sounds more like an encouragement for him to go harder. “You want to please me so bad you don’t care I’m hurting you? Are you so eager to worship me that you won’t even stop me?”

“N-no, my lord,” you manage through the pain, regulating your breathing as you completely break down in tears. Naoya is hitting a spot deep inside you that makes your insides feel like they’re about to burst, and he takes note of this, pinching your clit just to get you to clamp down on him. “Please – use me however you want – please.”

Naoya smirks, pressing your knees flat on the ground before he hovers above you, forearms planted beside your head. At any other given moment, he prefers to fuck his sacrifices with their face planted on the ground because he can’t bear to see how disgusting they are, but you – you’re so damn beautiful it puts his fellow gods to shame.

Now yours is a face he’d like to keep looking at, so he roughly grabs your cheeks and squeezes them with his fingers, kissing your puckered lips and nipping at them.

You taste heavenly too; his servants did a good job of choosing honey as a gloss. Naoya greedily licks your lips until he’s shoving his tongue inside your mouth the same way his dick is ramming inside your walls, tight, puffy lips wrapped happily around his base.

You’re moaning inside his mouth as he squeezes your breast painfully. Never in your whole life have you thought that pain would feel so good, enticing you to moan louder when the sting finally subsides, replaced with the mind-numbing sensation of his thick length rubbing against every ridge of your walls. Naoya pulls his face away from you, his cum and your saliva sticky on your face and he chuckles, the sound stuttered and breathy, brows drawn together.

He looks down to watch the way you accommodate him; this is by far the tightest and wettest cunt he’s ever fucked – ever will fuck – that he doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied with any random whore’s pussy anymore.

Naoya frowns as anger bubbles up inside him, hatred making his cock swell inside you because how dare you make him wish he won’t take anyone again.

He wants more – want to kill more people, want to fuck more virgins, want to have more blood showering his skin until he’s bathed in glory and gore, but even though you’re the one he’s destroying, he’s slipping on the edge, too lost and hypnotized at the way your tight walls suck him in. Your moans don’t help either; they’re breathy and whiny, so defeated yet so eager to have more that Naoya grips your hips tight enough he might’ve cracked a femur from his godly strength.

Your scream this time is that of pain and loss, grappling on the sheets while white bursts through your eyes. Your orgasm comes crashing down on you overwhelmingly and you fall limp to the sheets, your translucent cum soaking his cock along with the previous blood, but Naoya doesn’t stop.

He keeps slamming into you until you’re mute from oversensitivity, hands cold with sweat and eyes empty while he uses you as his own fuck toy.

He gets there eventually, the room painted with his groans followed by a feral snarl, the rhythm of his thrusts turning sloppy and unbalanced. Naoya stills inside you after burying himself to the hilt, his crotch angrily rubbing at your pelvic bone as he cums. You whimper at the feeling of his warm seed spilling inside you in thick spurts. Naoya pulls out with a slight wince, scoffing at the mess you’ve made on his precious dick, but he’s forced to soften a little when he sees both your cum spilling out your hole in a messy puddle, the liquid coating your ass.

Meek as always, you don’t move a muscle when Naoya spreads your legs open, inching his face close enough to watch the way your pussy stutters and legs tremble in front of him.

You’re absolutely ruined – the puffy lips spread out and hole still pushing out the remnants of his cum. He doesn’t bother pushing them back in, uncaring if he’ll get you pregnant or not because it’s not like matters to him. You are nothing but another body to fuck and dispose of under the river once he’s satisfied with you, but he surprises both you and him when Naoya suddenly pushes two fingers inside of you, his eyes dark as he insists on keeping his seed right where they should be nurtured.

Now that he’s sure that will make your belly grow and provide him with a half-mortal heir, Naoya retrieves his robes and walks out the room, the slamming of the door shut similar to an impending doom of an imminent death.

But not yours.

