#mouse is rapidly approaching you

[kitsurinfleur]

@finnifenn

[sandersstudies]

It’s so weird that we’re rapidly approaching an era of 100-year-old pop culture in a new way. Like if you were a 90s kid there was no such thing as a 100-year-old movie (or at least, not one more complex than “horse runs” or “the arrival of a train).

We have lots of songs that are over a hundred years old, but few recordings of them that are intelligible. The oldest popular genre music goes back to about the 30’s.

Even musicals! Theater is obviously an ancient art but the musicals in the modern sense we imagine them (in which speech and song are combined and both progress the plot) weren’t popularized until relatively recently.

Point is when my mom was growing up she was not exploring media (except for books) that was 100+ years old. When I was growing up at the turn of the century, I wasn’t either. But the crazy thing is that my kids will.

If I were to have a kid in 2023, here are some things that will be 100 before they turn 18 and will likely still be culturally relevant.

The Wizard of Oz (film)

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (film)

Fantasia

Anything Goes (musical)

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (the song and associated character, not the movie)

Mickey and Minnie Mouse and many associated characters

Superman and Batman (the characters)

Bugs Bunny and many associated characters

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 13

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, drinking, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to pregnancy, swearing, references to the hospital, references to an accident

South Trail, Seresin Ranch, Clifton, Texas, Now

Charlie felt a chill run down her spine as their trail group walked steadily down the beaten dirt path. Dad was in the lead, as per usual, and Abby had beaten her in a game of rock, paper, scissors in order to come second. That left Charlie third, close enough to Savannah to hear every muttered complaint and snap of her camera as she took selfies.

“Jakey!!!” Savannah cried out as they emerged from the trees onto a lookout, the ledge watching over a field full of wildflowers. “We need to stop! I need photos of this for my followers!”

Charlie stifled a giggle as she saw her dad’s head slump forwards. This was the fifth time Savannah had whined about needed a photo opportunity since they had left the ranch, approximately five hours ago.

“Savannah, I—”

“This is the last one, I promise!” she squealed, clumsily pulling her horse to a stop and sliding down her side until her suede boots touched the ground. She practically threw her phone to Jake and went to stand on the edge of the cliff.

Jake grunted as he neatly dismounted and patted Firewall on the flank. “It has to be the last one or we won’t make it to the campground before nightfall.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, whatever,” Savannah chirped as she struck pose after pose.

Charlie and Abby both dismounted and moved off the trail to stand in the shade of the trees.

“It would be mean to scare her and hope that she falls, right?” Charlie muttered under her breath.

“Charlie!” Abby let out a scandalized gasp. “She may be awful, but we can’t wish death upon her…though I would be lying if I said that the same thought hadn’t occurred to me as well.”

Charlie slumped against the tree, watching the horses drag their reins on the ground as they stood on the trail, waiting for their riders to be done. “She’s just…the worst.”

“I know. Why would Mum insist that she come with us instead?”

“She said that she wanted Savannah to have a chance to get to know us.”

Charlie smirked. “Alright then. Let’s let her get to know us. Then maybe she’ll wish she had never met us.”

“We’re not that awful,” Abby rolled her eyes.

“I know that, and you know that, but Savannah doesn’t know that. So, let’s make her think we’re the worst. Then she won’t want to marry Dad because it would mean having to spend time with us.”

Abby grinned, her eyes trained on a spot on the ground. “I think I know exactly how to start.”

Crouching to the ground, Abby scooped up a tiny chipmunk from where it was nestled in the roots of a tree.

“Hey buddy…” she whispered. “I bet you want to see what’s in our saddlebags.”

Charlie covered her mouth to muffle the sound of her giggles as they approached Angel.

“Do it now! Savannah’s got her back to us!”

Quiet as a mouse, Abby slid open the saddlebag and slipped the chipmunk inside. “And now we wait.”

Around noon, Buttercup wandered into the kitchen from the guest bedroom. She hadn’t been lying about having to work. Her deadline was rapidly approaching, and she had been struggling quite a bit with writer’s block, so she had taken advantage of the silence of the ranch house and the beauty of the view and spent the morning writing her heart out. Twenty pages later, and her groove had been interrupted by the grumble of her stomach. So, she saved her work and, slowly as to admire the pictures and paintings on the walls of her ex-husband’s home, she wandered out of her writing cave and into the kitchen, where she was faced with a sweaty Rooster.

“Oh…hey.”

He grunted at her as he dug through the fridge. “I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

“Technically, I’m in your way, since this is your home so…don’t worry about it.” All she received in return was another grunt, and she sighed. “I know you’re mad at me. I know you were against our divorce since the beginning, I know you hated the custody arrangement, and I know you blame me for moving to a different continent, but Rooster…” she sniffled. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of them for me, when I wasn’t here…when I wasn’t strong enough to do it myself.”

She watched as Rooster sighed, his head hanging between his shoulders before he slammed the fridge door shut and turned towards her.

“Listen, it isn’t your fault. You were sick. I remember my mom talking about how she got sick after havin’ me, and…and shit, Buttercup, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. And it didn’t help that we kept getting deployed. You were goin’ through it and none of us could see it. I know you fought like hell, and so does he. I just—”

“You know what its like to not have a dad around, so you wish things had been different for Abby. And you know what its like to not have a mom around, so you wish things had been different for Charlie. Right?”

He blinked at her. “Get your ass outta my head.”

She chuckled before the mood settled around them, still slightly somber.

“I should’ve been able to handle it,” she whispered, and Rooster sighed, leaning back against the fridge.

“Hangman should’ve been able to handle it too,” he shrugged. “I know I was pissed off at you for putting yourself first, and it wasn’t fair. I was more worried about how the divorce would affect the team dynamic, instead of worrying about how the divorce would affect you. But he screwed up too. He should’ve put you first, not the team. That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Buttercup blinked up at him and he shrugged. “I started going to therapy after a bar fight when Charlie was like 2. Court mandated, but it helped. I let a lot of shit go.”

“Good for you,” she smiled. “I am grateful that they had you and Javy to lean on, you know. I’m not just trying to get back on your good side.”

“I know,” he shrugged and turned his back to her. “What do you want for lunch? I could hear your stomach grumbling from my room.”

She grinned and sat at the counter. “I imagine asking you for a salad wouldn’t fly?”

He scoffed without turning his back. “We eat healthy in this house, but we don’t eat rabbit food. What do you really want for lunch?”

She giggled. “What about taco salad?”

He turned and pointed at her. “Now that’s a damn good idea.”

