#They are the ones that were raised by the yard wolves | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buzzkillers · 1 year ago

Text

Burning like embers (falling tender)

Pairing: Regulus Black • Black!Reader

Summary: Regulus kidnaps the bride. (Wc:5k)

Warning: Dubcon, Kidnapping, Semi Unrequited Love, Attempted Non-Con, Pseudo-incest, Pureblood Politics, Regulus Embracing His Flaws (Yt and British)

Beta: @darksideofthecocoamoon !!! This would've been way worse without her.

Regulus Black was not a good man.

Good men existed in folk tales, in between the thick yellow pages of his childhood books. Where nobility and honor was permeated in ink and their righteousness was outlined in bold roman font, the letters too tiny for baby regulus to read. It was hard to be a good man, he learned. And by the age of twenty four, he was barely a man at all.

Rather melodramatic. His mother had said.

Mother also said he should feel lucky.

It was luck after all wasn't it? His mother said. A gift to have all of his boyhood crushed out and replaced with a substance that no good man ever possessed. Voldemort knew how to show his favor. He should've been grateful.

And Regulus was. Grateful that is. He was grateful in the way ravens were grateful for a murder, fire to wood and a cowardly man to…well to him. Regulus. Who had no problem bringing all of these things to fruition. Better than him than the others. His colleagues that liked to add to the fire and wood first, turn a flicker flame to a conflagration.

It was good that he had all of that goodness ripped out of him, the remnants stuck between Voldemort's teeth.

Because good men became drunks; drunk on alcohol, indulgent on cheap thrills and even cheaper whores. Complacent. Regulus thought.

Vermin. His father corrected. Dogs that pretended to be wolves before they latched back on their leashes and trotted home; clean shaven and pristine.

Regulus knew good men well afterall.

He's killed many.

A poison there. A dog bone here. Family cemeteries made entirely in his name.

So when he said he wasn't a good man, it wasn't an attempt to be humble or modest or bashful or coy or any other fanciful saying. Regulus Black was not a good person.

The mark proved it.

The murders cemented it.

And your body chained to his bed, screamed it.

Or maybe that was simply a gross overstatement?

The word 'chained' naturally made one think of those muggle devices. A crude contraption with metallic locks and easily hexed metals. (An insult to human ingenuity, really.) No, your chains were of the metaphysical kind: sophisticated, invisible, snug. It was the nicest thing he's ever done for an opposer to his Lord.

Unfortunately, you were not raised by Mother. So you didn’t understand to be grateful. Which was a shame. Even a bird admired their cages eventually. It was the least you could do.

But of course Regulus' life was unfairly hard and his options null. So instead of admiration and dutiful respect, you laid with your back turned and her body curled against the dark corner of your bed. Small and pitiful— a bit wet too.

Funny.

Maybe he should've called you a fish instead. You wouldn't laugh but it would be funny. After all the white gown that clung to your body was completely translucent, the edges covered in soap suds. (Nastily, Regulus Black curled his bruised lips; a caged bird indeed.)

He closed the door behind him.

His own clothes drenched and his fingers bloody with scratches before he dumped the wand in his hand to the ground. It clattered unceremoniously.

"My bird," he began, voice smooth, annoyed.

"I hope you're incredibly happy with yourself," he slipped his loafers off and untwisted his family rings.

"There's a dead wizard at our doorstep because of you," parts of him anyway.

The rest of him was about a few yards out. With chunks of flesh too burned and scarred to be identified as human spewed across the acres of land. (Dog meat, his father would say. Hopefully the animals thought the same.)

The whole ordeal was unnecessarily messy you see? Uncivilized even as he looked at the 'dog' blood splattered against his light robes. Angered, he unbuttoned that too.

"It was an avoidable death, don't you think?"

"A complete waste of my time, even?" He cocked his head, his voice heavy with something that made your back tense.

Yet of course, you refused to turn around, to look back…

A recent nasty habit of yours as he threw his robes on a nearby chair. The excess blood dripping from hand woven cloth onto the concrete floor. A familiar sight.

Slowly, his eyes dragged to the wand on the ground, so small and twiggy. It reminded him of the toy wands he saw poor half-bloods play with when no one was looking. A scrap of trash. No different than what you'd throw for a animal to catch.

Yet, it took death for the wizard to let it go. (A dog and its bone.)

He frowned, then snapped it beneath his heel.

Magic spurted out and when he looked up your head swirled back towards the wall. He frowned again.

"You could at least cry," he said, voice hoarse.

“He died for you after all,”

Besides your frame, a lamp flickered and its shadow danced across your back. He licked his lips, hmm. “They all died for you, actually,”

"Should I tell them to stop?" He murmured. But you only curled further into yourself. Like a victim, like someone that's done nothing wrong. He gritted his teeth. "No that won't work, you'll just keep sending them," Regulus kicked the wand across the room.

"Maybe if he had served his purpose…." The air crackled. “..But alas,” Then he crossed the small room and plopped himself on the bed. His head cushioned against the duvet.

"What did you tell them anyway?" he whispered, before something cracked and your cuffs pulsed. He smiled.

"Did you say you were captured? That I was holding you prisoner? Did you lie, birdy?" He whispered, before slowly you sat up and turned your head. Your pupils were fat, your breath still.

"Shut up,"

"B-" he started before all air left his lungs, your hands wrapped around his throat.

"Tu putain de salope—" your knees dug into his waist. “—just stop talking," Spit flew with each word and it took everything in him not to lick it away. He could only smile and make it worse.

Your eyes widened, a fury of emotion flickering in and out and Regulus only with luck missed the conjured dagger that dug into the place where his head once was.

"Baise gluante-" Then with a flick of his wrist the chains tightened, your positions switched and Regulus was on top once more. His bony fingers pressed into a neck that creaked beneath his weight.

“That was an admirable trick,”

“You almost got me there.” He spoke too soon.

The knife appeared again, this time pressed too close to his third rib. Huh. What was that muggle saying about kicked dogs again?

"Don’t make me repeat myself," You demanded again between clenched teeth and his skin that was beginning to unravel under the metal. Something in him warmed at that. He killed a man like this the day before. But that was more brutal, cruel even. This was not that. This violence was intimate, affectionate.

So much so that the moment you spat your words back at him, this time he did lick it off.

"Sweet," He murmured to himself, like burnt cranberries and raw strawberries, something natural that bursted on his tongue. He licked it again. “A little sour too,” Beneath him you laid frozen, your own eyes widened until your grip on the knife loosened. "Just like me,"

"You're sick," you said it like you were just noticing. "How could you just-"

Quickly, you took a deep breath.

In.

Out.

“I'm nothing like you,"

"Nothing?”

With a grunt you attempted to get up but he kept you down with nails that dug into your wrist. An devilish embrace. "You killed him and you didn't have to, you didn't even need to touch him, you could've let him go, kept him out of it," you insisted, each word said with hard eyes and fat tears on your cheeks. "We're nothing alike,"

Regulus shrugged his shoulders.

"Then leave,"

"…."

Outside your ‘dogs’ flesh had begun to be pecked off by the ravens and the bones by the flies. Inside, you licked your lips but you did not move an inch. “Here, I’ll even help you,” he confessed before with a whispered incantation, your chain vanished. “Go,”

A symphony of emotions flickered across your face. They all burned hot and they all made Regulus shift above your thigh. Before your knife clattered to smoke and your face twisted into something like hatred.

His little bird drew back into her cage.

"Yes," he sighed, his voice not at all shallow and not at all starved for air while he rubbed at the wound that would soon scar by morning,

"That's what I thought,"

—

When he first met you, his first thought was: 'This isn't going to work,' and his second thought was 'She's too good for Sirius,'

In hindsight, both statements were correct.

You were a bold thing really. A beauty covered in rare gems and an aura that spoke of higher breeding. Mother boasted about you highly. The jewel of the west she called you. Someone, born and bred within the confines of a highly respected Afro-Caribbean pure blood family. It was a surprise that Mother even knew you but he guessed that was the point. She wanted someone not as connected in British society after all. Someone who only visited when they had to.

In other words, the likelihood of Sirius already having fucked you was low and the likelihood that you knew him was even lower.

For his mother, ignorance truly was bliss.

If not for Sirius than also for the fact that no non-British family paid attention to Voldemort.

Voldemort's tyranny was simply an English problem. The bloke didn’t seem to care about the muggles from other countries, much less ones from the Caribbeans. Still, people have heard whispers of him. Only a dip in the pond about a crazed muggleborn that had a bone to pick with British society.

Nothing special because in hindsight, who didn't?

So, it was unsurprising that your parents agreed to a marriage of convenience with the one family that was in His pockets. What was surprising was how well you took to it.

According to Sirius, arranged marriages were archaic and boorish. Not because of any logical reasons like loss of autonomy but because ‘Only a pauper let's their parents pick where his cock goes'. Of course he paid Sirius no mind.

Yet, solemnly he wondered if you felt the same. As a boy he would've scoffed at the idea of someone not wanting to marry into the powerful House Of Black but he hasn't been a boy for a long time now. The scales had long fallen from his eyes. In the privacy of his mind, he could not say that it was truly an honor to marry into the Black Family.

Not with the Potters and Misli’s right there. Not with witches like Bellatrix in the family. On the contrary, it's most likely that you were in for a shock. And you'd probably run for the hills while Sirius laughed into his fifth bottle of ale and mother seethed in the shadows.

It was the logical conclusion, he knew it and father knew it. But sometimes wolves liked to just watch their prey die. And who were they to go against Mothers will? Father the patriarch and him the–good son. The dog. So he even prepared for it. What a waste of time that was.

He told Kreacher to prepare for a crying wailing woman. He didn’t prepare for the force that walked through the door instead. It was raining when you visited but you didn't seem to notice. Instead your face was held high as you met mother, your grip firm when you met father and you smiled at him. Very toothy and almost childish but it fit you well.

Father and Mother were nervous that Sirius wouldn't take to you. That they'd have to find another poor woman for their plans but Regulus remembered the sparkle behind his brother's eyes, the twitch of his fingers when you matched fire with oil. You gave him boorish jokes with a classy smile and a mouth no different than a muggle sailor. You were everything dirty about Sirius, wrapped and repackaged into someone pretty, someone that could take it, take him.

Regulus wasn't impressed of course. It took anyone with a halved brain cell to get along with Sirius. You were really no different than James in his mind. Someone that could code switch between two worlds without making either party uncomfortable. A chameleon with nothing inside. It was good that you only had one job really. One simple, impossible to fail job: 'Bring my son back to me,' He heard mother whisper, both of your bodies hidden in the shadows of the back rooms. ‘Bring Sirius back into the fold’

‘Bring him back with a mark,’ She really meant to say and then the conversation was over.

And of course you failed.

____

"Do not touch me with blood still on your hands," you barked as Regulus dipped your head into the water. The soap suds in your head mingling with the crusted blood on his fingers until the water became a dull, faint pink.

He hummed. "You demand a lot of me," but his hands do hover away from your hair and to the lip of the porcelain tub. You'd smell so much better without the after-smell of spilt blood anyway.

Without thinking he rinsed his hands in the water bowl by his side. His pink reflection looking at him before he went back to your puffed- no braided hair. It wasn't like that before. Did you do that while he was upstairs? With your bare hands at that? No, you must've used a spell. Strangled together the few bouts of magic his bindings granted you and did what he offered to do freely. Impressive.

He should take it all apart. 'Just to spite you,' he thought before with a hum he squeezed more shampoo in your hair. Suds dropped to the wooden floor, and seeped between the cracks. The scent of juniper berry erupted in the air. Your hands gripped the lip of the tub tighter.

“Sirius used to wash my hair like this.” you murmured, your teeth dug deep into your lip. “Eventually, he’d join me and we’d stay in the tub for hours,”

He paused, his fingertips wrinkled in your hair before you took a long and hard inhale. In. Out.

“Is that so?” he murmured, something tough in his throat. It was only because of the hand of Merlin that he was able to sound nonchalant.

From his position, he could not see your features. But he could look at the mirror that faced the both of you. It stood at the opposite side of the room; decorated in golds and engraved with faces that he had no interest in knowing. Your own face was the only one that captured his attention. And at this moment, it was closed off. Your lips twisted sardonically and your eyes cut to the side.

“Yes, there was more that was happening of course, but—that would be inappropriate to tell, " you snickered as if you were the leader on all things dealing with propriety. He took a moment and breathed in.

“Was this before or after you betrayed him,” Regulus asked. You went silent.

Coward.

“Or do you even remember,”

“-shut up,”

“Is that a no then?”

"Are you deaf?" you cut your eyes towards the mirror. "I told you to shut up,"

His own lips curled, "You are still wet," The suds in your hair have now dried. Leaving behind dollops of water that now pooled at his feet. The excess had begun to drip to the floor, the rest down your neck, to your back.

"Did that also remind you of your time with Sirius?" Then you shot up, the water falling from your shoulders.

"Do you constantly think about what gets your brother hard?" What a dirty mouth.

His lips twisted. "You should get back in,"

"No,"

"You'll get a cold,"

You rolled your eyes. "Then you shall tell my family I died of hyperthermia, they'll believe that,"

His eyes fell flat but Regulus didn't say a word. Just kept his touch gentle, his movements soft. As if you were a lover, a friend and not—

The knife only nicked his shoulder this time.

"I said-" you shuddered violently,. "-To stop it,"

In the mirror, Regulus watched as you shot him a look. Weeks ago there was a fiery rage in there, dragon eyes in human form. Now it was just tired, bored even. Then you looked back down, silent.

He narrowed his eyes. "Ask me,"

Your grimace only deepened, but now there was humor laced in the edges. "Ask?" your lips twisted into a nasty tired smile;

"Demander?" You giggled. "Did you forget what's in our blood?" You questioned with all that humor quickly gone and replaced with a tone ancient and old.

"We do not ask," you sneered, then rolled your shoulders.

"Even Sirius knew that,"

_____

You didn't even know Sirius.

That was the worst part. You giggled in hidden corners and you kissed his hand to make the elders gasp in horror and Sirius like a fool ate it up and you didn't even know him.

Sometimes,the depths of his brother's stupidity astounded him. Did he really think that a woman like you would just fall in his lap? You were already out of his league. A barmaid would be a better fit.