You’ve fulfilled your duty as the death curse bearer of your clan; the greatest and most formidable weapon they’ve been carving to perfection the moment you’re born. The cracks in your bones and bruises on your body immediately heal as you turn to your side, chanting under your breath a hushed whisper of the words of your ancestors who’ve perfectly planned the death of the Zen’in God who’s made his people suffer for thousands of years.

They would be proud of you.

And as a body crashes outside the door followed by the frantic screams of his confused servants, you smile to yourself, falling into a deep sleep upon using your true gift.

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

That one particular Artstation post has come back to haunt me. Here’s a Ko-fi request as part of a long running joke. Someone help me.

-

"So why is this being brought to my attention specifically?"

"Why? Not enjoying the art?" Sarah smirks down at him while they stand a ways away from the image in question, brightly emblazoned on the side of a pelican's nose. There's a crowd forming as passersby slow to get a glimpse at what is causing all the commotion. The hangar is more crowded than usual and it’s not hard to tell why.

"It's technically your jurisdiction since the...subject is a member of the command crew." She continues, resting her hands on her hips before barking at some IVs to get moving. The Spartans in question duck and hurry on their way, parting the sea of bodies but not doing anything to stem the tide of curiosity and rubbernecking. 

Lasky sighs and drags his hand down his face. "Don't sound so pleased that this didn't fall on you. Have we found who's responsible?"

"Not yet, cameras had a blindspot for this part of the hangar and no one's claimed to be the mystery artist yet."

"Really, and no one knows anything? No one?" 

Tom is tired. There are a hundred other things that currently require his attention and are waiting on his desk, but this was apparently important enough that he needed to see it with his own eyes.

And well...it sure was something.

Marines loved finding different ways to express themselves and pilots were a special breed. The Infinity hadn't been to Earth long enough for any real amount of shore leave and it had been a tough deployment, so he probably should have expected something as people searched for outlets.

Still he expected nose art of a different flavor on the pelican, wouldn't Cortana have made a better choice? Not that he would ever voice it where anyone could hear, especially not Chief.

"Roland," He calls and looks over at the nearest holodisk as the AI deploys his avatar. He hasn't gotten the Ship AI to weigh in on the situation yet because it's a minefield he'd been trying to avoid. Lasky wets his lips and then opens his mouth to speak, pauses, and then finds the words he's looking for to navigate the conversation, "Did you find anything out about our mystery artist?"

"Well, other than the artistic liberties they took depicting me, they were smart or at least well prepared. I didn't see anything and logs for this hangar don't show any sign of tampering."

"Artistic liberties?" Sarah goads with a poorly hidden smile and Lasky's frown deepens as her eyes flicker knowingly to his and then away as she encourages Roland to speak. "I don't know, I think it could be seen as tasteful."

"Commander Palmer!" Roland gasps with faux shock and Lasky rolls his eyes and checks his watch. "I know you're used to working with Spartans and everything that entails, but I would never! That's too much skin showing and I like my layers."

He tugs on the straps of his parachute harness to prove his point.

"Didn't know you were so shy about what's under the pilot get-up. The six-pack abs not doing it for you?" Sarah says, gesturing back to the art that seems to be glowing under the lights. Lasky is in hell, his coworkers are killing him. Sarah spares him another look as he pinches the bridge of his nose. There's a headache forming as he looks at the offending art again, which he's going to have to document and report on. Lasky is in hell, and it’s come in the form of saucy nose art of his ship’s AI. Why did everything have to happen once he became captain?

"That's what I meant by artistic liberties," He says crossing his arms, "and they got my nose wrong!"

Lasky sighs.

"And that's not even mentioning the title." Roland continues.

Lasky sighs again, loudly. He is ignored.

"Randy Roland? Come on, surely they could have thought of something a bit more...je ne sais quoi."

“Uh huh.”

“What do you think, Captain?” Roland and Palmer sport matching grins as they turn to look at him. 

“I think I need a drink.”

-

Again, credit to Edward Meek on Artstation. He also did a Cortana one.