It couldn’t have gone better if they had trained the chipmunk themselves. They had remounted and strolled along the trail for another fifteen minutes before Savannah started pawing at the saddlebag, looking for her oversized, bright pink water bottle. She was able to pry open the clasp of the bag and stick her hand inside. And then it happened…

The chipmunk launched into action, racing up her arm before Savannah could even realize what was happening and landed on her shoulder. Savannah freaked out, screaming and shaking her arm to try to dislodge it. Sweet Angel picked up on her rider’s anxious movements and started trotting down the trail, shaking her head this way and that.

Charlie and Abby watched from the rear as the chipmunk disappeared under the hem of Savannah’s designer t-shirt, Savannah screaming as the rodent searched for an escape. Angel reared up and Savannah clung to her neck. Both girls turned their heads to hide their giggles as their dad scooped the reins out of Savannah’s hands and gently pulled Angel back to the ground, soothing her in a calm voice. The chipmunk finally found an escape through the arm of her flannel, and leapt from Angel’s back to a nearby tree.

“Oh my goodness, Savannah!” Abby called, urging her horse forward. “Are you alright?”

“That was crazy!” Charlie gasped, hiding her laughter behind her hand.

She glared suspiciously at them but said, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Jake tied Angel’s reins to Firewall’s saddle and turned back to look at them. “We’re going to head to the campground now, okay, Charlie?”

Both girls gave him a thumbs up and he rolled his eyes. When he turned back to face forward, they leaned over and high-fived each other. Neither the chipmunk nor Angel had been hurt, but Savannah screams had been absolutely hilarious. Perhaps their dad suspected them (he knew enough about the great outdoors to know that a chipmunk wouldn’t just materialize inside a closed saddlebag), but perhaps their little prank had allowed their father to see a different side of Savannah.

Lunch with Rooster had been good. The taco salad he had whipped up had been absolutely delicious, the ground beef perfectly spiced, and the spinach base had been simple but brilliant. More than that though had been their conversation. He had filled her in on so much of Charlie’s life (and Jake’s life as well, since it was so tightly woven with Charlie’s). She had always known that Jake would be a brilliant father, but some of the stories that Rooster had shared with her had her torn between laughter and tears. The antics her husband and her youngest daughter had gotten up to were bittersweet to hear about. In her mind’s eye, she could see them happening. She could see Jake flying toddler Charlie over his head, could hear her phantom cries as he gathered her 8-year-old body in his arms and carried her to the car, her arm bent at a painful angle.

As she strolled along the gravel path towards the dude cabins, she could practically see the phantom figures of her family as they lived and grew here. Knowing she had missed so much of Charlie’s life here, she regretted her decision to stay behind on the trail ride, but she hoped that Savannah would be able to make a better impression on her daughters than she had made on her.

“Honestly…” she muttered as she approached Cabin 1, where her brother and Natasha were staying. “What kind of woman doesn’t want to write her own wedding vows?” She sighed and climbed up the few stairs to the porch. “And what kind of sadistic bullshit is it to ask your future husband’s ex-wife to write the vows for you?”

She shook off the question as she knocked on the door. It had obviously been some sort of territorial claim from Savannah, trying to show Buttercup that he was hers now, but Buttercup had no doubt about that. She’d hurt Jake too badly for things to ever go back to the simple, fun, and loving way it had been before.

Natasha threw open the door and groaned. “Thank god it’s you.”

She chuckled and entered the cozy, modern cabin. “Who did you think it was?”

Natasha rolled her eyes and collapsed onto the comfy leather couch. “Javy. He keeps trying to come and talk to me.” Her friend shuddered dramatically.

Buttercup considered her carefully as she lowered onto the other side of the couch. “What’s the deal with you two? I thought Jake was the one you hated.”

Nat sighed and buried the scarred side of her face in the couch. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Buttercup took the pillow from behind her and whacked her friend with it. “C’mon! You’re acting like he killed your dog or something!”

Nat snatched the pillow and tossed it back at her. “Why’re you being so pushy, bitch?”

“Because you and Javy have been at each other’s throats since we got here, and I had to kick you out of dinner last night before either of you said or did something inappropriate in front of my children. And I hated doing that.”

Natasha let out a low whine as she tried to bury herself deeper in the couch. “Sorry…I promise I won’t call him a self-important bastard in front of your children.”

Buttercup barked a laugh and cuddled down into her seat. “But why would you call him that? It’s so weird! I honestly thought you two were into each other back in the day.” Natasha shifted so that her back was towards her friend, and Buttercup read it all in the tense line of her back. “Oh my god, you were into him!”

“Shut up…” Natasha grumbled. “He was into me too.”

“Were you two hooking up?”

Natasha rolled to look at her again. “Yeah. For a couple of months. Whenever we were both at Top Gun.”

Buttercup squealed and crawled across the couch so that she was right next to Natasha. “I knew it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Natasha grumbled, pushing her off.

“So, what happened? Bad breakup? You act like you want to kill him.”

Natasha groaned. “No, it wasn’t a bad breakup. It wasn’t a real relationship.”

“Did he want it to be?”

Natasha buried her head in the pillow. “Yeah…he wanted to make it official after that last deployment. We fought about it a lot. I didn’t want to risk it because…” Natasha paused and looked guiltily over at her.

“Because?” Buttercup prompted gently, having a sneaking suspicion that she knew where this was going.

“Because I saw how messed up you were after the divorce,” Natasha admitted. “Our jobs are–were–risky enough without being in a relationship. And if our relationship fell apart the way yours and Jake’s did?” She sighed. “I told him no, but he wouldn’t let it go. Then there was the crash, and he came to visit me in the hospital and…” Natasha’s fingers clenched into fists. “He told me he would ‘take care of me’. That he felt like it was time to retire and that he would stay with me and that it would all be okay.”

“And that’s…bad?” Buttercup leaned back, confused. “He cared and wanted to help you? Why is that a bad thing?”

Natasha shuddered. “I couldn’t stand him looking at me with all that pity. And besides, why did he retire? He had the best job in the whole damn world and he willingly gave it up? Are you kidding me? They all gave it up! I mean, okay, Bob makes sense because he wanted to help you but why the hell would the rest of them give it up? Fucking idiots.”

Buttercup bit her lip. A decade of living with the other woman told her that trying to talk to Natasha when she was this fired up would be like trying to draw blood from a stone. So instead, she said, “Where is Bob, anyway?”

Natasha shrugged. “He got a phone call and went for a walk.”

“What is up with him and these phone calls?” Buttercup mused as she folded her legs beneath her.

“No clue. But what is with you deciding to stay back and let Cowgirl Barbie go on the trail ride with your girls and your man?”

Buttercup grumbled at her. “He’s not my man, and you know it.”