It was foolish, idiotic, ridiculous but it worked. Because without knowing Sirius was getting closer to taking the mark. He no longer grimaced when Regulus arrived home smelling of iron. Or when he got caught with scratches on his arm and blood on his collar. Mother's plan was working and he only felt pity.

It was one thing to pretend, it was another to have to dumb yourself down for a bonafide pauper. If Mother had picked him, there would be no farce. Not like he wanted that. He didn't want anything.

He was fine with watching from the shadows. His entire presence ignored while you and Sirius pretended you were the only ones in England. It was simply the way things were, he realized with clenched knuckles and a tight smile.

But did it have to be?

No, it didn't.

—-

Six months later, Regulus understands why Sirius gets so addicted. A drunk like him, so prone to tasting what was bitter, his tongue rotten with ale. You were an overturn. Something annoyingly new. Regulus had never tasted something so sweet. Poppy pomegranate and sunburst cherries. He swore that he’d get a cavity as he dug his fingers into your hair.

Twisting you into position, tight, proper, the way you gripped the stem of any fruit. Of anything that you wanted to get a better taste of. You were too stunned to fight back then. The bitter after taste of champagne you were prone to drinking sticky on your tongue. Your glass already shattered on the floor.

In the next room, your husband argued with portraits. And when it's done, and when you slap him. Regulus received a thought. An awful hypothesis.

What else could he get away with when enclosed by walls? The rest of the world locked away?

An awful thought indeed.

—--

It's only a week later that it happened. Sirius waking up to an empty bed and Regulus miles away on a mission, in the middle of nowhere, in a quaint little cottage.

It was almost too easy.

—

You didn’t leave of course. Not at first.

Because leaving met acknowledging that you were wrong. That there was nothing to gain at keeping his attention. Leaving meant having to look Sirius in the eye and tell him you lied.

Of course you had questions. Regulus of course didn’t answer.

You didn't need to know how distraught Sirius had become. A pathetic puppy that moped around the manor destroying everything in sight. Regulus didn’t even need to plant ideas in the brutes head. No, all the seeds were already there. Sown in from years of idiocy and your failed meddling.

'It was Dumbledore, I just know.’

‘That stupid old git is trying to punish me,' he whined to Regulus. 'He took her, I know he did Reggie, you need to help me'

'Prongs and-" he'd gnaw at his cracked lips. 'they don't believe me, they think I'm mad, they think I'm—Regulus'

Sirius was mad for you. Unnaturally obsessed. A fool with his alcohol taken away. A dog that's lost his chew toy. He didn't know any better. He couldn't have. But Regulus did, Regulus knew you. He understood your games and twist. Poor Sirius.

If Regulus had to be the bad guy then so be it. He could be the executioner and the judge, he just needed to play his cards right.

Murder would create a martyr but someone missing? Someone that Sirius could say left him high and dry. It was what you were planning to do anyway. And if Regulus quickened the process that didn't make him anymore of a bad person than the murder and countrywide slaughter ever did.

—

You were surprisingly clumsy by your lonesome.

Random scars and cuts littered your body when he wasn’t looking. Ghost of attempts at escape most likely. Which was fine. Regulus could play doctor. Even if it included a bath. A mutual need, probably. The blood on his hands had begun to make his nose burn.

He watched you flinch, took relevance in the way your eyes settled: tired, bitter. It was the same look worn by others. It reminded him of himself, of mother. Abrasive. Challenging him.

After all these weeks, you seemed to still be under the impression that Regulus was anything like Sirius. That they shared the same rotten brain cell that Sirius had split amongst his new brothers, his new family.

He unclenched his fist. Let his anger burn and flick in the atmosphere before with a turn of his head he looked at the hair moisturizer on the counter top.

"Your hairs going to be tangled tomorrow. You should let me rebraid it," You scuffed at that.

"Touch me and you die." You said the same thing to Sirius once. He heard it through the walls during your consummation night. Between the sounds of ruffled sheets and curses. And surprisingly, Sirius listened.

Regulus didn't have the same control. He grabbed for a braid, a knife appeared once again at his rib. He sighed. “You’re being stubborn,”

“I will rebraid my own hair,”

“..With what autonomy?”

You rolled your eyes. "Want to find out?”

He snorted, hands gripping your strands. "Sometimes, it astounds me how well you lie."

"Don't you realize that I already know you're guilty?"

You sighed. Tired, as if this was a conversation you two have had a million times before. It was.

You looked away. "I'm not," he yanked your head. "But you are." Then when with a snap of his wand you were dried and dressed. Your body plopped on your bed without care. He rolled his eyes.

"You fed my brother lies and lured him away f when your job was so simple. to bring him back," Get him to take the mark, be the whisper in his ears, that was what Mother told you. All that deceit just so that the family could have a proper Heir. A better head outside of him the runt and Bellatrix the mad woman.

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You lured him away and then-” he gripped his fist into the sheets. “-and then you attempted to run with another,”

“You were going to betray him,” it was funny really. Outside of the curses and the hexes and threats that was the one that got you to pay attention. That indifference melting away with ease.

"You are a liar and you should be happy that I even-":

"Look at me?" You rolled your head to the side. "Cause you look at me alot Black, even when you think I'm not looking back," you said this with shadowed eyes and a laziness to your movements. Like you had all the time in the world to revel in the fact that Regulus watched you back. That he wasn’t as suave as he thought you were.

Regulus flickered his eyes down to the crotch of your dress. Theres a wet spot there that never fully dried. Regulus shot to his feet.

"You're angry,"

"Regulus,"

"I get it, truly" he found himself at the edge of your bed. A wand less spell on his lips that warmed the fabric.

"I've been nothing but terrible to you, completely awful. That's no way to treat a sister-in-law, now is it?" he sat at your side, his hands on your thigh. Fabric brushed against your bare skin. Under his words, you shook. "But if you bring up his name again, I'll-"

"What?" You sneered, that hatred bleeding back in. "Let me go?"

"Tell Sirius what I did?" With a blink your eyes began to sheen. "I do not care,"

Then your face twisted. "Not anymore"

He gripped your face, his own features suddenly inhumane. "Your boy toy has made you cocky,"

"Do you think I won't do it? Are you prepared to make that gamble?" There was a frenzied tone to his voice as he said this. For a moment he wondered if it was the weather. An effect of being so sick of your behavior. He must've been worse than he thought but you were looking at him with defiance. He wanted to find control but there was a smolder to your eyes, a spark and suddenly Regulus lost all control. You were serious.

And then you screamed as he gripped your shoulders and shoved you into the mattress. It bounced beneath the weight. "No," he whispered.

Your slip entangled in his fingers. You were slipping between his fingers. The harsh tear of fabric brought him back to the present as the top of your slip laid torn in his hand.

You laughed. It too sounded frayed while your fingers trembled. "No?"

But outside of that you said nothing, just stared at him the way you stared at potion books and Sirius odd muggle gimmicks. Something dangerous, that you were simply waiting to explode and somehow that was worse than screaming. Worse than you cursing at him while his fingers dug into your ripped dress.

"You do not know him,"

But youre stupid so you only grunted back, "Don't I?,"

He laughed "My own brother? You really think you know him better than I?"

"No—"

"No?"

"I don't know what Sirius was like as a child but I do know that the boy you call your brother is dead"

You gripped his arms now, like an anchor. "I know that he only exist in your memories, and I mourn your loss"

"But the man is different and I know him and I know that he would never give into Voldemort—not even for you,"

Don't say his name, rested heavy on his tongue. But he crushed it. In that moment something in him died and something else was born. A substance unknown to good men or even Voldemort.

So, he smiled. Soft hands coming up to pick at the soft white gown. The fabric was practically translucent up close.

"Those are harsh accusations," he plopped on the bed and felt himself jump a bit before his hands relaxed against your knee and then your thigh and then- paused with a look.

Your body trembled beneath his fingers.

"Fratricide, sororicide? You really can't think of anything worse?" He whispered, his words painting a portrait that only you could see.

Still, he watched your eyes widen and felt your breath stutter. A fine drip of water that didn't come from your hair, slid down your forehead. Before a hummingbirds heart fluttered beneath your skin. And all he could do was stare, his hand pressed firmly against your cunts entrance.

"I can.." he said, still covered in blood, still burning with the mark, before his fingers slipped between your thighs. Plushy and warm then suddenly damp, drenching his fingers.

"..I can think of something worse for Sirius to find."

"He'd only have to look at my hands"

You jumped back and thrashed but it was worthless, his fingers were already against your cunt.

The sounds only got louder, your thrashing more manic but the spell he put on your hands and feet kept you plastered to the bed. He grounded into you further, chest against chest before his head nuzzled against your own.

'Frankincense and juniper berry' he thought with a whiff. Like the familiar books he read as a child and the aroma of the Black home after night had fallen. Divine and familiar.

His own little goddess.

The revelation forced him to kiss your cheek. His own lips pressed firmly against your skin. He could taste the shea butter. Could still smell the fruity body wash as your screams turned into whimpers and then morphed into ugly moans. The sounds of pleasure ripped out of you through clenched teeth and bitten lips.

He brought his free hand up, clenched your neck. Felt the arteries jump and your jugular twitch. He killed a man like this earlier today. A long and dirty muggle way of murder.

Still, he took interest in the way the man's eyes slowly turned glossy and the way his hands clenched helplessly at Regulus' clothed arms. As if this would rip him away from Regulus. Force him to not carry out his duty. Beneath him, you did the same. Your soft hands grasping helplessly at his clothes. Pulling him in, pushing him back. Delirious.

"Tu vas le regretter, Black,"

"You gain nothing-"

"C'mon you can beg longer than that, give me a tale for Sirius.” He sneered. “Let me tell him that you put up a fight," he bent down.

"Let me tell him that his wife fought hard for me not to fuck her," you spat on him, he kissed you.

Then you knee him in the face. He jerked back, blood spurted in his hand. He smeared it against your knee.

"You palefaced-" you punched him this time, his teeth rattled. the bed met his back. The force ricocheting till the bed frame cracked and your chains went loose and Regulus was back on you like a feral dog.

You would not leave this place.

But youre quick, a snap of wind that pushes him to his back, elbow in his throat. Above, him you look like a God. Vengeful. And ready to destroy the only person who exists just for you. “You can't stop me, “

And Regulus is weak. A small pathetic thing just like Bellatrix said he was because his eyes burn. The edges wet with admonishment. The edges of his lips quiver. And suddenly all that anger bleeds away. He gripped your wrist. Sharps nail dug into your skin with something worse.

“He doesn't deserve you,” He pierced, throat burning. Above him, your eyes melted. The look indescribable.

“I know.”

“You will get bored of him, and I'll still be here waiting, watching,” he pulled you closer, nose to nose. You filled his vision. “Do you like making me your dog?”

You opened your mouth but no–

He persisted, tears fat. “Can't I just have you,”

“Can't you just want me? Is that too much to ask? Is it too much to want?” Regulus wanted so much already. He rarely ever had it in his grasp. The back of his mind filled with ideologies of freedom, and family and lonely nights in nowhere cities where no one would know his name. All of that was too far away though, intangible. But this–

He crawled into your space, gripped your skin.

–This was so close.

He shuddered. Lips red and his face damp with anticipation. Below him, you looked ethereal. The edges of your eyes burning soft.

“Is this really all you want from me? Sex? After everything?”

No. What Regulus wanted was much darker than that. More debased and immoral and such an awful sticky thing that he could not even admit it to himself. But for now, if that's what you needed to believe. If only a physical communion was what you thought he wanted of you. Then so be it.

He opened his mouth, ready to lie.

Yes.

It's right on his tongue.

Yes. He was not greedy. Yes. He did not want anything more.

Yes. The oath of one easily satisfied.

But nothing came out. His voice stolen as you looked up at him. Eyes wide. All seeing. Knowing of everything.

Regulus shook his head.

“No.” the word bled out in spurts.

Weak. Bellatrix whispered in his ear. So fucking weak. Maybe he was no better than Sirius.

Because you were only going to deny him. You were going to say no. Laughing at his face because that's what people did in the face of fools. Regulus grip loosened. Beneath him you sighed.

“Merde.”

“You're a piece of work, do you understand–” your lips twisted, eyes narrowed. “This is not my home and yet you keep me here, this is not my country and yet you keep me here, don't you think I've given up enough to simply be in your presence? Can't this be enough?”

You say that but Regulus sees the molten desire in your eyes. The way you flickered across his face, unable to stay in one spot but lingering all the same as you crowded in him too.

Suddenly the air was dry. Regulus forgetting how to breath as you leaned back. Exposing your neck, dematerializing the knife.

He gets closer. “Speak plainly.”

You looked away. Outside the dog was barely bones. Rotten in the earth. You seemed to contemplate something, eyes distant before you're brought back to reality.

“...I'll allow it.”

Oh.

‘We’ can have this. Not just him, not just you. This had to be a gift. Before your grip turned tight, your face feral. A certain kind of wildness found only in martyrs and heroes and righteous fools littered your eyes before you smiled, teeth bloody. “Ask any more of me and i'll leave you here,”

“Alone, and then you’ll have to kill me to get me to stay.”

"I will haunt you till you are dust and bones and-" he kissed you, his own blood smeared with yours before he pressed his forehead against your own. "Yes," he whispered, and it couldn't help but notice that it sounded like a prayer. Like holiness,a type of reverence found only at the foot of gods and priest.

He said it again. You froze.

"Just don't go where I can't find you."

He smiled.

Then he kissed you again, on your nose this time, then your eyelids. Then sweetly, softly the space between your lips and your nose. He sighed and then he took you.

He puts his mouth on you. Slipped his head beneath your layers of clothing.

Unbuckled and unzipped and pulled apart each single one before your bareness glistened in his face. Until he could see the disbelief at his urgency flood your features. The confusion at his delicacy. Regulus understood.

There was something horrific but about taking someone's defenses apart with a sensitivity. With the precision of a monster that did not have to rip you to shreds to make you feel fear. And when he got to your core Regulus wasted no time.

....You tasted like pussy.

Musky and sweet, and in your skin he smelt the juniper berry and in your lower hairs drenched with the smell of arousal.