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Your Perfect

Masterlist

Summary: Alphas were strong and fierce, the ultimate protective dominant companion. Omegas were sweet loyal and fertile submissive. Alphas were huge. Omegas were tiny. Or so they say, but there were always exceptions to the rule.

Warnings: A/B/O, slight Angst, Fluff, mentions Of Breeding, Mentions Of Heat Cycles, RPF

A/M: so wanted to do a different take on the typical A/B/O a little role reversal~ I hope you all enjoy!

Taglist: in reblogs

You froze on the spot scenting the air. They were here. Your omega. It probably wasn't the best first impression onset, freezing in the middle of the gangway head up alert scenting, searching with both your nose and eyes the many small males walking past.

With a deep inhale you began the hunt. Instincts pulling at you frantically as the spiced delectable scent moved. Your omega had caught a whiff of you on the air and was trying to avoid you. They where panicked weaving about the crowd trying to escape the alpha that was on their trail. With a little luck your size would throw them if they did look around for you as they tried escaping.

To look at you wouldn't have been thought to be alpha, a thick supple woman all of five foot four. Normally female alphas were tall Amazonian muscular goddesses! But you, broke the mould. Like a hammer to a landmine.

You chased the scent ducking and diving around the many busy bodies, abandoning where you were meant to be in favour of locating your mate. It didn't take long to track them as in a frantic rush they lead you out of the throngs of people to the more quiet area of set, the trailers.

They were trying to run to their nest, it was their safety. A beta security guard tried to stop you, but with a snap of your jaws and viscous snarl they stumbled back. Noting the bright red ring outlining your pupil separating the black from your colourful iris. The sure sign of an alpha chaseing their mate.

Once you growled enough making the beta submit you looked forward again and continued, stalking towards your omega. The scent was muffled so they'd reached their nest, not that it would do any good, he was yours and you'd find him.

You slowly stepped down the row of trailers nose in the air sniffing around each one mentally crossing off each one. Then froze. There. The dark grey on your left, with the twitching blind. You walked passed slowly scouting for any danger, needing to inspect your new territory but kept an eye on your omegas nest.

Then once finished your walk round you came to a stop. You could feel it, anxiety and panic radiating from the nest. It made you falter and whine low in your throat. He was scared? Terrified you could smell shame on the air! In that moment all you wanted to do was scoop him up and hold him, make him see there was nothing to be ashamed or afraid of, you'd never hurt him. Only love and protect him.

You stepped up to the door and knocked slowly, your stomach twisting as you heard the footsteps inside and deep fearful pants, laboured breaths loud enough to be heard through the door.

"Omega. Its okay, I wont- I'm in control I wont hurt you" you started speaking low and calmly despite being torn up inside, you wanted to comfort him, stop him from becoming overwhelmed. You heard a small whimper from the other side and another wave of acidic fear hit you making you scrunch your nose in distaste.

"I promise I wouldn't have followed if I wasn't sure, please. Open the door? I just want to see you, I wont do anything if you don't want me too...Please" you pleaded pressing a hand to the cool metal of the bus. You wanted to see him but you wont break in, even if it was probably for the best. Many omegas panic until they meet their alphas properly, face to face. And with the both of you working onset there was only soo much you could take before hunting him down properly like all the horror stories that make the headlines.

"I can sense this is hard for you- your embarrassed you shouldn't be, I wont judge you... I wont many males are omega and its perfectly fine" There was a small shuffle and a deep shaky breath before the door handle was clicked and the door was inched open.

"Y-you promise?" Was the weak reply that tugged on your heart strings. Your need to comfort him when he sounded so upset and defeated. Lonely and scared.  You tipped your head to the side peering through the crack in the door. You understood, much like a female alpha was an anomaly male omegas were too, mostly bullied growing up because of being omega. There were less accepted the female alpha. A female alpha could be sexualized as 'dominatix' and 'domme'. Omega males were victims of slurrs such as 'sissy boy' 'nancy boy'.