“Does he know that?”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Of course he does! He’s marrying Savannah, remember?”

Nat rolled her eyes and rolled off the couch before padding into the kitchen. “Of course I remember. That’s why I’m going to get wine. We’re going to need it.”

By the time they reached the campground, Abby was half convinced that Savannah had never been on a horse before. Even though she kept telling stories about her championship barrel racer back on her own ranch, poor Angel kept tossing her head at the confusing signals that her rider kept giving her. Charlie was fully confused. She’d done barrel racing before and the way Savannah was describing it, she knew she had never done it in her life. Her stories about shopping, drinking wine, and winning Miss Texas however, Charlie completely believed. No one could sound so excited about boring adult things if they hadn’t actually done them.

Luckily, they wouldn’t have to share a tent with her. That had been a stipulation of her joining them. Her own tent. Not even shared with their father, just her. Luckily, Jake had packed a hammock that he had already strung up between two sturdy trees for himself, leaving the other tent for his daughters.

All three Seresin’s watched Savannah as she primped in front of her cellphone camera, taking selfies of herself near the lake they were camping by. Jake shook his head with a sigh as he finished setting up her tent and stretched.

“What do we think about a dip in the lake before dinner?” he asked the girls, a wild grin on his face.

Both nodded eagerly and bolted into their tent to pull their swimsuits on.

“Did you bring it?” Charlie whispered, and Abby nodded, pulling out a packet from her backpack.

“Uncle Roo gave it to me and I tucked it away for safe keeping,” Abby replied. “You distract Dad, and I’ll make sure it reaches our target.”

“Deal.”

Both girls quickly changed and headed out of the tent.

“Dad!” Charlie called. Jake turned from where he was talking to Savannah, his hands soothingly rubbing her shoulders as she scowled at him. “Can you help me put sun block on my shoulders? Mom would kill me if I came back burned.”

Jake grinned. “She’d kill me first,” he called back, turning from Savannah and strolling over to Charlie.

Jake sufficiently distracted, Abby snuck into Savannah’s tent and ripped open her packet. She sprinkled the contents everywhere. In her sleeping bag, in her clothes, on her hairbrush, in her shoes, and definitely on the inside of her hat.

With a wicked grin, Abby crumpled up the evidence and crept back to her tent to hide it in her backpack. She emerged just in time for Jake to finish lathering her sister with sun block, the two of them turning to her.

“My turn?” she smiled at him sweetly.

“Yeah, baby, c’mere.”

Charlie turned to Savannah, who was still trying to find the just right angle for her selfie. “Will you be joining us in the water, Savannah?”

The petite blond couldn’t hide her sneer. “I think I’ll pass, sugar, but thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Charlie shrugged. “You might want to get changed then. It’s going to start cooling off soon.”

Savannah smiled, the pull of her lips a touch too saccharine to be sincere, and said, “Thanks, honey. I’ll do that.”

As Savannah strutted into her tent, Jake joined his daughters and mussed their hair. “Last one in is a rotten egg!”

He took off running, his long legs eating up the ground as his daughters squealed and sprinted after him.

By the time they emerged from the chilly water, the sun was hanging low in the Texan sky and the air had adopted a slight nip that spoke of the coming autumn. Charlie and Abby raced to get dressed in their flannel pyjamas and their thick socks. As they pulled on their matching PJs, they heard Savannah whine and swapped grins.

“I HATE THE OUTDOORS!” she shrieked. “Everything hurts, I have bruises everywhere, my hair is so frizzy, and I must’ve been bitten a thousand times because I can’t. Stop. ITCHING!”

The girls could practically hear the frustrated look on their father’s face as he faced her. “I thought you said you’d been camping before?” he asked, his voice cool under pressure.

Savannah scoffed. “Yeah, in a cabin like civilized human beings. You know, electricity and indoor plumbing? And we never rode to the cabin! We drove there.”

“Who took care of that prize winning mare of yours while you were gone?”

“The staff, as usual,” she replied as though she were talking to a small child. “They do everything for her.”

The twins could feel the rising tension even from inside the shelter of their tent. “Even ride her?”

“Duh,” Savannah giggled. “Daddy paid top dollar for her because I wanted to try barrel racing, but I hate riding, so now she just has babies that we sell. Daddy lets me keep the profit since she’s mine and all. Two of her babies paid for my month-long trip to Paris.”

Jake huffed a sigh. “And you didn’t tell me this because?”

“What does it matter?” she replied coyly, a branch cracking under her foot as she moved closer to him. “We have loads of other things in common, sugar.”

Charlie rolled her eyes at Abby before leaping out of their tent. “Dad! We’re starving! Can we get the fire going so we can eat?”

Jake nodded, his eyes still fixed on Savannah. “You two go collect some firewood, and I’ll get everything ready.”

“Savannah, you want to come?” Abby called sweetly.

Savannah grumbled, her hands scrabbling against her chest and stomach. “Why am I so damn itchy!” she shouted, stomping her foot.

Jake huffed and turned to her. “You’re probably having an allergic reaction to something. Go wash off in the lake while the girls are gone. Take the calamine lotion from in my bag and make sure you cover all your itchy areas. I’ll get you some of my clothes to wear.”

“An allergic reaction to what?” she seethed, glaring at the twins as though she knew it was their fault.

“I think Uncle Rooster might have changed our laundry detergent,” Charlie supplied, grinning at her. “Maybe that’s it.”

“Maybe…” Savannah snarled before stalking off, the sound of her complaining drowning out the twin’s peals of laughter.

Savannah complained that the hot dogs and smores they were eating weren’t on her diet plan for the wedding, but Jake promptly shut it all down by telling her they were her only choice. Grumpy and painted pink from the calamine lotion, she slowly munched on a hot dog, grimacing with every bite.

“Dad?”

Jake grinned at Abby and nodded. “What’s up, kiddo?”

“I know you’re supposed to tell us stories around the campfire…” Jake’s confirming nod gave her the courage to finish. “Could you tell us about your first date with Mom?”

Savannah’s eyes went wide, and she looked as if she was about to complain again, but Jake cut her a look and she quieted.

“Sure, darlin’. If that’s what you want to hear…” Jake grunted as he settled himself further into his chair, his daughters watching him from a log across the crackling fire. “Let’s see…”

The San Diego Zoo, almost 13 years ago

Jake’s palms were sweating, which was saying something. He was the only pilot of his generation who had not one, but two air to air confirmed kills under his belt. He was ice cold under pressure. Nothing made him flinch. But strolling amongst the different animal exhibits with Buttercup had his hands damp and gross, no matter how many times he wiped them on his jeans.