Above him you flinched and you shivered. It reminded him of a siren.

The unseelie ones that would flinch and cry as he electrocuted their water. Taking their oxygen away, fucking up the chemical imbalance, till their nails cracked the glass,

All while his fingers brushed against your own. Your ring finger still entrapped by a silver snake ring. Regulus was not a good man. He was flawed with impatience, entitlement, narcissism, the list went on. But it was his entitlement that got you in his bunker. It was his impatience that made him act, his familial nature that got you here on your back. Body drained and his head placed timidly on your belly.

He listened to your heart beat through skin and bones. Through vertebrae and arteries. Because everything was louder there, your blood even sang for him. A frenzied beat that made your skin hot to the touch.

He collapsed further into you. Nuzzling his nose into the crux of your neck.

An unleashed dog indeed.

#regulus black x reader #regulus x reader #harry potter x black reader #regulus black x y/n smut #marauders era smut #regulus black smut #regulus black fic #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x you #regulus black x black reader #regulus black #tw: dark content #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #killer writings <3

300 notes · View notes

sapphire-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Winter Rose

pairing: Aemond x Stark!Reader

summary: Raised among wolves, and raised among dragons; throughout time Targaryens and Starks seem to find their way to each other.

warnings: mentions of death

word count: 2.3k

note: this is mostly fluff! enjoy my loves ��

You had been a small child when your father died; when your elder brother Cregan was named Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. Though he was just a boy of three and ten at the time. You remembered the funeral of your father, the way Cregan held your small hand in his own.

“You need to be brave, sister,” Cregan had whispered in your ear.

Your eyes were wide as saucers, gazing upon the still body of your father. You expected his chest to rise and fall, as though he were simply in a deep sleep. He remained motionless. You had only seen one other corpse in your life, that of your mother.

The image of her flashes in your mind. Beautiful, wild, and gone. Petals in the wind. Your father would lay beside her for eternity in the crypts of Winterfell. The thought comforted you, your parents in the earth below you, and your brother. Simply sleeping beneath the mighty fortress of Winterfell.

Cregan squeezes your hand.

Your uncle, Bennard Stark, was to rule as regent until Cregan came of age. A feat that does not bode well when Cregan reaches adulthood. But Bennard succeeds nonetheless.

You grow alongside your brother, both of you fierce, both of you spitting images of the First Men. Both are haunted by the ghosts of wolves before you. You and Cregan are one and the same until you come into your maidenhood.

That is when things seem to change between you, suddenly you are thrust into the role of a soon-to-be mother, though still unwed. Lords vie for your hand, present themselves to your brother for the chance to bed, and breed you like a prize mare. You are having none of that.

“Lord Umber is a fine choice!” Cregan yells, running after you as you flee from the great hall.

“You heathen!” you snap at your brother.

You stop, causing Cregan to nearly run into you, glaring at your brother.

“You’d ship me off to Last Hearth, is that it?” you accuse, “who’d do your booking then hmm?”

Cregan flushes with embarrassment.

“I’d make do without you,” he says.

“You’re shit at bookkeeping,” you accuse.

“You’re a lady, it’s your duty-”

“My duty!” you scoff, “How very convenient to you!”

Cregan frowns, visibly frustrated by your angry disposition.

“You like Lord Umber.”

You look at him incredulously.

“He is my friend, Cregan, it does not mean I wish to bed him.”

“Sister, you must listen!”

But you are off already, across the yard, angry tears wet on your face. They do not last long as you hastily wipe them, crystalized in the cold air they fly like diamonds to the gravel below.

The news comes to Winterfell when House Stark is invited to the capital to represent the North at King Viserys nameday. Evidently, all the great houses are to feast in the capital, with tourneys and celebrations to last for several days.

“Allow me to represent our house, and when I return I shall not fuss about marrying Lord Umber,” you tell him, bile rising in your throat as you panic at the thought.

Cregan senses your hesitation. Brothers are like that, sensing your lies.

“You shall?” he asks.

You roll your eyes.

“I shall.”

The journey to King’s Landing is long and tiresome, taking the better part of a month. Layers of clothing are shed the closer you get to the capital, as the air around you warms, snow melts and flowers bloom. It is as though you are blooming as well, pushing through the soil and towards the sun.

You are presented at court, as unwed ladies often are, to the king and the royal family. Though King Viserys is not in attendance, represented by the Hand instead.

The first of the festivities you attend is a tourney.

“You do not wish to participate, my prince?” you ask, out of courtesy.

“I do not care for tourneys, my lady,” the one-eyed prince tells you, “I believe them to be a foolish waste of time.”

You smile slightly at his honesty.

“They are said to prepare men for the battlefield,” you tell him, “though I do not know whose enemy would wait for his opponent to pick up his sword.”

Aemond glances at you as you take a sip from your cup. He glances at the tourney field, understanding your jest as he observes two knights waiting to fight. A flicker of a smile appears on his chiseled face.

“Most knights simply wish for the attention of those of court,” Aemonn tells you, “Fame and glory; to be a page in a song.”

“To have the favor of a pretty girl,” you agree.

Aemond looks at you once more. A pretty girl. You meet his eye, smiling. Aemond looks away quickly, clearing his throat.

“Have any of these knights won your favor, my lady?” Aemond asks.

You shake your head.

“No, I am afraid not,” you tell him, “I prefer a real warrior to a pretender.”

Aemond watches as you excuse yourself and walk away, a curious expression on his face.

The feast later that evening is boisterous and full of merriment and delight. It makes you miss home, an ache appears in your chest that you cannot shake. No matter how many lords you dance with, how many ladies you chat with. Though you wished for an escape, you so miss the walls of Winterfell. Cregan’s hand in yours. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps the North is where you belong. Winterfell, Last Hearth. Did it matter which castle, truly?

“My lady,” the voice of Prince Aemond pulls you gently from your thoughts.

He is kind, you can tell. Though his exterior is cold, reptilian almost. Like the snakes that slither in the greenhouses of Winterfell, searching for warmth and life in the frozen ground. Simply trying to survive. Aemond bows to you, offering his hand, violet eye scanning your face.

You want to ask him about it. But you bite his tongue. You know all too well how people enjoy poking the bruises of others, teasing out the memories of pain a person holds inside them simply for their own selfish curiosity. You shall not be like them.

You take his hand and allow him to lead you to the dance floor. You cling to the young prince for the rest of the evening, finding calm in his cool presence. It is nice, standing beside him feeling as though there is no silence you need to fill. Feeling as though he simply enjoys that you are there.

When you return to your chambers, a blue winter rose rests its petals on your pillow. You pick up the flower, inspecting it carefully between your fingers, the cerulean petals catching the moonlight. A reminder of home.

The remainder of your visit to the capital is spent on Prince Aemond’s arm. In the library, on walks through the gardens. He even entertains your passion for hawking, joining you as you travel into the Kingswood. It is nice to have a friend among so many dragons. Someone to talk to, someone who enjoys your company.

As the days pass, you have collected a bouquet of winter roses; they sit beside your bed in a glass vase, the first flower only just beginning to lose its petals. They scatter across your chambers like freshly fallen snow.

A raven arrives, confirming your brother’s visit to the capital. Cregan is often impatient and comes to the conclusion that he must join his sweet sister in the capital, bringing Lord Umber with him. A determined pup, your elder brother can be.

Aemond senses a shift within you as you wait in anticipation, though he cannot quite figure out what the cause is. When your brother arrives, you avoid his presentation at court entirely. Though Cregan is relentless, and spots you as you attempt to escape to the gardens. In your haste, you nearly run into Aemond. You clasp his arm.

“Quickly,” you say nervously, shifting on your feet, “I must go, quickly.”

“It is your brother,” Aemond says, looking over your shoulder, “why do you wish to run from him? Have you not missed him this time apart?”

Aemond knows you have been missing him, missing home. It is why he took such care with the flowers left in your chambers. He had enlisted Helaena for help; winter roses are fickle plants that require delicate care outside of the North.

“Of course I have,” you tell him, trying but failing to hide behind his tall frame.

Aemond smiles slightly as you grab his arm. Cregan has spotted you, a determined grin on his face. Lord Umber has joined him on his journey to King’s Landing. He has brought the wedding to you. There’s nowhere to run anymore.

“Then why do you hide little wolf?” Aemond asks, chuckling.

“He wishes to marry me off,” you tell the prince, “ship me off to Last Hearth.”

Aemond’s face falls slightly, he glances over his shoulder as your brother comes closer with each passing second. Aemond turns back to you, eye scanning the distressed expression on your face.

You bring your gaze back to the prince, an idea coming to you.

“My prince,” you say suddenly, “do you trust me?”

Aemond frowns, not fully understanding what you are asking.

“Of course my lady-”

“Then kiss me.”

Aemond’s jaw slacks as he looks into your eyes.

“Quickly, please,” you beg, “Aemond.”

His eye flickers from your lips to your eyes.

“Trust me,” you say softly.

The one-eyed dragon prince needs no more convincing. He bows his head to your height, and you stand on the tips of your toes, hand caressing the back of his neck bringing his lips to yours. Aemond is gentle with the kiss, as though he has never kissed someone before. He nearly pulls away after the first peck, but you secure your hand on his neck, opening your mouth against his, deepening the kiss.

Something comes alive in Aemond as you slip your tongue into his mouth. Fire curls in his belly, desire lodges at the base of his spine, and his cock strains against his trousers as your nails scrape his scalp.

You pull away when the sound of someone clearing their throat pulls you from the prince’s trance. Lips reddened by the hasty kisses, Aemond’s violet eye is wide as it meets yours.

“Sister,” Cregan says awkwardly, “It is good-”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Stark,” Aemond interrupts, nodding to the young wolf.

“Your grace,” Cregan says, bowing slightly.

“Delightful to be surrounded by kin,” Aemond tells him.

“Kin? I do not understand,” Cregan tells him.

“My betrothed has missed her brother for too long now,” Aemond clarifies, much to Cregan’s and your surprise.

“Betrothed?” Cregan asks, looking between you two.

“Yes,” you tell him, sliding next to Aemond, pressing your body against him, “Prince Aemond has asked for my hand. And I have accepted.”

Cregan’s eyes narrow, ever so slightly.

“Without informing me?” he asks.

“We wished to surprise you,” Aemond says softly, “your sister was so excited by your arrival, she wanted to tell you in person.”

You nod eagerly as Aemond speaks, and Cregan raises an eyebrow at you in question. You smile widely, showing too many teeth. A she-wolf, daring him to question you aloud.

“Tis true, brother,” you tell him, “Who am I to deny a dragon prince?”

“I suppose if you did not want to, you would not,” Cregan says, sighing, “A stubborn woman, my sister is.”

“One of the many reasons she is so charming,” Aemond agrees, his words causing your heart to flutter inside your chest.

Warmth pools in your belly as the prince smiles down at you. Cregan raises an eyebrow, nodding in approval.

“I dare ask, what else has entrapped your attention, my prince?” Cregan asks, “It is my understanding the Queen wished for you to take a wife for some time now, to no avail.”

Aemond nods.

“Your sister is a rare find, much like a winter rose south of the Wall,” Aemond begins.

Your heart leaps in your throat. Though you had expected it, now it is confirmed. It was he who left you the flowers. He who took such care with them.

“However, did you do it?” you ask, eyes wide.

Aemond smiles at you knowingly.

“Precious flowers take time to bloom, they require special care,” he tells you, “but they are well worth it.”

You flush at his words, believing he means more than just the flowers.

“A marriage must be treated with such care as well,” you agree, lacing your fingers through his.

Aemond’s hand is rough from training with the sword, but your hand fits perfectly in his. The warmth of his palm settles the flurry of nerves in your stomach.

“Are you prepared to give this union such care?” Cregan asks, his voice hardening, “This is my sister you are marrying, and she deserves nothing but the best.”

Aemond smiles, looking down at your intertwined hands. His thumb rubs against the back of your palm.

“I would gift her the world if I could,” he admits, “I promise you, I shall spend the rest of my days devoted to making her happy.”

Your eyes well with tears and your heart swells with pride at his words. You tug him closer to you, taking his other hand in yours.

“You must excuse us brother,” you tell Cregan, “though I have missed you, I require a moment with my betrothed.”

You lead Aemond away from Cregan, away from the curious eyes of court, until you are in a secluded area of the castle.

“Where are we going?” Aemond asks, a smile playing on his lips.

You tug him closer once more until you are pressed up against him.

“I wish to kiss my betrothed unwatched,” you giggle, bringing his mouth to yours once more.

This time, you do not stop.