"I swear, wont you let me in? We can just talk, or snuggle if you like-whatever you want to do nothing more" you added trying to hide the desperation in your voice. You held your breath as your omega sniffled quietly and whined once more. You could scent the desperation on him too, he wanted to seek you out but was frightened, unsure of himself.

After a few moments a large hand appeared  pressing the door open and holding a hand out to you palm up finally giving into his need for reassurance. You let out a sigh of relief and quickly help his hand shuddering as the contact sent goosbumps up your arm. You took a moment to admire the way his hand locked with yours so perfectly, despite dwarfing yours. With a gentle tug you were being pulled into his nest slowly.

You entered the bus eyes eagerly seeking out your omega. You paused seeing him. At first you didn't even click who he was you just revelled in his presence. The feeling of finally being here with your mate, having him before you after a lifetime of guessing just who fate had instore for you. You were surprised people had joked your mate would be tiny if you were the alpha! But they were wrong. He was huge both wide and tall, muscular and.

"Perfect... Your perfect" you uttered as he blushed ducking his head down trying to hide it. His other hand twiddling with his shirt nervously. You climbed the steps letting the door close behind you finally standing on the same level as your stunning mate.

"You... you mean it? I-I know I'm not...a typical omega my size and strength it of an alpha and its weird, you can refuse me if you want-" he began his anxiety rising with each word the pungent scent making the air thick and unpleasant. You hushed him quickly speaking over him.

"Didn't I just say your perfect Henry... your perfect just the way you are" you said still marvelling at your omega. You didn't really care who he was. You were far to enamoured with the realisation that he was your omega. He was like you, unique and wonderful. Exactly how he was meant to be... apart from those hormones mixed in with the scent of suppressant's. You leant forward sniffing and frowned momentarily.

"Hormones? You've been trying to hide?" You were right. He hung his head feeling deflated before nodding to you ashamed.

"I... Sorry its... People that find out are... They ridicule me I hate it" he said slowly it made your heart clench. It angered you. Just like everything else in life if you didn't fit the social norms you were pressured to change it. He had been taking hormonal supplements to try and force himself to be alpha. Tried to cover up his true presentation to fit in. You understood he was large and muscular and a perfect embodiment of the 'perfect male' handsome strong features, the deep voice and charming confident personality. Yet he was an omega. Its probably why he felt the need to push himself so much. He was over compensating.

"Don't worry about them I'm here now" you uttered moving pressing a hand to his cheek making him look at you. He gapsed when he locked eyes feeling the bond begin to form already just with the simplest of gestures.

"Do you trust me?" You asked slowly still trying to be mindful of how skittish he seemed. He nodded unable to deny the feeling of trust and warmth. You felt like home and calm in a way he never felt before.

"Good boy... i promise to look after you my sweet omega" you cooed letting a low rumble of your purr into your words easing his fears. You could taste him on your tongue the air around you becoming more relaxed and welcoming the anxiety lifting making you breath a sigh of relief. He whined before dipping his head to you pressing his forehead to your shoulder prompting you to encircle him with a bear hug. He shuddered before sniffling returning the hug whimpering as sobs wracked his body uttering 'alpha' over and over holding you tighter with each call.

You blinked away your own tears you swayed while him. It was overwhelming for him. You dread to think what hell he has been through just because he is omega, especially in the business she was in. But you ere proud, so very proud of him to navigate his career and become so successful despite being an omega? He hadn't let it hold him back like many others who hid in fear of being found out. You rubbed his back and tipped your head pressing kisses to his neck that bared to you.

"Your alright.... your alright I've got you now, I've got you omega come one lets go lay down hmm? We can go and snuggle for a while if you'd like?" you hummed  to him pressing kiss after kiss along the side of his throat. As much as you wanted to mark him you resisted, the last thing you need to do while he is in this fragile state is breed him. Mate him and tie him to you for god knows how long. Plus the suppressants would make it doubly hard, your body would tighten and lock around him despite him not being able to truly breed you. It could cause problems for the both of you. It would be best to wait until next months cycle hit and he let him fall into heat.