My god, how he had fallen for her. Her spark, her sass, that fire in her eyes that challenged him in all the right ways. She was brilliant. She was perfect. And he had to make sure she didn’t wise up and take her brother's advice. There was no denying that Bob Floyd still didn't like him very much, and who could blame him? He'd been a dick to everyone when they had all arrived at Top Gun for the Uranium Mission. Now, Jake was still a dick, but he wasn't 100% an asshole anymore. He needled his teammates, pushed them to be better, aggravated them until they were achieving their full potential. It's what he did. What he had always done, even as the captain and quarterback of the high school football team. His methods didn't earn him many friends, but they earned him a shitload of respect.

It had taken him three weeks to work up the courage to ask out Bob Floyd's little sister. Three weeks of hanging out with her at the Hard Deck, three weeks of getting his ass kicked by her at pool, three weeks of feeling like a fucking freshman again, drooling over the girl that was so out of his league.

It was Phoenix who had finally given him the push to ask her out. A gruff "She likes you too, dumbass, so don't miss your fucking chance" was all that he needed to ask her to go to the zoo of all places. He'd heard her mention it a couple of times and wanted to make their first date memorable, because he had a sneaky feeling that it was one he would be talking about for a while.

“Giraffes are this way, darlin’,” he chuckled as he gently tugged her arm down the correct path.

Buttercup squealed and swung their hands between them. “I freaking love giraffes!”

He shook his head playfully. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“What?” she pouted. “The hot aviator my brother has been bitching about for like a year takes me to the zoo to meet the giraffes and I’m not allowed to be excited about it?”

“No, you are,” he smiled, squeezing her hand. “It’s cute.”

“You just said it was weird,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but a good weird. I like your weird.”

“I like your weird too.”

He blinked. “I’m not weird.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re the only person I know who can name every type of military jet. In order of the year they were made.”

“Lots of pilots can do that,” he blushed.

“No they can’t, and you know it.”

“Fine, whatever,” he teased. “The giraffes are here, you weirdo.”

She squealed again and tugged him along to the meeting area, where the tour guide was waiting for them.

The whole tour of the giraffe enclosure, Jake kept a close eye on Buttercup, who was drinking in all the information. She was incredible. The way her eyes lit up with excitement, the way she quietly squealed as the giraffes strolled over to look at her. It made a funny pit grow in his stomach. He could watch her facial expressions forever. It made him feel like a fucking superhero to know that he was the one who made her smile like that, that he had been the one to make this happen.

Finally, the tour guide led them up close to the giraffes, who were milling about the wide paddock.

“I’m going to fill their food buckets so that they’ll come closer, and you can say hi, okay?” she grinned at them and Jake pulled out his phone. He wanted to capture the smile on her face as she met her favourite animal for the first time. He wanted to be able to look down at that smile the next time he was out in the middle of the Atlantic and remember how good she had made him feel just by standing beside him.

Buttercup squealed softly as the giraffes came close, and Jake chuckled. "Excited?"

"I still can't believe you set this up," she murmured, glancing up at him with stars in her eyes. "This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me."

"You're welcome." His smile was almost shy as he watched her interact with the gentle giants. "Would you maybe want to grab dinner on the way back? I know a great place for Italian."

Her responding grin was just as bright as it was when she started feeding the giraffes, and Jake gulped. He knew in his heart that this was the start of something special.

As Charlie listened to the story, her misty eyes watched Savannah stomp away to her tent in a huff.

Morning broke, and with it, so did the silence.

Savannah shrieked and, based on the racket she was making, her tent was probably about to fall down too, if it hadn’t already.

Abby and Charlie shared a startled look and bolted from their tent. They hadn’t done anything. They figured having to listen to a romantic zoo proposal story had been enough torture for one night. But there Savannah was, screaming and shoving at her tent, which had seemingly collapsed on her.

“What the hell is going on here?” Jake shouted, his boots hitting the ground as he took in the sight. “Savannah, what is wrong with you?”

“They did this!” she screamed, a pink painted nail stabbing at Abby and Charlie. “I know they did!”

“Savannah—”

“No!” she shouted, whirling on him. “I know they put that chipmunk in my saddle bag. I know they put something itchy in my clothes. And I know that they made my tent fall down on top of me!”

Abby turned to her father. “We didn’t make the tent fall, Dad. I swear!”

“You see!” Savannah shrieked. “The little demon admits it!”

“Watch it!” Jake growled, stepping in front of Abby.

Charlie bent to look at the ground in front of Savannah’s collapsed tent. “There’s hoofprints here, Dad.” She followed the tracks over to where Angel stood, her reins dragging on the ground. A thin black fiber hung out of her mouth. The exact same colour as Savannah’s tent.

“You expect me to believe that a horse collapsed my tent?” Savannah seethed.

“It looks to be that way,” Jake replied icily. “Now, you owe my girls an apology.”

“An apology?” she laughed coldly. “You heard the little brat. She only denied collapsing my tent, which means she did the other things!” Savannah sneered at her. “I know you’re the British one. I can tell a fake accent a mile away. And let me tell you this. You showing up here was the worst day of my life. I never wanted to be a stepmother! I thought maybe I could handle one kid until I could convince you to send her to boarding school, but two? No one in their right mind would want to be a stepmother to two little brats!”

Jake stepped smoothly in between them, both Abby and Charlie huddled behind him as he faced his fiancée. “Who says I would’ve sent them to boarding school? They’re my girls.”

“I am your girl!” she shrieked. “ME! M.E.! And if you want to marry me, then you have to choose! Because I’m not playing second fiddle to two little she devils anymore! Got it?”

“Then…” Jake chuckled. “I choose them.”

“Excuse me?”

“T.H.E.M? Them. I choose my girls. Got it?”

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[sunflowerwinds]

a confession & question [h.c]

summary: your girlfriend finally tells you what she’s been keeping from you and it is nothing like what you were expecting. hazel asks you to come to an event that tony is throwing and you go on a fancy shopping trip (funded by stark industries).

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: spider!hazel, secrets revealed, mature content: suggestive making out, & pure fluff!

word count: 3.8K

a/n: things are brewing and they’ve made up. i hope absolutely nothing bad happens :)

SPIDER-HAZEL MASTERLIST

It had been merely a day without contact with Hazel. You were battling between writing assignments for your online classes and stuffing bears at Build-A-Bear that day wondering how to approach this situation the correct way. There was no way in hell you were going to break up with her but you wanted to truthfully and honestly sit down and have a long talk about how she was feeling.

To hear her out, to be there for her in whatever way she needed.