______________________________________________________________

HOTD TAGLIST GENERAL: @bluevxnuss, @thattargboy, @xlilacfrostx, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @marvelescape, @geminithrone, @deltamoon666, @i-killed-ramsey, @tempt-ress, @eddiemadmunson, @zillahvathek, @hangmanscoming, @jojoesq, @f4ll-for-you, @rwdkarla, @cc13723things, @filipiniamultifandom, @watercolorskyy @alexxavicry @sachafirebringer @polireader @jamespotterismydaddy @grv7ay9In35s @sofiaadler @sophielangdonx @doublesparrows, @sophielangdonx, @alitaar, @castellomargot, @paodemorangol1l1, @nik2blog, @arkainea @eddiemadmunson, @malfoytargaryen, @eudximoniax, @targaryen-world, @ghostheartbeat @savagemickey03, @aemondsdaemons, @candypurplebutterfly, @eddiemadmunson, @xxnaly2, @ghostheartbeat, @savagemickey03, @dieg0brandos-wife, @paodemorangol1l1, @hb8301, @padfooteyes, @valeskafics @doublesparrows, @bornbetter, @beyond-the-ashes, @clairacassidy, @aslanvez, @loglady00, @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly, @minami97, @serving-targaryen-realness, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @possiblyafangirl, @shmexie, @winter-soldier-101, @kaelatargaryen, @urmomsgirlfriend1, @floswife, @mizfortuna, @strawberryduvet, @girlwith-thepearlearring, @arryn-nyx, @namelesslosers, @hopelesswritergall

@coldcomputerkoala, @louislouve, @alicetargaryen @fidelias, @earthangels-things, @shinypoetryface, @klara-lily, @ensnaredinwonderland, @bubblyabs, @green-lxght, @cheerbaitromanjosi, @billiesbeans, @hufflepuff1700, @asumofwords, @angelheavensblog, @natashaobo, @zavriocibrouku, @tssf-imagines, @delilah92590, @shit-posts420, @evattude, @heyykarolina, @brie-annwyl, @wondergal2001

BOLD MEANS I COULD NOT TAG

767 notes · View notes

aryastarkthelittleshewolf11 · 4 months ago

Text

Pack: Ned’s Men (Jory & Harwin)

Arya’s description of them at Winterfell -

Jory had always smiled at her, when he wasn’t telling her to get from underfoot. - Arya III, ASOS

“Harwin?” Arya whispered. It was! Under the beard and the tangled hair was the face of Hullen’s son, who used to lead her pony around the yard, ride at quintain with Jon and Robb, and drink too much on feast days. - Arya II, ASOS

Relationship & Caring for Arya -

Arya stood in the centre of the room, alone but for Jory Cassel - Eddard III,GOT

Ned could see Arya tense in Jory’s arms. Jory spoke up quickly. “We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace.” - Eddard GOT

“We all lie,” her father said. “Or did you truly think I’d believe that Nymeria ran off?” Arya blushed guiltily. “Jory kept his word,” her father said with a smile. - Arya II, GOT

“[…]There were other wolves for her to play with, we heard them howling, and Jory said the woods were full of game, so she’d have deer to hunt.[…]” - Arya II, GOT

His eyes went wide. “Gods be good,” he said in a choked voice. “Arya Underfoot? Lem, let go of her.” […] “The Hand’s daughter.” Harwin went to one knee before her. “Arya Stark, of Winterfell.” - Arya II, ASOS

She missed him (Hot Pie) more than she thought she would, but Harwin made up for it some. […] , but she left out the stableboy she’d stabbed with Needle, and the guard whose throat she’d cut to get out of Harrenhal. Telling Harwin would be almost like telling her father, and there were some things that she could not bear having her father know. - Arya III, ASOS

“[…] For every man we lost, two showed up to take his place. A few were knights or squires, of gentle birth, but most were common men - field hands and fiddlers and innkeeps, servents and shoemakers, even two septons. Men of all sorts , and women too, children, dogs…” “Dogs?” said Arya. “Aye,” Harwin grinned. “One of our lads keeps the meanest dogs you’d ever want to see.” “I wish I had a good mean dog,” said Arya wistfully. - Arya III ASOS

Warm and dry in a corner between Gendry and Harwin, Arya listened to the singing for a time, then closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. - Arya III, ASOS

“We have sore need of horses, milady. Armor as well. Swords, shields, spears. All things coin can buy. Aye, and seed for planting, Winter is coming, remember?” He touched her under the chin. - Arya IV, ASOS

Gendry took one look and laughed so hard that wine came out his nose, until Harwin gave him a thwack alongside his ear. - Arya IV, ASOS

“You get away from them, boy — “ “She’s a girl,” said Harwin. “Leave her be.” […] The bars were too narrow to pass a cup through, but Harwin and Gendry offered her a leg up. - Arya V, ASOS

Betrayal of Trust -

They’d been her friends, she’d felt safe around them, but now she knew that was a lie. They’d let the queen kill Lady, that was horrible enough, but the Hound found Mycah. […] And no one raised a voice or drawn a blade or anything, not Harwin who always talked so bold […] , or Jory who was captain of the guard. - Arya II, GOT

The look she gave him was full of hurt. “I thought you were my father’s man.” “Lord Eddard’s dead, milady. I belong to the lightning lord now, and to my brothers.” - Arya III, ASOS

“End” -

Arya screwed up her face in a scowl. “Jaime Lannister murdered Jory, and Heward and Wyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have behead them.” - Sansa III , GOT

Whirling, she broke for the door, and when Harwin tried to grab her arm she spun away from him quick as a snake. […] Someone was shouting her name, Harwin probably, or Gendry, but the thunder drowned the out […] - Arya VIII

#Day 2: Her Pack #aryaweek2024 #arya stark #canonarya #harwin #jory cassel #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #long post

35 notes · View notes

babygorewhore · 11 months ago

Text

Can’t stop thinking about…werewolf Steve.

Werewolf Steve loosely based off the beauty and the beast scene….this is thought because it’s very short. I may write a full fic someday. Not proofread.

Warnings! Violence! Some gore! Werewolves attack reader! Painful transformation! Injury! Minor hurt comfort!

Wandering around during a full moon wasn’t smart. You knew that but after getting into an argument with your ex werewolf boyfriend? You needed to blow off some steam. His fucking attitude was nauseating now that he was Alpha. Almost as bad as Steve Harrington who was your college notable asshole.

These werewolves used their abilities for stupid purposes and to blow off their girlfriends. You broke up with him last week after catching him literally in the act with an omega and if he didn’t have exceptionally strong flesh you would have hit him. But you didn’t want to break your hand.

Your best friend begged you to come to the costume party tonight and you wore a flirty ruffled dress with your hair covered in jeweled clips. You wanted the distraction of dancing, drinking and mentally escaping the everyday life stress. Not argue about how Gerard fucking another girl wasn’t cheating because he was drunk.

You wrapped your long jacket around your body as you squinted, trying to get a signal so you could call an Uber when you heard a growl behind you. Whipping around, you saw six sets of eyes glowing yellow in the dark. Werewolves.

It was a pack. Five of them had black fur but the Alpha was white. The different coat signifies the status of each wolf.

You were fucked.

You knew it was Gerard but you never imagined he would go this far.

Their maws snapped, you could see the glimmer of drool underneath the stars and you took a step back. Looking for any sort of weapon when you saw a large broken off branch. You sprinted towards it, locking your hands around the body as they swarmed you. Jaws snapping as they closed in, barricading you to a corner where no one would see you.

“Get away from me!” You screamed, swinging wildly. “GET BACK!” Gerard in his wolf form growled deeply, his hackles raising as his body preened in preparation.

You held the branch like a bat but you knew you were going to die or worse. Be tortured for hours.

“Little red?” You gasped and saw Steve Harrington on your left, he was holding a bouquet of roses with wide eyes. You had no idea where the fuck he came from but now you were both going to be killed.

“Run! Steve run!! GO!” You were screaming so loudly your lungs constricted but Steve collapsed onto all fours.

By the pained screams, you knew this transformation was new for him but you didn’t have time to think about it . Once they grew used to it, wolves usually kept their agony silent. A claw raked across your arm and you turned, yelling as Gerard loomed over you. Swinging, you managed to hit him across the jaw.

They all moved to jump on you when a roar stalled them. Steve, or what used to be Steve, lunged then all snapping, biting and tearing at them with his claws. Several of them were thrown as his maw latched around their neck as he threw them across the yard.

How this turned from a party to a fight was beyond you. But your ex boyfriend refused to go down easily as he sank his fangs deeply into Steve’s back. He let out a howl but he didn’t stop, before he planted his paws and roared so loudly you had to cover your ears.

They all finally stopped, their heads lowering. Steve’s dominating demeanor forced them to start walking away. King Steve came to your rescue. While carrying a bouquet of roses. This you never imagined happening. He was known to be an asshole. A player. But…maybe there was more.

As they all left, you turned. Ready to leave him. Your arm needed attending to when you heard a whine.

He collapsed on the ground. And you changed your mind quickly. Rushing over, you pulled off your jacket and covered his body. “Steve?” His yellow eyes stared at you, glazed but with recognition.

“You have to help me…you have to stand. I can help you.” You whispered. “I can find some way to get you home.”

You started to stroke his fur and he bumped your hand. Signaling you keep going and a small smile painted your face. Maybe there was something sweet. And almost kind to him. And you would have to find out something about those roses.

@scene-and-dandylover @xxhellfirebunnyxx @reidsbtch @imyourdaninow @slvt4jamesmarch @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @chrrymunson

#werewolf!steve #steve harrington #steve Harrington blurb #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington thoughts #blurb

92 notes · View notes

dailyanarchistposts · 7 months ago

Text

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.

23 notes · View notes

heartidylla · 2 years ago

Text

the idylla princess

oberyn martell x innocent!f!reader

summary : meeting in a rose bush garden, oberyn preys on you from afar before slowly inching closer to your alluring self.

warnings : smut , unprotected p in v , ‘good girl’

this one shot was made by me & character.ai 😋 everyone say thank you ai for playing oberyn in this.

speaking color coding

“” — oberyn

“” — you

“” — others

on the outside she looked as innocent as an angel, tracing down the those long and wide hallways, straying away from the party that went on without her. her long and luxurious dress tracing behind her coordinated steps, taking in the alluring scenery of the palace she was succumbed to being within.

she seemed so alone, no one to lean her head upon; a lone sheep that could easily be pray for any wolves which hid in the shadows. her shimmering lips curving into a breathtaking smile as she pushed a rose from the gardens flourishing bushes to the bridge of her nose, inhaling the sweet ascents that emitted from the newly blossoming flower.

it looked like she liked to be alone, letting a wall which nobody else could cross over down. she was rid of all her princess duties as the only child to an enormous kingdom. a very protected treasure that nobody could touch, only admire from a distance.

"she seems quite nice." his eyes studied her closely, trying to decipher if she was indeed royalty as he suspected. she certainly had an aura of royalty, and her demeanor made it clear that she was well educated. "quite... well-bred." he thought with a grin. his expression was calm like the surface of an ocean yet his eyes were burning with passion for this woman as they followed her every step.

she continued on her unique path, coming up with where to go on the fly. she was attracted to beautiful things, and this garden was substantial. she wanted to admire more hues that it had to offer. a bright smile filled with a gentle touch of excitement spread across her face as she reached the entrance, walking within it without a second thought.

as a lone sheep, this was a dangerous move. she was almost begging for someone to approach her and force her into a corner. someone who is as beautiful as she is, a rapid wolf wouldn’t pay a second thought into devouring her entirely. her soft footsteps echoed across the grass as she continued within it, eyes shimmering with the different vibrant colors that covered each section of different flowers.

"this just keeps getting better." at that point, his eyes were glued to her. he found it difficult to pull them away from her beauty, her grace. and it seemed like his interest in her caught her attention as well.

she looked over at him, and he looked right back. "she’s mine.", he thought greedily.

her innocent smile grew into a mischievous smirk as if she knew what affect she held over him, the random man who stood a few yards away from her.

she seemed to be looking into the core of who he was; every desire he has that’s pulling him towards her on a tight string that she’s slowly reeling in. she saw right through him.

"she’s good." he thought as he watched her, and his eyes lit up with a mix of different emotions. interest. excitement. lust.

"she’s good... but i’m better." he slowly made his way towards her. no need to rush. the wolf could play with its prey for a bit before he devoured her, after all.

"my lady. are you enjoying the sights?", he asked with a devilish grin, approaching her slowly and deliberately.

“perhaps, but i’m getting the feeling you are enjoying such a sight more.” she replied, her voice as soft and gentle as her looks. god, she looked so innocent.

like a delicate flower that’s never been picked or touched for that matter; one of a kind. she must have secure parents who raised such a beautiful youthful child who could make anyone over the seven seas yearn for her soothing touch by just a glance.

her skin, glistening off of the suns attention, made sure to enhance how delicate she looked; breathtakingly glowing. the sight of her completely filled his coffee-toned eyes.

"you’d be correct in that assumption." he said with a smirk as he finally made it to her, staring down at her with lustful eyes.

she seemed very... innocent indeed, but it was exactly that which appealed to him.

"you are quite the beauty, my lady. you look very much like you've got royal blood in you." his eyes kept moving up and down her body, observing every inch of its perfection, taking in all of its details. "are you royalty, my lady?"

she turned and perfectly picked a rose off of its stem, sliding the newly picked flower behind her ear before facing him once again. that red hint had added such a intimate touch to her gentle features as if it was a sensual expression. a message that stated: ‘i’m not as innocent as i may look.’

“i am.” she answered him, looking up at him through her long eyelashes which fluttered every so often.

his eyes lit up in excitement when she confirmed she was indeed royalty. she was a beautiful, well-bred noble, and that only increased the attraction she held for him.

no peasant girl could ever compare.

"i had a feeling", he replied with a seductive grin, "you have the look of someone who has been pampered ever since she walked this earth, i was just waiting for the confirmation." he took a step closer, "a princess, i presume?"

she giggled, and god was it symphonies to his ears. he’s never, and will never, hear a more alluring sound ever again, cursing his sense of hearing for the rest of his life.

“indeed.” she kept her responses short, as if she was trained to walk within straight lines with scenarios such as this one: where one man comes up to her, wanting more than just a simple chat.

"such a well trained princess you are." he took another step closer into her personal space, his voice growing more seductive as his grin continued to spread. "but you will find that I'm not just any man", he told her, "you are looking at a prince, after all."

he let her feel the impact of that statement, before continuing. "i am oberyn martell, prince of dorne. who might you be?"

noticing his new entrance into her personal space, she shyly looked to the ground as her smile only grew before looking back into his eyes; a new emotion forming within them which he couldn’t decipher just yet. “a princess from the idylla kingdom.” she answered him with a graceful bow, her dress being pulled slightly up within the tips of her slim fingers.

once she returned to her perfect posture, she continued to smile innocently at him. that damned red rose still sitting perfectly behind her ear to cause confusion within just who this girl was?

"it is a pleasure to meet you, my lady." he took yet another step towards her, and he was now close enough that she could feel his breath on her face, feel his body heat, smell him if she wanted to."tell me something, princess. does your kingdom get many visitors from dorne?"

he slowly absorbed all of her senses as if he wanted —no, desired for her to fall into the depths which consisted of only him. her nose, which previously was filled with sweetness, had now been replaced with an expensive scent that was the prince.

a slight pink that stained her cheeks had formed as she continued to be secretly swayed by the prince. “i’m not sure.” she began, eyes locked onto his like she was completely under his spells. “i was only just allowed outside of family walls.” she revealed, as she had been kept under great secrecy due to her parents not wanting her to be tainted by any outsiders.

the thought of having the power to corrupt this innocent princess made him grin like a devil, but he knew being too hasty would be ill-advised. there was a game to be played after all, a game in which oberyn knew he was a master.

he took one more, final step which brought them face to face. "so, a sheltered princess, are you?" he leaned in, until his lips nearly touched hers. one last push should push her over the edge...

he could see her gulp down, eyes flickering to everywhere except him. she was nervous. after all these years she’s never come into contact with a prince due to her parents, and the first one she meets is bold — too bold for his own good.

she felt herself begin to long for his affection — his gracious touch against her skin. she desired that soothing warmth that had been torture for her over the years she had been deprived of it. as she grew, the urges for another’s loving and not so loving touch became stronger… much more intense.