"Y-yeah, with Kal too?" He uttered still sniffing you, drawing deep breaths in trying to drown in your scent. You grinned against his neck nuzzling him rubbing your own scent onto his skin.

"Of course with Kal too love" you replied with a grin pulling back a little to eye the akita who was tilting his fluffy head at you trying to understand what was happening.

"Come on off to bed" you said prodding his tummy playfully giggling as he squirmed chuckling and grinning whislt pawing at his eyes trying to wipe away his lingering tears.

"O-okay... we wont?" You shook your head as he trailed off cheeks glowing from the mere mention of mating.

"As much as I would love to claim and mate you, we will wait until your heat, et those suppressants and hormone supplements out of your system~" you reassured him whist ushering him deeper into the bus towards the bedroom area. He chuckled nervously before turning calling Kal to the bedroom as he eagerly scrabbled onto it, wanting nothing more then to curl up and cuddle with you.

You released a deep breath watching as he and the bear got comfy. Your omegas huge blue eyes watching you as you settled down yourself and pulled him to rest his head on your chest. One hand twisted in His hair, the other letting Kal sniff you before stroking him. You grinned closing your eyes finally feeling at peace. After a long lonely life wondering you'd found your boys. And your home.

[theyanderespecialist]

Long Lost Mate 1 (One Shot) Mate Fizzarolli X OC Michelle X Asmodeus (Yandere) (Helluva Boss)

[Well Hello My Sexy Readers, this chapter has been pre written for months and it my oc which is more so my persona in hazbin hotel so this is shameless self insert of myself Michelle written by me and my co author. Please enjoy this!]

(Michelle's pov)

I look in the mirror and sigh as my hand trailed over my mark. Fizzaroli...I knew he became a big name in hell, he looked so different than what he did in those days

I trace over the mating mark he had given me before turning away. He had left a few days later to the lust ring. I heard he was working at Ozzie's. It's the place to be, if you had a date. I don't. I wasn't unpopular by any means, I just didn't want to date at the moment.

I waited until the bouncer was busy with someone else as I sneak in and duck out of sight. The place was packed, as it always was as I looked around. Did he really work here? Why did I still care anyway? He left me. I hope I never hear that horrible nick name. It was worse than any other nick name--

"Michelley~? Is that you?" I hear as I turn to see him. Fizzaroli. Thousands of emotions flooded me as he reached out, pulling me up onto the stage with him.

"Fizzaroli--" "did you fianlly come to visit me after all these years? I'm hurt. I'm wounded. After all we did-- and didn't do." He said as he looked at the mating mark. "Ya didn't mate with anyone else?"

"I told you before, I did not want a mate, your the one who talked me into us marking each other..." She says she was a imp but she never conformed to mating traditions they had been in their senior year of high school and went to a mammon concert and fooled around. It was impulse and instinct thing she blame him and her heats being so irregular. In fact she had not had a heat since her senior year.

(Heats are basically like a period kind of in this one shot and as in real Life I rarely have periods so rarely have heats to breed and mate :D)

He gave a wicked smirk at that as her colour drained. "Well...as your mate, I should.fix that~ make that pussy all wet dripping with my cum huh~?" He asked

Michelle was ready to run. Because she knew if he started something he would trigger her heat. Female imps after mating and had irregular heats could be corrected by their mate well triggering the heat. The bond made the heat trigger and she had not had one in over a decade. She was not ready for another one. Honestly she did not think her body could handle the massive hear. She be sure she make his dick fall off from running him ragged.

"I should go..." She says and turns to leave only to be grabbed in a kiss.

Oh what a mouth, she was not fond of kissing but kissing Fizz always felt right. Dammit she is not thinking clearly.