Hazel was a mess. She didn’t attend classes that day — which had May up the wall — as she stayed in bed sulking over being an absolute idiot. She was sleeping curled in her soft brown sheets and when she wasn’t sleeping, she was thinking of ways to apologize to you and reveal what has been itching at her for months now; that she was in fact Spider-Woman.

Should she just send a text saying: ‘I’m Spider-Woman. Please, believe me?’

No, that’s weird and pathetic.

She needs to do it in person so she can prove it to her with her suit. But when? Hazel checked her phone every two minutes in hopes your little icon would be there with a message.

It was around 4 pm when she had received a call from Josie. Hazel was pacing her ceiling in her suit, practicing on ways to show you that she was Spider-Woman. She ripped her mask off and aimed her web to her cell-phone on her desk, pressing the green button to accept the call.

“Hey, Jose. What’s up?” Hazel answered, a soft sigh leaving her lips from the tension and pressure building in her head from being upside down for a good while.

“Well, good afternoon to you. Why the hell do you sound like you’ve run three miles in ten minutes?” Josie questioned as her fingers typed rapidly on her keyboard from the other end.

Hazel grunts as she un-sticks herself from her popcorn ceiling to land on her wood floors. She runs a free hand through her unwashed frizzy hair, shrugging her shoulders.

“Just… hanging around,” she makes herself smile.

“Okay?” Josie responded. “Is that a spider joke?”

Hazel was still grinning as she replied: “Yup.”

Even though Josie knew it was a corny joke, she couldn’t help the snort leaving her lips.

“Anyways, uh, Happy told me to call you to remind you about this Sunday.” Josie hummed as she clicked her mouse buttons.

Hazel’s brows furrowed at Josie’s words. Her mind went completely blank.

“Jesus, you forgot didn’t you?” Josie sighed at how silent the spider-girl had gotten after her statement.

Hazel winces as she rushes over to her calendar for the month that was hung up above her working desk. Her eyes darted to the coming-up Sunday and there was just a tuxedo that she drew. What the fuck does that mean?

When does she ever wear a tuxedo?

“No…?”

Josie released another disappointed sigh.

“The charity event Tony is having for Heart Matters. Happy is supposed to take you shopping for an outfit on Friday.” Josie hummed which made Hazel mouth ‘fuck’ as she rubbed at her temple.

Okay, so two things she really needed to do.

“Right, yeah. No, I have a tuxedo on my calendar.” Hazel lied through her teeth.

Josie merely hummed at Hazel, still rapidly typing on her keyboard.

“Is that all you called me for?” Hazel questioned as the line had gone silent.

“Uhh, yeah, pretty much. I’ll call you with… something later,” she ended the call without saying ‘bye’.

The line beeps before clicking off to Hazel’s home screen. She smiled weakly at the photo of you two, admiring the joy on your face and her own. As she continued to look through her album of photos of you, a notification popped up at the top of the screen.

Her heart rate sped up as you had sent her a text after the most agonizing 24 hours of Hazel’s entire life saying that you wanted to have a ‘serious’ talk. Hazel wiped her sweaty palms on her thigh to send you a response that she could come to your place. You told her that worked for you.

Hazel grabbed her mask from where she had tossed it on her bed and slipped it on over her head. This was it.

It was finally time.

You were waiting patiently in your bedroom to hear a knock at your door. In all honesty, you were willing to just let it pass. Tell Hazel that you were being dramatic and apologize until your lips fell off.

That is until your PJ texted you to stand your ground and not Hazel manipulate you which was a bit dramatic but you knew she was coming from a place of love.

Your knee bounced anxiously as you tried to distract yourself as the seconds ticked by. PJ kept sending you messages that you were okay and that Hazel was nothing to worry about. It was way easier said than done. You put on a movie on your laptop to pass the time to refrain from checking the time.

About halfway through the movie, you hear a soft tapping noise. At first, you excused it as rain hitting your window. But the tapping noise only increased in volume. You take off your wired headphones and turn your neck towards the sound. Your eyes widen at Spider-Woman… sitting on your fire escape?

You froze for a moment, not really knowing what to do. The webbed hero knocked one more time and it took you out of the shock. You walked over to the window and hesitantly unlocked it to lift it up. It somehow wasn’t even registering that this could’ve been an imposter that someone had a costume on.

“Hey,” the masked woman spoke, her voice sounding like it was deepened.

“Hello? I don’t mean to sound weird but… what are you doing on my fire escape?” You let out a weak laugh, raising your brows as you stared into the white of the eyes on the mask.

The woman pointed into your room and cleared her throat.

“I said I’d come over, didn’t I?”

This time the voice wasn’t deepened. Your eyes nearly shot out of your head when you realized it was Hazel behind the mask.

“Haze?” You questioned with an incredulous tone.

You step back away from the window as your girlfriend steps into your bedroom in a Spider-Woman suit. Was this her way of trying to cheer you up for lying to you?

“What are you doing in a Spider-Woman costume?” You question as you shut the window and lock it, staring at Hazel taking off her mask.

You weren’t going to lie to yourself when you think that she actually fits the suit perfectly; like it was made for her. Hazel usually wore extremely baggy clothing which she also looked amazing in but this was a nice thing to see every once in a while.

It was kind of hot.

“Well, it’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” Hazel cleared her throat, rubbing her thumbs over the material of the mask.

“Okay…” You stare at her with crossed arms over your comfy pj tee. “What? Are you Spider-Woman?”

Your tone was joking, a little snort leaving your lips as you chuckled to yourself. Hazel awkwardly laughed after you but just stared at you with a patient expression. Your laughter died as soon as you saw Hazel with a tight-lip grin plastered on her slightly flushed face.

You blink.

“I am Spider-Woman,” Hazel said slowly, hoping it would click in your head that this was nothing to laugh about.

“Spider-Woman?” You repeat to her in disbelief. “That person on the streets stopping burglaries, buses spinning out of control and a sort of Avenger?”

“Yeah,” Hazel confirmed.

You again blink. You take a seat on your bed as you examine the outfit your girlfriend is wearing. Hazel was scratching at her arm as she waited for a legitimate reaction.

Was this a joke? Why would she joke about something like this after the argument you guys had just had?

Your girlfriend is a superhero. A mutant. Your eyes widen as it settles in your stomach that she in no way is lying about this.

“You’re not joking, are you?” You cover your mouth with your palm.

“I can… prove it if you want,” Hazel rushes out, glancing up at your ceiling.

You, too, glance up at your ceiling with confusion as to why she did. That is until in the blink of an eye Hazel was hanging from your ceiling by her fingertips. You scrunch up your face at the sight, feeling like your brain is short-circuiting as you’re watching your girlfriend just dangling by her hand from the ceiling.