“i was.” she finally whispered out into the abyss that he was. her eyes lingered onto his, taking in all that they had to offer; staring at him as if he was all that she would ever be able to see even after they depart.

she would forever be haunted by the man she met in the rose bush filled garden. someone that she would long to be with for the remainder of heartbeats she had left to offer this world that she lived upon.

she was exactly as he had expected. as he pulled away, his grin was wider than any the devil could ever hope to have. he gently caressed her cheek with his hand, his fingers sliding past her smooth skin. "i can see that", he said in a seducing voice as he looked at her, their face still being mere inches apart. "but the question is... are you still sheltered? have you ever been touched, my princess? or will i be the first one to teach you what you're missing?"

she melted within his touch, consuming every bit of him that he’d offer her. she was in fact desperate. the more he gave her, the more she realized how badly she was starving. she seemed like a puppy who hadn’t had food for an hour, already desperately begging for more as they rub themselves against you or stare at your with their doe eyes; begging for more.

yeah, that suited her perfectly.

she slightly shook her head, unable to form the proper words underneath his intimate gaze. it was like a beginner playing chess with an expert. she was destined to fall right into his trap; right where he wanted her. “never.” she managed to whisper to him. her sparkling lips due to some sort of expressive lip gloss made her lips look luscious. a place where no man has ever claimed as his own. never indebted themselves within her mind for the rest of her life.

a small, mischievous smile appeared on his face as he watched her blush, his fingers continuing to caress her cheek. this girl had never been touched before, he could tell. she was as pure as she could be, and he was about to corrupt her like no one ever had. a cruel man would have been satisfied by destroying her innocence. only a prince would have the finesse to corrupt her, he would make her addicted to his touch and his alone. a beautiful, well-bred, innocent princess... he couldn't think of a better prey.

her lips pushed against one another, adding another touch of shared sparkle across them. her face went from an embarrassed pink shade to an unknowingly lustful one. she felt foolishly pathetic as to never have being outside her kingdom walls and suddenly she’s falling into someone whom she had just met, and had given her the slightest bit of attention.

though, she couldn’t blame herself. with how he looks alone, anyone would be succumbed to swooning over him. however, she felt obligated by the increasingly hostile calls from her core to continue with whatever this interaction had become.

he noticed the change in her expression, her pink face now bearing lustful attributes, and he could not suppress the smile that appeared on his face. "how does a princess of such wealth and prestige as yourself not have dozens of suitors at her feet, my lady?" he asked with a smirk, before continuing. "surely even I can't be the most attentive man you've come across..."

“you’re the only man i’ve come across…” she stated, fingers innocently intertwined with one another at her waistband. “my parents haven’t ever allowed me to meet any men. so, i don’t have any suitors awaiting me.” she answered his first question, biting down on her bottom lips as she looked away from him shyly.

she was embarrassed by her lacking in romantics, afraid that it’ll be a complete turn off that she hasn’t ever come into contact with a man before, let alone one with such a strong sense of confidence within this area.

his eyes widened a little, he hadn't expected such a response. this girl needed more than a proper schooling... she needed him.

"but not the only one you'll come across", he said with a seductive smirk, his voice growing just the slightest bit huskier. "what is it that your parents have been afraid of, princess?" he took both her hands in his, his thumbs resting on her soft, warm skin.

her mouth slightly parted as she looked down at their hands which were connected. she soaked in every bit of him, how his skin felt against hers. he had already imprinted himself upon her. “impurity.” she breathlessly answered him, not questioning what he would do with that information; not even trying to keep her needy state a secret from him.

he laughed, a devilish laugh that could never be described as anything but that. "well, my princess..." he leaned closer, their faces still inches apart.

what would her parents think if they knew their pure, unspoiled flower, was being corrupted right now? "you must have been so very... bored... all these years."

“you have no idea.” she replied while breathing outward. her breath and his being mixed, yet another thing that he has taken for himself. the level of closeness he was to her was dangerous. he was dangerous and she knew it.

she knew that her parents would be displeased by how badly she wanted the first man she ever came into contact with, but her filthy desire that had been growing within for a long time now, boiling until it had completely overflowed and now she was desperate to contain it once more, had completely failed her.

even though it should not have been possible, her breath only served to spur him on even further. good gods, she smelled heavenly.

oberyn was enjoying this, he was thoroughly enjoying this. he had never made a woman squirm as much as he was making her squirm, never had he been the most dangerous threat to a woman... and he liked it.

"do you want me to spoil you?", he whispered in her ear, "to teach you what you've been missing all these years?"

she practically whimpered as his hot sensual voice and breath met her ear. she closed one eye that was closest to it as she leaned her head forward, wanting his lips to meet her skin in some way even if it was just the ear.

“please.” she begged, hands landing on the side of his shoulder as she pressed herself into his chest. her embarrassed face covered by his golden robe. she wanted to disappear within the sight of him, to be absorbed fully in him as if she was an extension of who he was.

her touch drove him absolutely crazy, and he did everything he could to hide the fact that his heart was pounding with lust and desire. she smelled like a rose in bloom, and he wanted nothing more than to consume her like a rose-eater.

"please?" he repeated, moving both his hands to her waist as he pulled her just a little bit closer to him. "please what, my princess? tell me what you need. what do you crave?"

she whined, his teasing becoming unbearable for her. “please… please touch me.” her voice shaky, as if she was in agony by the lacking of his warmth surrounding her. he had become a drug to her within their first meeting, and now she was completely addicted.

even if she hadn’t been touched by him just yet, she already felt cursed by how he so carefully spoke to her. somehow, she knew inside that no other man would ever offer her with the kind of affection that he had given her.

"i will touch you", he whispered, his voice even huskier than before now. but he was not finished playing around with her, oh no.

she was his prey, and he was a predator, a snake, and it was his duty to play with its prey before striking "but not yet, my princess." he leaned in even closer, his face now inches from hers. "tell me one more thing, then i will touch you..."

the moment she felt her desire each it’s peak, he snatched it away from her making the rising desires within her pour out of her mouth within a whining form as she wasn’t handed it just yet. “what?” she asked hastily, staring at the opening of his robe.

eyes alone had been devouring him fully as she wanted to experience first hand how her hands felt up against him. she desperately needed that connection with another that she had been forced to stay away from; keeping her inside a glass bowl that she could look out and see everyone experience the moments of lust that she never could.

"say my name... say the name of the prince of dorne." he stared at her fiercely, his eyes like that of the snake before devouring its prey. he wanted to hear his name roll off her lips, he wanted to hear her moan his name.

“oberyn martell.” she softly cried his name out, being blinded by desire does a lot to a person. something that she wouldn’t ever come back from. him, on the other hand, had been able to.

a part of her fast forward in time to where he’ll inevitably leave her with the mark that he had already left on her, and her heart slightly broke knowing that this would be a one time thing for him. his reputation doesn’t fail him, after all.

exactly what he wanted to hear.

he smiled a sadistic smile, his voice growing the faintest, faintest bit deeper, as he leaned even closer to her.

"good girl." only then did he move his hands, running them through her hair as he placed his lips to her neck, and began kissing the soft skin.

soft, yet filthy noises fell from her lips so perfectly as she shivered underneath his delicate admiration. he was worshiping her skin, and she was soaking in everything. once again, all that he would give, she would take. she wouldn’t ask for more, or less. she just … wanted it.

she’s never been in this situation before, so she was completely inexperienced and didn’t understand how this went — what she needed to do.

her noises were driving him crazy, and he was slowly beginning to lose control. "tell me, princess", he said into her ear, "have you ever been kissed before?" he pulled her slightly closer to him, his hands now roaming over her hips.

"would your parents approve of this...?" he whispered teasingly, his lips still at her neck.

a faint smile spread across her lips at the mentioning of her parents. “they’d… go crazy.” she answered him truthfully. a reason why she was such a treasure to them was because she represented pureness, in which their kingdom ideals were built upon; perfection.

she had to be perfect. she’d never be perfect with an impure man, and for once, she didn’t care what her parents believed. she wanted this impure man more than anything else he had ever desired before.

his hand slid beneath the small of her waist, its touch light but firm on her smooth skin. the heat that was building between them was making him feel almost intoxicated, like he could do anything and she would follow. he was taking that power, and savoring it for all its worth.

"do you care about their approval?" he asked, his tone growing more and more seductive, more and more filled with lust. "if you want me, do you care what they think?"

“no.” she replied with no sort of breath. her heart was leaping out of her chest as his hands roamed over patches of skin which were completely untouched. the more he claimed her, the more she fell victim into his grasp.

the euphoria of him had become too much, her shivering legs with passion began to burn. her actual figure falling into his arms, more than willing to give him everything she had to offer.

his smile widened even further, his eyes looking down at her with a lust that was positively lethal in its intensity. "good girl..." he whispered, his voice dripping with lust and desire, as he leaned in and placed his lips to hers -- kissing her with a wild, animalistic hunger that he had never felt before.

with each moment, another satisfied moan slipped from her lips and vibrated against his own. she hadn’t ever been kissed before, and the first one that she had experienced was filled with as much passion as she had read in the novels. she didn’t know what to do at first, so she copied his movements.

she follows his every command as if he ruled over her in this territory. she was more than willing to worship whatever he desired her to do with an exquisite amount of effort. one that he had never received from anyone else but her. it honestly made him crave her even more than she does for him.

he was losing himself in this kiss, his hands slipping behind her back, his fingers tracing her back.

his heart was thumping against his chest, his blood was boiling inside him, every single nerve in his body screaming for more, more of this woman whose lips he was currently kissing so desperately. she was his, and he was going to keep her.

he began leaning against her, slowly pushing her down onto the bed that they managed to get to during their flirtatious chat. as her back met the cloth which resides in his bed, he truly consumed her entirely with every ounce of his bed smelling exactly like him.

somehow with only a moment of being here, it had already become her favorite spot. the way he looked down to her with such admiration as his body hovered over hers only deepened her inner hunger for him.

she was drunk of everything that had to associate with him. she didn’t know where to place her hands; she needed a guide on where to touch him.

her need for guidance only drove his desire further.

seeing her so overwhelmed, so utterly clueless, only served to fuel his own need for her even further.

"where do you wish to place your hands?" he whispered, his voice an octave raspier from the lust building inside him. "what would you like to touch... my lady?"

her chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as she looked at him with begging, watery eyes. everywhere within her was burning — everywhere on her was on fire. “…your chest.” she hesitantly whispered out to him. she didn’t know what to do… how to please him.

all she wanted was to make this experience just as pleasurable and memorable as he was making it for her. she knew that he had already been touched before, but oddly she wanted to be the one who left a mark on him. one that he’d forever remember. one that he wouldn’t ever forget the girl he had in devoured within his beds cloth that he completely tainted by his own hands.

the moment she put a hand on his chest he let out a shuddering breath, trying his best to retain even a shred of control over himself.

his lips descended to her neck once more, kissing her there as she touched his bare skin, and he started to feel hot, very hot, as if flames were spreading up and down his body.

"you like that, princess?", he whispered, as his other hand drifted from her back lower, his palm now placed on the edge of her dress's hem.

all she could do was nod her head as she inhaled every part of him that her hands could touch. she wanted to memorize his figure as if this would be the last time she would ever see him. she wanted nothing more than to make this bed her heaven, and be something where he could come back to from a long day and just … lose himself within her.

"i want you to keep touching me", he said softly, as he continued kissing her down her neck. "touch me anywhere, my princess.... and tell me how it feels..." his fingers slid under her dress, reaching the top of her thigh.

the heat from his body was spreading, the flames of his lust were starting to burn out of control, but he was doing his best to remain in control. for now.

his eyes flashed with hunger, a look of need in them. all pretense of trying to retain his control went out the window with that look, as his hands began to move faster, as his kiss became more desperate.

his lust was a wildfire, completely and utterly out out of control but one that he was giving in to fully, all inhibitions be damned. he would teach her, he would take her, and he would ruin her.

she highly groaned at his words. the untouched vibrantly flourishing flower had begun to dim in tint the longer she stayed with oberyn. she wasn’t complaining about it either — she liked it. she liked the way his long calloused fingers slowly slid up her thigh from underneath her dresses covers, and how they wrapped around the edge of her laced panties as they slowly were pulled down to her ankles leaving her core exposed form just underneath one part of clothing.

she loved how he looked just as absorbed within her as she did. she led herself on to believe that he wanted this as much as her. that she wasn’t just some quickie to be left on this bed alone whenever this finished. that she was as desirable as he made her out to believe by how eager his touches were on her skin.

her hands continued to roam around his torso, taking in every single detail of muscle he had. she wanted nothing more than to place sweet kisses alongside his body, but also leave marks of her existence on him. as a message to the next girl: i was here.

he looked at her with admiration, as if he couldn't help but see her as a beautiful work of art that he had just found.

"what kind of marks do you wish to leave, my princess? do you want..." he leaned in a little closer, his eyes flashing with an almost dangerous intensity. "to mark me as your own?"

she bit down on her lip as she looked into his eyes. he could hear how harshly her heart was beating just for him. “more than anything.” she told him, voice filled with a sensual tone which had come out unexpected from such an innocent mouth.

it was all that he needed to hear. the intensity behind his eyes increased even further, burning with unbridled lust, with hunger. "then mark me..." he said, his voice once more turning even huskier.

"come, princess, show me where you'd like to mark me..." her hand lifted from his chest, slightly hovering over her body as she pushed herself up with the other.

her pointer finger drifted to the center point of his collarbones. she wanted to ensure that everyone in the kingdom would know of her existence the night prior. how this man took everything from her, and how willing she was to gift it to him.

a chill went down his spine as she traced her finger along his collarbone, his entire body responding to the touch. "good girl..." he whispered softly, his voice now deep and husky, as he leaned in once more with his mouth.