(Yup I hate swapping spit XD Like It is the texture of spit and tongues XD But a few people I do not mind making out with XD And Fizz would be one of them also my co author I make out with her any day XD)

He wrapped his tongue around hers as he pulled her close, his body grinding against her, ever so subtly as she moaned into his mouth as his arm wrapped around her. Damn it this was a mistake cause his wonderful mouth is pulling her in again. He then picks her up bringing her on stage biting her mating mark pushing her just in the edge of her heat and she whines as her panties are flooded and her body is getting hot.

"Asshole~" She groans out but grinds on him her body in need of her mate

He smirked. "Hello All my sleeze and sleezets I am here and with something special I am going claim my mate for the first time in front of all of you~ Be warned she is a virgin~" He says and Michelle was not against it but was embarrassed at the thought of being fucked on stage.

He looked down at her, his eyes lidded as this devious smirk grew on his face.

"I'm going to completely ruin you baby~"he said as he quickly stripped her as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her up by her ass as he kissed her again, still not removing his own pants just yet, taking his time to tease her.

She moaned into his mouth and tried to take more of his tongue and she did him sliding it down her throat and then pulling away saliva connected their mouths as Michelle pants and eyes are half lidded.

(Fizzarolli's POV)

"you know you look good all sex crazed,~" I said as I hold her with one arm as I strip my pants off and look to see Asmodeus watching.

"Maybe I should leave ya like this for a few days~"

"no, don't you even fucking think about it!" She snapped.

She wrapped her hand around my throat angry and horny. "You left me after marking me! You do not get to make me wait a fucking second more or I walk!" She orders.

"Oh Dommy Mommy~" I purr.

"Shut up and fuck me~!" She orders.

I smirked at her as I laid her down on the stage, facing me as I get on top of her, not even having to do foreplay as I thrust into her. Immediately surrounded by her wet, slippery walls as she cried out as I take her first time.

"Oh fuck yes~ you feel so fucking good~ so wet already~ so.. breedable~"

She panted as she adjusted to me, luckily her heat was making it so she was was able to take it with almost on pain. I kiss down her neck licking over the bleeding once more mating mark. I kept my mating mark as well and oh satan this felt so right~ I looked at her as I throw my shirt off, baring my mark to her as her eyes focused on it, pulling me on top of her, her legs locking against .y waist as I thrust into her while she bites down.

I moaned as she marked me once more and I picked up my thrusts them becoming faster~

I gripped onto her as I looked down at her.

"I'm gonna fill you up baby, over, and over, and over until you physically can't take anymore of me~"

"Yes~! Please~!"she begs and clenches down on me at the same time

She's so beautiful~ and so tight. I found myself reaching my edge as I looked back up to see Asmodeus smiling.

Oh yeah he could enjoy we had been talking about kids. He needed a heir and I wanted a family. The way he was looking he approved~ She thrust up into me, suddenly cumming around me as she cried out for me

It pushed me over the edge cumming deep into her I tried to pull out but she kept her legs firmly locked around my waist

"More~" she moaned and flips us over

She was on top of.me now as I stated at her, but who was into dent her as I continue thrusting, my cum helping me to speed my thrusts up.

She gripped my shoulders as she rides me sliding effortlessly on me moaning her perfect breasts bouncing as she does so. I raised my hands, cupping them as my tongue rolls out, wrapping around one as she moaned.

"Fuck.." she muttered

I flicked my tongue over her nipple and her whole body shakes as she cums a second time. "fuck baby you keep cumming, and you'll be too tired for our boyfriend~" I purred.

She stops and look at me confused. "Boyfriend?" She asks as she comes down from her second orgasm

"mhm~ if you're okay with it of course." I said note concerned I pushed it to far as I pointed him out in the crowd.

She looked at him and then me as she gulped.

"Is...he..." "Oh yeah he's big. But it'll feel good~"

"You so owe me~" she says and kisses me again I knew she meant for up and leaving which I only regret not taking her with me

"I know baby..and I'll spend all of eternity making it up to you~"

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS first part done and though this was pre written months ago does not mean we have a part two yet I am sorry. Anyways I hope you all enjoyed stay sexy![