“What the fuck?” You whisper as you haven't moved a single muscle since you sat down.

Hazel released her body and landed back on her feet with a soft grunt. Her big blue eyes were waiting for a response.

“I— I didn’t know how to tell you before because Mr.Stark was extremely persistent on not letting anyone find out. Especially you and May but now you both know so I’m probably screwed but I don’t care anymore. I hate lying to you. I needed you to know so that you don’t think I’m doing it because I don’t want you to know. Do you know how hard it is to not tell you everything that I’ve done as Spider-Woman? I want to share everything with you and—“

“Hazel!” You interrupt with a light-hearted chuckle.

Hazel sucked in a deep breath due to her panicked rambling. You stood up from the bed and walked over to cup her face. You tilt your head to kiss her gently, inhaling as Hazel’s hands settle on your hips.

“Are you mad at me?” Hazel whispered against your lips, eyes fluttering when you pulled away slightly.

You hum and shake your head, running your hands over her shoulders. What was this suit made of? That material was surprisingly thick.

“Haze, I’m just… in shock, I guess. I mean, it’s pretty badass that my girlfriend is Spider-Woman.” You shrug your shoulders, tracing her jaw with your thumbs.

Hazel blushed at your words, feeling all the more at ease that you were not pissed with her anymore.

“I’m sorry again that I kept it from you,” Hazel sighed , her eyes flickering across all your features. I love you, she thought and almost vomited at the overwhelming feeling.

The two of them still haven’t said the three words yet. Hazel has known how for sure she was of her love for you within the first month. You, on the other hand, have been scared and hesitant to accept feelings so intensely because of your past relationship. Hazel never wanted to press and pry about something that was so personal.

It hurt to not shower you with the love that was pent up inside of her.

“Baby,” you shake your head, the pet name putting Hazel at ease. “I’m not mad. I wasn’t really mad, just afraid, I think.”

Hazel frowned at your timid voice.

“Afraid?”

Her sweet and comforting tone almost made everything come spilling out.

“It’s a me thing,” you scoff and wave your hand in hopes she wouldn’t focus on that.

Hazel’s big blue eyes were pulling you in though like she was hypnotizing you into spilling about your past. You needed to say something else to distract.

“So the webs come out of you?” You suck in a deep breath and you take one of her gloved hands into yours.

“Uhh, yeah. It feels really weird but I’ve gotten used to it,” Hazel explains but is still looking at you with worry.

“That’s insane. Were you born this way?” You trace over.

Hazel shook her head, watching your fingers trace the stitching of her custom suit.

“No, it was a spider from that field trip we took to that lab months ago. It died, like, as soon as it bit me. I didn’t think it was anything until I woke up the next day in a cold sweat, my senses heightened by ten and weirdly toned?” Hazel chuckled as she briefly explained her backstory.

You let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding in. There was something both reassuring yet terrifying about this. Hazel would be getting into danger pretty frequently and the thought of her risking her life daily made your stomach turn.

“When did you decide you were going to use your… power for something good?” You questioned.

“Well, you, actually,” Hazel admitted with a rose blush.

Your eyes soften as you mutter: “Me?”

“Yeah, I thought if I could protect the people of the city, I could protect you.” Hazel turned a shade of red you had only seen a few times.

It was sickenly adorable.

“Hazel,” you lean in to kiss her flushed cheeks.

Hazel shakes her head as she allows you to kiss her cheeks. You let out a few giggles as she tries to act like she isn’t enjoying every moment of your lips on you.

“You know,” you pull away to rank your eyes up and down her body, “this suit is kind of…”

“Kind of what?”

“I don’t know,” you begin to shy away, intertwining your hand in her back into your bed. Hazel follows you with narrowed eyes as she watches you.

“Is this,” Hazel motioned down to her skin-tight suit, “turning you on?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Maybe?”

Hazel nodded to herself, a flush on her cheeks.

“Really?”

“Baby, you always turn me on.” You tease as you grab her hand and shove her down on your comforter.

Hazel bounces slightly on the springy mattress as she stares up at you hovering over her face. Your knee was in between her lower thighs and your hands were on either side of her shoulders. Her blush deepened as a sly smirk was plastered on your face as you leaned down to kiss her slowly.

Her gloved hands settled on the soft of your waist, her thumbs skimming the waistband of your cotton pajama shorts. You hum as you pull away to kiss her jaw once. You adjusted yourself so that your knees were now on either side of her hips, straddling her red and blue cladded thighs.

Hazel’s eyes beamed up at you as you lifted your shirt up and off your body so that your lounging bra was the only piece of clothing on your body.

“Wait, wait, wait before we… get to it, um, I got to ask you something,” Hazel massaged your hips as she sucked in a deep breath.

You were trying to pay attention but her palms on you really weren't helping. You tilt your head as she speaks, watching her fumble over her words and her blush deepen.

“Would you want to go with me to this charity event that Mr. Stark is hosting for Heart Matters? I—I have a suit fitting this Friday and I’m sure that Mr.Stark can get you a dress too,” Hazel grinned up at you as your fingers played with the hair at the nape of her neck.

You pretend to think about it before giving her a few loving pecks on her lips.

“Are you kidding me? Of course, I’ll go with you. I haven’t seen you in a suit since prom.”

“Okay, this will be a designer brand. Not whatever me and May could grab at the thrift store,” Hazel grinned cheekily, rubbing at your sides.

“Hey, I liked that suit.” You frown.

There was even a photo from the photo booth at your prom on the wall right above your bed frame. Hazel's slightly baggy suit fit her so adorably, her tie matching with the color of your dress. It was one of your favorite photos of the two of you.

“Yeah, me too,” Hazel muttered before straining her neck to kiss you again.

Mid-makeout, you randomly remember that your girlfriend is Spider-Woman.

You’re sucking face with Spider-Woman.

You and Hazel approach the large glass doors lined with deep black . You squint one eye and raise your hand to shield your eyes from the glaring rays of the sun. Hazel’s hand interlocked with yours, giving it a small squeeze.

“Dolce & Gabbana?” You read the lettering, glancing into the empty store.

“Yeah, Mr.Stark insisted,” Hazel nodded slowly. “Happy should be inside somewhere.”

You give her a curt nod as you anxiously stare through the glass. You and Hazel hesitantly walk through the doors, instantly feeling out of place under the bright lights and sleek white floors.

You felt like everyone could see the poor on you.

Well, it was sort of obvious as you were wearing your beaten-down sneakers, a pair of baggy 90’s jeans and a ribbed graphic tee. Hazel sported a similar outfit except everything was a lot baggier.