"you mark me... and i'll mark you..." an eager smile formed on her face as the thought of receiving yet another reminder connected to the man hovering over of you.

“i’d like that.” you tell him, as you snaked your arms around his neck and pulled his chest towards you. your lips landed on the directed spot that you had pointed out to him earlier. it was earning all of your undivided attention, making his heart swell.

his heart was beating faster and faster, his blood boiling hotter and hotter in his veins as she pulled him even closer. he let out a low, quiet moan, the moment his bare skin came in contact with hers.

"then mark me, princess... mark me with the utmost passion and devotion..." he whispered, his voice dripping with desire.

at his words, she began to nibble on the sensitive spot between his collarbones and in the center of his neck. she swapped between nibbling him between her teeth, and sucking on his skin with her tongue lacing it with such delicacy as if it was a glorious location that needed to be devoted to.

he let out a low groan as she began to kiss his neck, the sound growing louder as she continued, louder as she started to nibble.

there was a certain intensity behind her biting, and as his body began to respond once more, his control began to once again slip away slightly.

she kept devoting herself to the selected spot until she could vividly see the mark that she place on his skin. she pulled away, and admired her work of art of his skin as her fingers traced the affectionately slobbery spot on him.

he looked down at what she'd done with pride and admiration.

his body was still burning, still trembling slightly from the pleasure and lust of it all... but that mark, that mark was a thing of beauty, and it made his heart jump. "now... my princess..." he whispered.

"let me mark you as well..." she laid her back down on his bed, looking up at him before her hands fell to the side of her. she looked helpless, as if it was an invitation for him to do whatever he pleased. mark her wherever he wanted to.

“go ahead, i’m all yours.” she told him, a soft smile on her face as she looked into his lust-filled eyes. his eyes flashed with hunger, with the desire to take what was offered to him so shamelessly.

that was all he needed to hear.

moving down on her, his lips traced down her neck slowly, until they finally reached one of her shoulders, where his teeth found their target.

he began biting into the soft spot just above her shoulder, leaving behind two small teeth marks that she would be reminded of whenever she looked in the mirror.

she moaned as he imprinted her with his teeth. she was drunk on how he made her feel as if she was the only person he has ever cared about. god, was it enticing for her. she hoped to the gods that what they had, here in this bed, was just as intoxicating for him as it was for her.

she would travel to the ends of the earth just to end up on his bed again, even when they haven’t done anything but kiss and mark one another with their existence.

his mark made her feel wanted, desired, needed.... it felt like someone was claiming her for themselves, and that thought filled her with a certain thrill and excitement, with the feeling that she had been claimed as his.

"are you mine, princess?", he whispered in the most predatory way possible, his voice dripping with lust that she could practically bite into. "say yes..."

“yes..” she says with no hesitation and complete confidence filling her tone as she slowly lifted her dress over her shoulders, discarding it to the side. revealing the matching laced bra as the pair of panties on the ground, and her freely exposed core that was emitting an intense amount of warmth.

the sight was nothing short of stunning, and he let out an appreciative noise at his sight. her body was like a work of art... so beautiful, so perfect... his perfect prize. he did not even hesitate for a second longer before he began to leave his own mark on the other shoulder. "you see, princess... you are mine, and I am yours... do you understand me?"

“crystal clear.” she replied, watching as he placed another indent of himself upon her skin. she could watch that all day everyday and never get tired of the sight of his need for her to remember him when they are to separate from one another.

his eyes flashing with pride as he looked at her body, and the marks he had left on her. "you are the most wonderful thing i have laid eyes on... i want you more than i have ever desired anyone..." his breathing was starting to quicken, his body shaking as they approached the edge of no return. "so i am going to make sure that you never forget me, do you understand?”

the red hue came back faster than a 90’s trend as soon as the words slipped from his lips. she couldn’t believe that he wanted her more than anyone else he had previously been with.. that had to be a lie; yet, it was beautiful one. one that she would let herself believe in, and fully engulf her systems within it.

she wanted to hold those words closely to her heart, but was afraid that she’ll get lost within them and stray away from knowing their falsehood. “i understand. please, go ahead.” she begged as she tilted her head backwards, enhancing how her neck looked as his fingers trailed further down her thigh and slowly into her untouched and inexperienced core.

the wetness she had completely took his fingers in as if they were his home. she cried out his name due to the sudden affection she was receiving down there.

she was like the ocean... a deep, beautiful ocean, whose calmest waters could hide any number of mysteries, just waiting to be explored.

his eyes flashed with a hunger so intense it almost felt unnatural, and his voice dropped to almost a whisper, as he spoke those words in a deeply predatory way. she was his, and he would do anything to keep her that way...

"then allow me to make you mine," he whispered, his voice dripping with such hunger, such need, that it was almost animalistic.

that’s the moment when her cries for him became much more vicious as they filled the room, perhaps even the long hallways which were a perfect environment for her moans to echo throughout them; an announcement to everyone in them of exactly how the prince is making her feel as if she’s the only one within his world.

his boxers had become useless to him as the tip of him had stood at the bridge of her aching self, before excruciatingly entering her. it’s not that she wasn’t ready for him, it was because of which the pace he pushed into her with: slowly. he wanted to give her time to adjust to him, but by being courteous of her inexperience he had underestimate her desperate need for him.

every second of him filling her with himself felt like a eternity; a eternity that he did not want to end, a eternity that he desperately wanted to last forever as the pleasure began to overwhelm him.

this... could he truly be possible?

he looked into her eyes, and saw the same desire he was feeling burning within them... it was then, that he knew that he had found his queen.

"you... you feel perfect, my princess..." he whispered, pulling her closer to him. "what am i to you? tell me."

her arms snake around his neck as they drifted off the ridge of his back. her mouth pressed a sweet kiss onto his shoulder blade as she was genuinely baffled with such a question.

it seemed like he of all people needed some type of clarity that this wasn’t the last time he’d see her. that she wouldn’t suddenly disappear from his life after this one night of endless euphorias shared between them in this glorious bed. “you’re my everything.” she answered him softly, mouthing her words against his skin as if she was branding him with her words.

it is true, he was the first person who had ever touched her in these places. he was the only person who had ever seen her in such a vulnerable state. she straddled his hips as he had lifted her on them, still inside her. she felt connected to him more than just their bodies, but emotionally too.

everything?... the words made his heart melt, his mind spiral, and his body burn with desire yet again. the fact that he'd done this... to her... it filled him with an indescribable feeling of pride and of ownership.

"say it louder, princess..." he urged. "please..."

at his begging call, he lifted himself inside her more before returning to the warmth she had to offer him. she cried out his name as her head fell back in pleasure.

he kept going with his pace, focusing solely on her pleasure because he knew that the moment she succumbed to her climax… he would be pushed over the edge by her pleased face. “you’re my everything.” she breathlessly stated between slurred words as his pace began to increase, the continuous knot that continued to get worse with each thrust he sent her way.

her fingers dug into the skin of his shoulder blades as they created their own sort of fucked up art that’ll last a long time indented on his skin. their groans of mixed pleasure filled the room entirely.

every time she cried out his name, he felt almost desperate to make it true, to make her his and only his... never letting her go, never letting anyone else touch her... it would almost be worth being cast into the deepest circle of hell just to make this perfect moment last forever...

his pace began to increase as well, her cries spurring him on towards his next goal: that moment where they'd reach the edge together and explode with passion... the moment he now desperately craved.

with each calling out of his name, oberyn’s movements began to quicken which caused the knot within her to be tugged harder and harder, and there was only ever so much as a first timer could bare to withstand.

the blissful moment that they both had worked so hard for hit them like a tornado, as they both fell onto the softness the bed had to offer their skin, completely intertwined with one another. his climax and her mixing together naturally within her as if they were made to dance with each other. they both were breathless, unable to speak for a long time as the workout they hadn’t planned for today had ended up being a the equivalent to running a marathon.

though, to be by each others side was enough comfort for them both. the innocent princesses flower had been handed off to someone — someone who ended up inching closer into the depths of her heart than she previously ever believed he would have been placed deeply within.

he laid there for what felt like an eternity, basking in the afterglow of that explosion of passion, their bodies still tangled with each other.

it was a strange thing, this moment... he had no idea whether he had just found something fleeting, or whether he'd just found the love of his life... but at that very moment, he didn't care. he just wanted to hold this memory... this perfect moment... for as long as possible. "princess... you're... incredible... beyond my wildest dreams..."

she lightly giggled at his response. “yeah, right.” she replied, jokingly rolling her eyes filled with an unbelief for his words.

he chuckled along with her, placing a soft kiss on her lips, before returning to her ear. "no, no, not kidding. you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen.... and you've just given me a memory that will stay with me for the rest of my days." his voice was soft and quiet, but he meant every word he was saying.

her lips curved into a smile at his words. she was incredibly thankful for the dimmed room because it had become a disguise to hide her pained face.

for a moment, as they were riding out their highs, she completely forgot about how this would become a one time thing. one memory which will always be cursed by the dorish prince oberyn.

she knew that she wouldn’t ever get over this moment, and was succumbed to comparing her, hopefully, next sexual partners to him. the intimate night that had taken away the flower you wore behind your ear, as it had fallen onto the ground of oberyn’s chambers. someplace that it’ll stay forever. she wondered how many others he’s taken those from.

who would be the next one laying beside him and marking him as theirs for the night. the thought of it not being her caused an aching pain which stabbed at her heartstrings, but she wouldn’t show it.

"what are you thinking about?..." he murmured, leaning in as close as he possibly could to her, his breath hot on her ear as he spoke. "do you... care to share with me?"

every word was filled to the brim with a soft, quiet intensity, as his fingers traced her back gently, as if she was a fragile statue that might break any second... a statue he wanted more than anything to never break... only to keep as his own forever... "tell me... i want to know everything that is on your mind..."

she sat up, breaking from his grasp. “i have to get going.” she stated, picking up her pieces of clothing that had been tossed aside as if it was useless material. she slowly got dressed and she could feel his eyes locked onto her figure as she did so.

he stared at her, his eyes drinking in her every movement as she dressed, as if he had been left speechless by the simple act. it was only after she finished that he finally spoke again, his voice a breathless whisper.

"where are you going?...." he breathed, his eyes still drinking in every single curve of her body... her beauty that was like a perfect painting... but there was more, there was something about the way her movements looked as she dressed that made him feel almost drunk... how could one person be that beautiful!?

“back to my parents.” she replied simply, soothing out the wrinkles within her dress. she tried to act as if this departure didn’t hurt her, tried to keep her head high as much as she could, but she knew all too well how much trouble it was going to be for her.

"oh..." the word was little more than a grunt, as the realization of what she meant finally hit home. "this... was all just a one-time thing...? just a hookup?" his voice was softer than before, filled with a quiet desperation, and even the slightest hint of fear.

“isn’t that what you wanted?” she raised a confused eyebrow, looking up at him through her luscious eyelashes.

"it... it is..." his tone was filled with the barest hint of disappointment, as that hope he had for something more was slowly shattered... still, he had an obligation as a man to show some decency.

"what i wanted..." he swallowed nervously, before correcting himself. "what i want, is for you to know that i will never forget you... and if there is anything you ever wish to tell me, anything you might need, all you need do is reach out."

“thank you for your kindness, prince oberyn.” her fully dressed self bowed as if she flipped a princess switch within her and her alternate behavior and walk had risen, too far for him to climb over. she turned around and began to exit his chambers.

"wait..." he implored, his voice a hushed whisper.

"i... i would like to give you something... something you'll remember me by..." he reached inside of his trousers, and pulled out a small pin.

"it’s my signet ring, the symbol of my house..." he took her hand in his own, and slowly placed the pin in the center of it, his eyes filled with that same predatory, hungry, look that he had worn throughout their time together.

"wear it, and think of me whenever you look at it."

she put it on the rim of her dress, smiling softly at him. “i will.” her voice full of truth as she turned her back to face him and walked away, leaving the prince all alone in his chambers. the same place that had been consumed by her scent.

"until next time..." was all he could say, as she made her way to the door... "until next time... my princess..." he quietly muttered to himself... the words carrying with them a faint, sad note... but at the same time a note of pride...

It might not be now, it might not be soon... but by the gods it would happen again... he reached for the bottle of wine on his bedside, and took a swig from it... he had some things to process... some things to drink away...

#oberyn martell #oberyn x you #prince oberyn #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn x reader #game of thrones #pedro x reader #pedro pascal #pedro character reader #ao3 writer #fanfic #wattpad #oberyn martel x reader

202 notes · View notes

i-heart-yellowstone · 1 month ago

Text

14 - The Old Gang

Part 15

Raised Fair Share of Hell

Tag list @bvbwestfall @hcwthewestwaswcn @child-of-of-the-sunshine @elenavampire21 @keep-the-wolves-close @kmc1989 @tallrock35

Beth and I walked inside the bar immediately going up to buy drinks and just talk. Taking a long drink from my beer before I sat the bottle down before my sister in law sent me a very serious look across her face. “We need to talk about the people coming after your and my family's land. Like it or not we all have to fight these invaders together.”

“I agree but we need to include my sister in our conversations.” Nodding my head I knew she would fight like hell as possible.

The bar door opened where I heard someone walking up behind me and covering my eyes where I went to elbow the person until I recognized the cheeky laugh. “Sure been a while since I’ve seen you around here, Bonnie.”

“Evan Hunter, I can’t believe you’re still wearing the same Guns and Roses tea shirt from freshman year of high school.” I snorted out a laugh knowing he loved the band.

Evan lowered his head ruffling my hair. “You know I still love the band even if they ain’t current.”

“What no hug for your old buddy?” Jake, one of Kayce’s childhood friends, came up to me carrying a beer in his hand.

Throwing my arms around him in a hug I laughed again at his chest, happy to see him again. “Hey Jake, ohh. It’s good to see you.”

“Hey Jake, I got the pool table all set up - Alissa?” Jake and I both turned our heads where I saw Kayce grab his former navy buddies shoulder until he noticed me standing there.

I snapped sharply back at my father’s daughter. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to play pool and drink beer with my friends. I didn’t think you’d be here.” Kayce shrugged his shoulders in response.