“Can I help you?” A woman with a slicked-back bun and slim square glasses approaches you two.

“Uh, we’re here with Stark Industries,” Hazel grinned at her.

“Oh right. Mr. Hogan should be just down that hall for your customs,” the woman motioned her perfectly manicured hand down a long hallway.

“Thank you,” you tell her with a kind smile.

You try not to roll your eyes at her obviously fake grin. You walk down the hallway, hand in hand with Hazel as you round a corner. In a big bright room, there stood a man with a peppered goatee and a black and white suit and a woman in the same form of business casual.

Before you knew it, you were standing in the middle of a designer brand store with your girlfriend and her billionaire boss’s assistant watching you get sized for a custom-made dress. You never thought this would be something you’ve never thought you’d be doing.

Hazel was sitting next to Happy, both of them sipping on sparkling water. You felt slightly awkward as you had to squeeze into shapewear to make it much easier to get your dimensions. Hazel reassured you every once in a while that this was going to be perfect.

“So let me ask you something,” Happy cleared his throat as he set his tall glass to the side, pointing at you.

“Sure,” you grin, eyes wide and anticipating.

“How did… you two happen?”

Happy is pretty nice from what you can tell. He gives a teddy bear vibe, trying to be snarky and mean when he’s pretty sweet. Like now wanting to know the gossip of how you and Hazel’s relationship blossomed.

“Hazel was my stalker,” you tease your girlfriend as she turns beet red.

“What?” Happy’s face dropped for a moment, leaning away from her.

“No, no, we were in the same class senior year and we got partnered for a project. Then we just started seeing each other everywhere: her uncle’s bodega, the same coffee shops, thrift stores. Everywhere. One day she came up to me and asked if I was following her. I freaked out because it did seem that way but I like to think it was just meant to be,” Hazel spilled, twirling her few rings around her fingers.

“That’s our little story. I asked her if she wanted to come with me to try a new coffee shop that neither of us had been to. She kissed me on the first date,” you share with a chuckle.

Your eyes soften as the workers around you begin to ‘awe’ at Hazel’s rundown. Happy’s eyes flickered between you and Hazel’s blushing faces, a small smirk on his face.

“I did not think you would be the one to make the first move,” he replied, raising his eyebrows at Hazel.

You bit back your amused grin as Hazel scoffs. The sweet worker measuring your waist made eye contact with you, holding back her own grin as well.

“What does that mean?” Hazel frowned at Happy.

“No offense to you, kid, but you don’t seem like the type to make the first move.” Happy tried to defend Hazel.

She looked over at you with a frown. You scrunched up your face a little to show that you agreed. Obviously, you knew Hazel little moves here and there but she did give a nervous-unable-to-flirt vibe. But in a charming way.

To you, of course.

“Baby, if it makes you feel any better, I think it's adorable,” you beam at her.

Hazel nods to herself as you reassure her that you love how cute she is.

“There,” the worker measuring you finalized.

You stepped off the lit up platform, giving her a kind smile and a ‘thank you’. She pointed a finger at Hazel and curled it for her to stand on the platform that you were previously on. Hazel stood up from her seat to give you a gentle kiss on your cheek before taking your place. You take hers right next to Happy, glancing at him nervously.

“So, what’s it like working for superheroes?” You question, smiling kindly.

Happy took a sip of his drink before letting out a long sigh: “Amazing.”

His tone told you otherwise. You nod slowly, messing with the fabric on your legs as you wait for Hazel to be measured for her suit. Hazel stood eerily still which kind of freaked you out.

“Baby, breathe,” you state with a teasing smile.

Hazel released a breath as she sent you a weird grin. “Sorry.”

You knew Hazel tended to forget to breathe when she was put in unfamiliar situations.

“You know, you two are a lot cuter than I had thought. This one over here could not stop talking about you every single time we were alone,” Happy chipped in after another round of silence.

You beam at the man, turning towards him as you press for answers.

“H-Happy, you’re sworn to secrecy!” Hazel interrupted with a stutter.

Happy held his hands up in defense as Hazel’s eyes kept darting to you and Happy as the woman measured down the length of her arms.

Happy, even though being sworn to secrecy, leans in to whisper to you: “She’s a real sap for you, you know?”

Your heart flutters as you nod. You think about the many, many photos Hazel would send you of random updates throughout her day, the little gifts she got you, and how often she reminds you how much she cares about you. But you always make sure she receives the amount of gentle gestures she gives you.

You’ve never felt like this with anyone before. Well, you thought you’ve felt like this before. This time it felt true.

“Yeah, I know. But I’m one for her too.”

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[writingjourney]

Of Lemon Tarts and Tiny White Rabbits

Secondo, Earl of Griftwood, cannot believe his eyes when a tiny white rabbit scampers into his study. He is stunned even more when he meets the lovely owner of the pet – and promptly falls in love.

pairing: secondo x female!reader // regency AU

content: 4.6k words, regency AU (not 100% historically accurate but I tried), pov third person, forbidden romance, age gap, first kisses, social hierarchies, mildly suggestive at times, soft!secondo, pining and yearning etc., wingman terzo

This is a birthday present for the lovely @tasty-ribz , also special thanks to @angellayercake for encouraging me to bring Snowbell into this story ✨🐰

Masterlist – Ao3 link

The curtains sway gently in the soft breeze that carries a fragrant spring air into his study. Secondo lifts his gaze to take in the lovely view through the open double doors which lead to a balcony and the well-kept gardens of Emeritus Manor. Lush rose bushes climb up the stone walls and wrap around the railings, dark green speckled with the pink of countless flowers. Somewhere in the trees the birds break out in song, their melodic chirping a pleasant background noise that accompanies him as he maintains his correspondence.

After this short reprieve for his eyes, he dips the quill back into the black pot of ink on his bureau. A few more letters and he can settle outside in the shade for his afternoon tea, perhaps even indulge and allow himself a lemon tart to go with it. He can’t remember hiring a new cook and yet he swears the smell of freshly baked pastries has filled the halls of the estate more frequently as of late, their taste tempting even him who is usually not one for desserts.

A movement in his peripheral vision distracts him momentarily but when he looks up there is nothing unusual to be seen. Secondo watches the curtains, assuring himself that it must have been the wind playing tricks on him. With a frown on his face, he focuses back on his letters. After a moment, however, he glances back up, suddenly sensing a presence in the room. When he still cannot detect anything out of the ordinary, he assumes that it must have been a ghost wandering the old halls of the manor – it would not be the first time.