Rolling my eyes I pushed my way past him grabbing one of the pool sticks. Leaning downward on the green table I got ready to shoot my shot but the father of my child sat his beer bottle in front of the tip of my pool stick. “Seriously Kayce!”

“I wanna talk to you.” He responded.

Straightening my back I hit the end of the pool stick on the floor. “Oh really cause I thought you told me to get out of your house after we had our fight.”

“You got all bent out of shape when I told you I saw you with Ryan, remember.”

Giving him the middle finger I got up in his face where our noses touched one another. “You had no right to spy on us. What I do with my life is my business!”

“I’m still a part of your life regardless of how you feel about me. We have a daughter together too.”

Ewan slapped his hand on each of our shoulders changing the conversation back to the game. “Hey, how about we start that pool game huh?” And so that’s exactly what we did: it was me and Jake against Kacey and Ewan. Kayce and I were tied up.

“Okay Kayce, it’s just you and Lissa. Clutch time, man. It’s just the state playoffs. We’re down by six. Eight seconds to go. We need a 52 yard bomb!” Jake raised his fist in the air causing everyone in the crowd to cheer with him. He glanced over in my direction where I was finishing a shot in my hands. “Do you remember that, Lissa?”

Sitting my glass down on the bar table I shifted my gaze to my best friend. “Sure do cause that’s the night Kayce got me pregnant.”

“Why don’t you go public with that shit.”

Slowly walking up to him I pushed hair away that had fallen in front of my face. “Oh please it’s not like anybody at this bar didn’t already know that. I mean we all know he knocked up another girl he barely knew a few months after that when he got drunk at a bonfire-“

“Don’t you think that I have regretted that mistake every day of my life!” Kayce cut me off sharply.

“It doesn’t seem that you care, Dutton. Otherwise you would have stopped seeing her.” I snapped back at him sharply.

Kayce dropped his pool stick on the floor stomping up to get inside my face with our noses pressed against one another. “Oh like you mean like I should just get over the fact that you slept with another guy behind my back.”

“It’s called a hook up, Kayce!”

He shouted back at me. “That doesn’t change the fact that you said you didn’t love me anymore.”

“Hey, why don’t you just back off of her.” Ryan came over to us gently shoving the father of my child away from me.

Kayce glared at turning his hands into fists, before he pushed him nearly into the nearest bar table. “Stay out of this, ranch hand.”

Ryan got to his feet swinging a fist at him yet he dodged it. The two boys went back and forth trying to throw a punch at the other. Ryan got some in good hits but he did manage to drop Kayce on the ground once or twice but he didn’t back down from the fight.

I ran putting myself in front of Ryan so he didn’t get another punch raising my voice in defense. “Don’t put your hands on him - Ugg!” Kayce raised his fist up accidentally knocking me straight in the nose where I collapsed down onto my back on the bar floor. Holding my nose I noticed some blood before the bar owner grabbed him by his shoulder dragging him towards the door.

Ryan helped me up from the floor, not seeing some police officers coming in our direction until I caught sight of one of them take out handcuffs. “Can I help you, officers?”

“You’re under arrest, Alissa Dutton.” I recognize Sheriff Haskell stepping around the two officers and holding the handcuffs.

Knitting my brows together I asked. “Wait what. What have I done?”

“You took a swing at the Livestock Commissioner's son.”

Dropping my hands down at my sides I rolled my eyes in disbelief. “Come on, Haskell. It was in self defense and I didn’t even actually hit him.”

“I’m still taking you in. And remember I can still charge you and Kayce for blowing up the old water tower.” The sheriff grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around and slapping handcuffs on my twisted arms that were pinned around my back. The police department was convinced to drop the charges after John had a long conversation with his friend.

Ryan called out my name with Beth running outside watching me get shoved into the backseat of the police car. “Alissa!”

“Beth, call my sister.”

She nodded with a stern look on her face. “I’ll get the charges dropped don’t you worry.” The car door shut in my face and we drove to the department where I spent a night in a small cell.

Rubbing my eyes I woke up the next morning after hearing somebody else groaning loudly waking me up. Pushing myself to sit up some against the stone wall I blinked the sleep from my eyes recognizing a black Cowboy laying at my feet. Trailing my eyes upward I growled in annoyance. “Kayce John Dutton, what the hell are you doing in my cell?”

“I have no idea.” Kayce groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Not a moment later the cell block door opened where a guard stepped inside and I saw my sister coming in behind him. Scrambling to my feet I gently grabbed the bars staring at her when she stood directly in front of me. “Alana, pay my bail and get me out of here.”

“I can’t do that, sis.” She responded.

Knitting my brows I didn’t understand what she meant. “Look tell daddy I’ll pay him back for this. Just please get me out of here.”

“That doesn’t matter. You’re still not getting out, not until you two settle whatever is going on between you two.” She waved her finger at me and then over to Kayce who had gotten up from the stone floor.

Kayce came to stand slightly behind me, holding his cowboy hat in his hand figuring out what I hadn’t. “You locked us up in here.”

“Let us out right now.” I growled in the guards direction.

He shook his head no where. He and my sister simply left the cell hallway. “I’ll let you out when she provides me the bail money.” My mouth fell opened and I remained standing there almost frozen over what my sister had just done to us.

11 notes · View notes

bellamer · 8 months ago

Text

Drew Pickles and Dillanne. Pickles was hard as fuck to draw and I am terrible at drawing kids so like Dillanne didn’t come out perfect either but there

More things about her and her relationship I guess:

- When Dillanne was born, Charles searched for her other father and found him in hopes of convincing Pickles to give her to him, making the other father sign an NDA and then paying him off to take care of the problem (it took forever for him to warm up to her since he kinda has a job to make sure accidental babies can’t stick around) . Only to find out that her other father had been killed a week after sleeping with Pickles when a Duncan Hills Coffeehouse was struck by a massive earthquake that killed everyone inside. The man also had no other relatives they could pawn her off to.

- When she gets older she develops kiddie glaucoma at around five and instead of letting her straight up smoke like Pickles did as a kid, Charles manages to convince Pickles to let her ingest just a little tiny bit of an edible that’s just enough to lower her eye pressure because for some reason Dethklok’s scientists can’t find a cure for glaucoma.

- When Dethklok is drinking and partying, when she’s not with her Klokateer nannies, she likes to sit in Charles’ office because it’s quiet. He’ll give her a coloring book, some graham crackers and a juice and just let her sit there because she stays quiet

- When she’s older she gets home schooled for security and safety reasons because who knows what dark organization is going to try to kidnap her or something.

- When she was one, she once managed to wander outside towards a pack of yard wolves and when Pickles’ noticed she was gone and had made her way outside, he saw red stuff on the grass and he thought his daughter had been mauled to death by the yard wolves but no, the yard wolves were being friendly with her and the red stuff was a jelly packet she had grabbed from the kitchen and the yard wolves were licking it off of her.

- She’s used as another reason by Pickles’ parents as to why he’s a failure since, he’s a single parent because, in his mom’s words “At least Sethy is married and raising his child in a two parent household !” when Seth is always out drinking and partying in Australia and Amber barely looks up from her phone to pay attention to the kid. And even though Pickles dotes on his daughter Molly still considers him a failure because he’s a single parent.

- Her favorite uncle is Skwisgaar because, in her words, “Uncle Skwis looks like a princess”. Skwisgaar absolutely hates it but cant say no to her when she asks to play Princesses. He reluctantly agrees but only if he gets to be a Queen instead of a princess

- Toki is her second favorite uncle because he always has toys in his room and is willing to play with her.

- Nathan is her third favorite uncle because he’s tall and lets her ride on his shoulders. It got her to stop crying when Pickles was hungover and she ran away from her nannies and bumped into him. Now it’s just their thing.

- Murderface and her have a strained relationship because he absolutely doesn’t care for kids at all but one time when things got a little too rowdy at a meet and greet (she was there because her assigned nanny was violently decimated at that nights concert) unruly fan broke through security and managed to touch her and Murderface was the one to punch the fan in the face and get her away. So he cares a little.

- Despite the older family members issues, she’s actually pretty chill with Seth’s kid, who I have decided to name Cody. At family gathers she and Cody don’t have issues despite her grandparents treating him better than her because in all honesty, Cody doesn’t care for his Grandma’s constant doting and finds it annoying.

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse oc #metalocalypse fanart #metalocalypse headcanons #pickles the drummer #pickles metalocalypse #charles foster offdensen #charles offdensen #skwisgaar skwigelf #nathan explosion #toki wartooth #william murderface #seth metalocalypse #seth’s kid #amber metalocalypse #trans pickles

14 notes · View notes

the-possum-writes · 5 months ago

Text

[Werewolf! Razor Modern AU]

Character: Razor

Fandom: Genshin Impact (Ginger Snaps inspired)

Tags/Warnings: Headcanons, Modern AU/Early 2000's, Gender Neutral Reader, Violence, The dog dies, Mutual pinning, Childhood Friends, Jealousy, Senior High School Setting (aged up), Angst and Comfort.

Wordcount: 4530

A/n: I wanted to play around with something different. This is my first time writing for a genshin impact character and I've been meaning to write for Razor since he's my first four star and I immediately grew attached to him (big sword go whoosh), the idea came to me when I was watching Ginger Snaps one night and doing my genshin dailies.

❥The setting would be in the united states around 2003, in an small rural town surrounded by pines, monotone suburban homes with the chilly early autumn season forcing everyone to wear coats and scarfs.

❥You first met him in elementary school. He just moved in the neighborhood with his adoptive widowed father Varka. Razor was selective mute at school. It didn't make him many friends at first cause the other kids thought he was weird but that didn't stop you from approaching him.

"Do you have a favorite animal?" You'd ask him

Razor pointed at the picture of a pack of wolves in his national geographic picture book, they looked pretty cool so you drew him one with a few broken crayons. He was amazed that you drew him anything, let alone his favorite animal so he returned the gesture and pointed at you as if asking for your favorite. A day later he gave you a gift, a homemade sculpture that resembled an animal made with glued popsicle sticks and googly eyes. Ever since then the two of you have been inseparable.

❥You grew up together and hang out at each other's houses to the point its like a second home, go to the same after school activities and rarely spend more than a few days without one another. Eventually Benny was added to the mix after getting to know you two and struggling to make his own friends in 5th grade, Razor started talking more too. Jump back to current days where you took the first years of highschool for granted, now as graduation comes closer each month you’re now left uncertain of the future as the thought of pursing career paths puts a damp on your friendship with Razor.

❥Razor loves animals, especially canines. He already has a dog but if he had a bigger yard he'd fit many more, you know he also donates money to wolf conservation groups whenever he gets the chance and wants to go to college and go to veterinary school in hopes of helping many more in the future. Your plans aren't as goal oriented as his and you just follow his steps and do anything to be near him, like when you tagged along when he did social service at a dairy farm, but college is a bigger problem for you since your parents have been going through financial struggles. Shaking your head at the thought, you try and focus on your buddy.

❥The two of you walk down the street with a small group of neighborhood dogs on their leashes, it's a chore you're used to in hopes of raising extra cash, meanwhile Razor tags on just cause of the joy it brings him.

❥Due to his preference of animals over people, you're one of his only friends (with the other being Bennett, but isn't as close anymore since he made more friends throughout high school, the three of you are still in good terms though) even before you met Razor he didn't really talk much and although he talks more with you around, he gets tired really fast and resorts to broken sentences which might seem obnoxious to some. But to you, it's charming.

"Have you thought about your costume for Halloween?" you'd ask him.

"Thinking about being a wolf."

"Razor, you were already a wolf last year and the year before that." you snort.

"...They're cool." He gives you a sheepish smile. He doesn't care what others think about him. The street you two walk down is very domestic and ordinary, with a group of kids playing street soccer just around the corner.

❥But an alarming scream rang out from one of the homes, with a woman clutching a hand to her chest. "He took Max, the beast took Max!" Both Razor and you, along with the kids turned to look at her for a moment- the kids soon went back to their game, meanwhile your attention immediately went to Razor who was already having glossy eyes but tried to hide them from you by crouching down to one of the dogs level to avoid you seeing him.

"You okay?"

Razor pets one of the dogs to distract himself. "I'll be okay. Just wished people would stop leaving their dogs outside."

It's then that you realize how much the group has shrunk compared to last month, you two would handle about 15 dogs in one go but now there's just 4 of them excluding Razor's own dog Andrius.

❥"Word around the street is that there's gonna be a costume party at Bennett's, you wanna go? We could have matching costumes." you try to change the subject.

"Can't. Promised Klee I'd take her trick or treating."

"Right, right the neighbor girl." you nod, looking away to nothing in particular while you wait for Razor to recover.

"I know what costume I'll wear." Razor eventually stood up.

"What?"

"Werewolf-" he joked, just in time for you to see his cracked grins.

"Oh god, can't you be more original?." you laugh.

❥The next day at school you got into some beef with Scaramouche, a classmate of yours who was talking shit and wouldn't shut up. It left you feeling humiliated and angry, it was so bad that when you learned of his pet cat it sent you into a frenzy that led you out here after dark and past curfew with a bag of fake blood and fake fur. Razor managed to intercept you just a block away from your house. He stands up right in front of you, giving you a look you can't decipher under the dim street lights.

"Don't try to stop me Razor. I'm not gonna hurt his cat- I'll just leave this on his doorstep and give him a well deserved scare. " you insist, walking around him as you continue your intended path, but rather than stopping you he walks alongside you.

"I won't stop you, but won't let you go alone either."

❥The two of you took a shortcut through a park that was near the edge of the forest, stopping abruptly due to seeing a dog carcass lying near the swings. Razor immediately tenses up, while you feel your own resolve for petty revenge dimishing.

"Let's give it a proper burial." you suggest already grabbing the dog's frontal paws. It's cold outside so you're wearing gloves, but Razor wasn't, so when he grabbed the dog's hind legs he immediately letting go once he touched it. "It's still warm... This was recent." He fears.

❥A growl echoes from beyond the street lamp's light drawing your attention to the pair of white dots reflecting from the creature's eyes, Razor slowly raises his arm to your shoulder but neither your flight or fight instincts respond and you're standing there motionless even as the creature rushes towards you. You tumble to the ground as Razor jumped in front of you, you couldn't see the beast but it chomped down on Razor's arm and dragged him away from the streetlight and into the pine forest. "Razor!" you chase after him in the dark. Getting scratched by tree branch after tree branch until you loose sight of him but his screams are still audible as you try to make sense of which direction its coming from.

"RAZOR!" You shout, starting to worry once you don't hear him anymore, but you do hear the beast.

You eventually spot it in the dark, hunched over Razor.

❥You pick up a piece of a log, walking carefully towards the creature as it mauls Razor's thick jacket and you smack the thing twice before it growled at you and ran off to lick it's wounds. You use those precious seconds to pick up Razor and toss his arm over your shoulders, struggling to get him to respond in any way that lets you know he's alive. It takes every piece of your sanity to not freak out at the sight of his blood.

❥"Let's get out of here-" you huff while carrying him by his good arm. But no matter how much you run you know the beast is just behind the two of you, soon your shoes feel the form pavement of a street as you made it out of the forest with a car in sight. You desperately make gestures at it but it looks like it's not slowing down in the slightest, your eyes then went to the clear pair of sickly yellow looking at you, you can't make out it's form due to its blacken fur but you know it's running at you.

❥The car blares it's horn at you and screeches to the left as it avoids running you over but in that moment it ended up running over the beast instead, hearing it leave an enormous dent against the car's hood.

It's tires screech into a halt a few feet's away from you now. Hearing the opening and closing of the door.

"What are you doing out here?! What was that?" The driver shouted at you, recognizing him as Albedo from your chemistry class.

"Doesn't matter! Just help me take Razor to the hospital!" You beg desperately.

❥Hes freaked out, maybe almost as you are. But while he drives off you stay in the backseat with Razor as you try and remove his jacket to check his wounds, what you see is something out of this world. Razor as a nasty gash across his chest and bleeding like an uncooked steak but slowly you see it heal itself at a rapid pace.

❥Razor snaps awake and grabs you by the wrist. He calls your name in a foggy voice, if Razor ever drank you get the feeling this is how he would sound like when drunk. "What are you doing? What happened?" He asks you, noticing how he caught your hand on his bare chest.

"What's going on back there?" Albedo asks you but you don't respond immediately. Only telling him in a tired voice that he's fine and that you just want him to take you two home.

❥Once you got home you called Varka and told him that Razor was gonna stay over at your house because of a school project, something both of your parents are used to.

He falls asleep shortly after but you're left awake and still left shaking, turning a side glance at Razor just to make sure he's still here with you.

❥Theres some spare clothes for him in your room (due to previous frequent sleepovers where the two of you play videogames on weekends), you've grown used to seeing his torso bare but this time while he's dressing you stare intently at his back searching for any marks or scars but they don't seem outright visible at first. Just the faintest white scar as if it were a wound from years ago which would be impossible.

❥ "Razor? Do you remember anything about last night?"

He stays silent as he looks upwards, a very him thing to do when he's shuffling through stuff in his head but this time he comes empty handed. "I remember we were in the park and then... Everything goes fuzzy after that." He states simply, but then looks back at you meeting your eyes as he shrugs it off. "We're gonna be late."

"Right..." You bite the inside of your cheek.

❥Despite your worries, the day goes about as usual as it normally does. You don't have the heart to ask him any more details cause you suspect he's having some sort of memory loss due to the traumatic experience, you could've just shrugged it off after a few sleepless night and go on with your life but you felt the lingering sensation that there's more to this attack than meets the eye.

❥It isn't until you saw Albedo that you went up to him while actively looking behind your back, as if this was something taboo. "Albedo right? I know we only have chemistry class together but about yesterday..."

"Ugh, don't remind me. I got yelled at for leaving a huge dent in the car." He grimaces.

"I was gonna ask about that, did you see what you ran over? We got chased by it but I didn't get a good look, it was so dark I..."

"Look," Albedo sighs as he runs a hand through his hair out of some bottled up frustration. "I didn't get a good look at that thing nor do I care what it was- I just happen to find the two of you covered in enough blood to stain my car and took me hours to clean, so I'd appreciate it if we'd just drop this topic and go on with our lives okay?"

You nod solemnly, not the closure you were expecting but if this is what you need to move on then surely-

❥Razor suddenly pops up right behind you once Albedo left. Scaring the bejewels outta you, "What did he want?" He asks, adding a passive aggressive emphasis on the 'he' as if Albedo just spat on his shoe.

"Albedo? Not much, I was just asking about last night."

There's the faintest hint of a grimace and a frown on Razor's lips as he looked in Albedo's direction, it "No need, I'm okay remember? Besides, he's no good."

"What? You mean those rumors that he cooks drugs with the chemistry equipment?" You laugh it off. That was the first sign of Razor feeling off.

❥He’s a fast runner, making him an eye catcher in the track team meanwhile you just joined so you could be with him.

❥Normally during P.E. you'd sit on the benches watching over Razor and taking care of your backpacks while he runs a few laps around the race track, but the P.E. teacher wasn't having it today and sent you to the field as well, while you were doing leg warm ups you kept your eyes on Razor as he ran to his heart's content. Usually when you see him and his medium length gray hair tied in a ponytail (you help him dye it, looks like he needs a touch up since the dark roots are becoming visible) flowing in the wind he has this carefree attitude to himself, sometimes he can be a bit competitive but it was never something that overcame him. Today however, he looked different. His facial features were furrowed and concentrated as he had a slow start but soon sped past student after student, gaining a shocked (and pissed) expression from Scaramouche as he surpassed him in the first lap, Scara tried to match up to him around the second lap but Razor wouldn't allow it. When he ran past your side of the field you could see for a split second how Razor was baring his teeth as his leg muscles contracted as he forced his body to over do himself for the sake of coming first place.

Even the teacher was impressed, but still concerned. "Easy there Razor, save that for nationals and you might get yourself a scholarship."

❥ You're expression became solemn at the mention of a college scholarship, knowing you didn't have the same amount of physical (nor academic) prowess to get one.

❥While you get up from crouching you hear one of the students from your group walk up to Razor. "Wow Razor you were amazing, have you been jogging recently?" One of the girls, Mona you think was her name was complimenting him but it went just as you'd expect it to go.

"Not really, only when I take Andrius on walks. He's energetic so sometimes-"

You smile to yourself as you hear him go on into a long talk about his dog, you walk up to Razor and hand him his water bottle as you take your place at the race track. Mona, now bored outta her mind follows along as well. Meanwhile you took notice of Albedo hanging out with other sketchy students just a the other side of the benches, he didn't turn to look when Razor's group was running but now when it's your turn he spares you his attention, talking to his buddies. If only you would've noticed the glare Scaramouche directs in your direction.

❥ Despite the new attention you still run as graceful as a headless chicken, soon lagging behind from the rest of the group because your legs start giving away mid lap. "Come on guys, one more lap to go!" The teacher blows through their whistle.

By the time it's finally over you head to where Razor is waiting for you with your water bottle ready, but Scara has other plans, he takes the opportunity of your weak legs to stick his own foot out and causes you to stumble and fall. Hitting your forehead against the corner of the benches.

❥The teacher doesn't notice what caused your fall, but Razor does. This has his nostrils flaring and his own blood pumping, going up to Scara and giving him a smack across the cheek, which soon escalated into a fight in the ground.

❥ One trip to the teacher's office later; you wait for Razor outside as you hand him his backpack, walking up to a vending machine for a cold drink. "You didn't have to do that you know, I could've handled him myself." You scold Razor as you hold a cold beverage to your forehead

"He deserved it."

You smirk briefly before your pursue your lips together. "He did... but then again you've never reacted that way before."

But Razor only shrugs. That wasn't the last time he did something out of character.

❥He's been getting fuzzy lately too. During lunch there was a classmate standing too close to him and Razor snapped at him to move, like sure you hate people getting in your personal space too but Razor wouldn't normally say it outloud.

❥The two of you were doing homework when a difficult question came up, causing you to chew the bottom of your pencil and look everywhere but your work. Your wandering eyes took you to Razor's own concentrated look. "Hey Razor, how often do you shave?" You brought up.

"I don't, why?"

You give him quizzical look, lowering your pencil down so you could run a hand over his cheek and down his chin feeling the soft prick of facial hair. Razor stays quiet, just letting you touch his face but for some reason this time it feels...good. Or atleast it did until you pip up. "Holy shit dude, you're growing facial hair! And here I thought you were gonna be a baby face forever but apparently I was wrong." You grin to yourself as you remove your hands from him.

"What?" Razor touches his own face, feeling the peach fuzz starting to form. "Would it look bad on me?" He asks somewhat bothered by the fact.

"I don't know, I mean I'm used to looking at you without it but then again Varka has a really cool beard and is rocking it. Who knows."

"But, would you like it?"

Now this is an interesting spot to get placed in, Razor doesn't really care what anyone thinks about him- if he wants to wear the same Halloween costume he's worn since elementary he'll keep doing it, so for him to ask about your opinion on his appearance was something unexpected.

"...I like you the way you are."

❥ What Razor didn't tell you was that his face wasn't the only thing growing hair.

You stopped by his house to pick him up for school but he wasn't answering the door, so you invite yourself in and head straight for his room only to find it empty, "Hurry up Razor we got Ms. Lisa on the first hour. She's gonna have our ass if we're just a minute late-!" you shout. The closest thing you to a response was from the bathroom so you went in there and attempted to barge in but found it locked. "Razor open up."

Silence.

"Razor? What's wrong?"

"Promise you won't freak out." He mutters from behind the door.

"Razor I'd never do that, whatever is going on I'll help you."

The doorlock clicks as he let you in, that's where you take in the odd sight of him with overgrown hair- normally this shouldn't be shocking with a guy his age but it's worrying when the hair is coming from the claw marks scattered over his back and chest. Not only that but there's fresh cuts seeping down his face and few parts of his body, a quick glance at the bloody shaving razor on his sink gave you all the visual information you needed.

"Holy fuck Razor-" you were about to spew more curse words that would make a nun faint but you promised you'd stay calm and that's how you intend to keep it. "When did this started happening?" You ask in a low voice, helping clean up his fresh wounds.

"A day or two, I think." The uncertainty in his voice makes you wanna hug him, and that's what you did, even if it meant staining your clothes. “…I didn’t want you becoming scared of me.”

“Don’t worry Razor, it won’t change anything between us.” You promise.

❥Theres something wrong going on with him but he’s still in denial, he keeps insisting everything is alright and he’s just going through usual guy stuff but you know it has to be something more than that. Your fears came true when one night you’re woken up by the sound of shuffling in your room, you recognize Razor’s silhouette as he climbs through the window which you could’ve sworn was locked-

“Razor? What’s is it? It’s like three in the morning.” You groggily shuffle in your bed at your attempt to turn on your lamp but Razor covers your hand as he stops you.

“Don’t, I… I don’t want you to see me like this, but I didn’t know where else to go.” His voice cracks and it only worries you even more. You then start to process the hand covering your own, it’s wet and… warm. Too warm.

“Razor? What did you do?” He has you on edge, it’s now that your other senses start to wake up, specifically your sense of smell. It smells like something metallic, the first thing that comes to mind is that one time you were caught in the rain and there were coins in your pocket that had a specific smell.

But last you checked it didn’t rain today, so where was Razor at?

“I don’t know, I woke up and before I knew it I was… Razor was…” He sounds like a kid again, talking in the third person.

❥The reason he didn’t want you to turn the light on was because he didn’t want you becoming terrified of him, as much as he is of himself. When you turn the handle of your lamp your barely catch yourself from screaming at the sight In front of you, the dark stains covering his mouth, the front of his shirt and coating his hands- you feel a sense of déjà vu to the incident in the woods when he was covered in blood as you worrying grab a nearby towel and try to clean him. But Razor instinctively jerks away from you.

“Razor… What happened? Are you okay? Talk to me.”

“It’s not mine,” he starts but immediately covers his mouth.

“Then who’s is it?”

Razor doesn’t respond but he jerks forward as he grabs his stomach with one arm and uses the other to try and cover his mouth, he rushes to your bathroom but doesn’t make it in time and starts vomiting something viscous at the entrance to your bathroom, you really want to help him in any way you can. Hold his hair, rub his back as he lets it all out. But you see bits and pieces of what Razor’s puking, chunks of red meat, bile and patches of undigested fur. And between that bile there’s a metallic clank against the tile floor of your bathroom, it bounces a bit as it lands on the floorboards of your bedroom.

Time slows down as you slowly crouch down to pick up the metallic plate, you know what it is, you don’t want to see it but a part of you needs to confirm the truth.

❥The metallic plate is covered in the same blood staining Razor’s clothes and now splotch on your bathroom floor, it’s small and fish shaped as you swipe the substance with your thumb and read the letters engraved into the plate. It’s a name, a dog’s name.

❥You immediately drop the plate. You try and wipe the blood on the towel you got but it wouldn’t come off, you wipe and wipe until your palm burned but in your fear induced state you still see the blood on your hand. Still feeling it’s warmth, still smelling it despairing scent of wet metal. It’s no wonder you don’t feel safe anymore.

It's like you're back In that park again, slowly turning your head in Razor’s direction as you make small movements once he’s done emptying his stomach, but Razor is smarter than the beast that attacked you two. He knows what’s going through your mind now that you’ve seen him, he’s faster than you he could grab you in less than five steps but he doesn’t resort to that. He can’t, not in this state.

“Don’t leave me. Please… there’s no one else I can trust with this…” He’s so lost, so vulnerable and confused.

❥Despite everything, he’s still Razor. Your Razor. The one who would never purposely lay a hand on another animal, the one who wouldn’t cross the street without holding your hand since primary school, the one who’s had your back even though you’d tell him about your financial problems or internal struggles.

He needs you now more than ever.

You carefully walk up to him, wiping the lower portion of his face with the towel as adrenaline tears start running down your cheeks. You’re terrified, there’s no hiding it, but still: “I’m not leaving you Razor. We’ll figure something out, together.”

“Promise?”

“I Promise."

#Razor x Reader #genshin impact #razor genshin impact #genshin impact modern au

9 notes · View notes