Over the scratching sounds of his quill he almost misses the tiny squeak that passes his ears only a moment later. A mouse? No ghosts that haunt him after all. He lets his eyes roam the walls that are lined with bookshelves, trying to spot any scurrying movements on the elaborately patterned rug that muffles the sound. At last, he glances down to his feet and surprise takes over his stern features.

A white baby rabbit sits next to his shoe, its tiny pink nostrils moving rapidly as it sniffs the leather with utmost interest. The creature cannot be bigger than his palm. Where could it possibly come from? As far as he is aware, they do not keep any rabbits, let alone breed them.

“Snowbell?” The voice that suddenly sounds from the balcony is soft and melodic, a young woman he cannot quite place. “Snowbell, where did you go?”

Her figure appears in the frame a mere moment later and she flinches back when she spots Secondo at his desk through the open doors. She immediately averts her eyes, her hair falling into her face and covering her features.

“Please, forgive me for the disturbance, my lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he replies. “I understand you are looking for this little troublemaker here?” 

Secondo leans down to pick up the rabbit. Indeed it fits neatly into his gloved palm and he regrets that he cannot feel the soft fur against his fingers. The bunny breathes rapidly, its small body excited or scared, he cannot quite tell.

“Oh, you found her! Thank the lord, I thought she was lost forever.”

“Will you relieve me of her, then? She seems quite restless.”

The young woman who he cannot remember seeing before cautiously enters and with a lowered gaze approaches his desk. Secondo admires her for a moment, her striking complexion and the mesmerising way with which hair shimmers in the golden sunlight. Young and innocent, the daughter of a servant perhaps if the state of her dress is any indication. Yet it does not diminish her beauty nor her youthful radiance; he can tell that she is perhaps five-and-twenty.

She reaches for the bunny and he hands it over the desk, feeling her fingers brushing against his. Again he regrets the barrier between his skin and the world around him but even so he can tell that the heat has risen to her cheeks. She does not seem to be used to the presence of her superiors. He’s well aware of his reputation as a rather reserved and intimidating employer.

“I am not certain that I know your name,” he says before she can scurry off, skittish like the tiny animal that appears a little taller now in her smaller hands.

She replies with her name and a curtsy, not quite lady-like in practice but Secondo can tell that she must have enjoyed a good upbringing. Perhaps she has experience working for nobility.

“Where do you belong to, my girl?”

“I am François’s daughter, my lord.”

“Ah, sì, the new gardener?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He nods, watching her pet the rabbit with her slender fingers as if to calm herself. “And how do you like it here?”

“It is extraordinarily beautiful, my lord. The estate is magnificent and I quite enjoy the work in the kitchens.”

“The kitchens? So it is you who prepares these scrumptious lemon tarts?”

She nods, smiling a bit shyly. “It is a French recipe, my lord. My mother taught me how to make it when I was a wee girl and she worked for the Earl of Carlisle.”

“Are there any lemon tarts today, per chance?”

“I made a fresh batch just this morning, my lord.”

“Wonderful. Now, bring your Snowbell to safety before she scuttles away again.”

“Thank you most kindly, my lord. I promise to be more careful when I take her outside.”

He watches the young woman’s retreating form, reminding himself not to covet what he should not have. It is quite hard at the sight of such a sublime creature, though he rarely allows himself to indulge in thoughts of his carnal desires. The way she takes care of the animal tells him that she has a kind soul and how he could he ever taint it with his rotten hands?

Secondo stands to take his afternoon tea, looking forward to a generous serving of the fresh lemon tarts. He closes the balcony doors before he departs, his correspondence quite forgotten.

✦ ✧ ✦

He is too absorbed in his brother’s letter to notice the music at first.

When he finally does Secondo stops in the middle of the hallway. Rarely does he hear such sweet sounds these days, busy with politics and finances as he is. Ever since inheriting his father’s title as the Earl of Griftwood he is subjected to ball music, loud opera pieces and the talentless daughters of the other lords of the ton. 

This subdued private concert is much more to his liking. 

He folds the letter and pockets it before investigating the source of the music. Primo has written to him from Italy where his clerical duties keep him occupied. Secondo is relieved to learn that his brother is in good health and filling his new role as the leader of their secret church for which he has forsaken his role as the head of their family. A title that has now fallen to Secondo.

Following the trail of the music carries him further down the hall until he stops in front of a double door that stands slightly ajar. The sitting room beyond is abandoned safe for the person who has taken up residence behind the pianoforte and is now delighting the house with their pleasant tunes. Secondo is not one to swoon but when he discovers the gardener’s daughter, watching as her fingers glide over the keys in an elegant dance, he is quite taken with the sight of her. 

It is only after quite some time that he spots the rabbit in her lap.

The piece ends all too soon but Secondo cannot bring himself to reveal his position. He watches on as she lifts Snowbell and places her tiny paws on the keys, playing an easy melody as she giggles and compliments her pet’s musical talent. He thinks that the snow white rabbit is an emblem of her most becoming properties – her soft and lovely presence, her gentle disposition and ethereal beauty. Two creatures that heaven must have forged together. Not for a moment does he think he could ever be worthy of her, no matter if his nobility raises him above her in this strict society. She transcends the rules of birthright and social rank, rules that he has always rejected, if not openly. Perhaps this is why he feels so drawn to her – she represents all that he has ever longed for, all that they strive to achieve with their church of Lucifer.

“I did not know we had a musician in the house,” he finally comments. “Or need I say two musicians?”

She jumps, again, startled by his domineering presence that takes over the room the moment he steps inside. After a few deep breaths she recovers and offers a polite greeting. Snowbell sits in her hand now, no bigger than a baby chick and just as restless. Her head rises as if to greet him as well, tiny button eyes shimmering not without mischief.

“Your brother told me it was alright for me to practice in here and that it is his instrument–”

“I am sorry, my dove, I did not mean to accuse you of anything untoward. Of course you may practice your music in here. We have been deprived of such beautiful sounds for way too long with no ladies in the house.”

Her shoulders sink in relief, the tension finally leaving her. “I hear that his lordship is quite a gifted musician himself. As are his brothers.”

“Ah, sì, sì, if only there was more time for it. I find that without pleasant company I cannot persuade myself to dedicate the time.” He steps further inside the room and takes a seat on one of the velvet settees, moderately close to where she’s now lowering herself back on her stool. His black breeches strain over his thighs and he adjusts his emerald green waistcoat that has ridden up, rights the knot in his cravat. “You play well, piccina. How did you come to master the pianoforte?”

“I may not be of noble upbringing, my lord, but my parents used all their means to ensure that I was educated, perhaps more than befits my station.” Her voice is sharp, not unfriendly but defensive nonetheless. “A person’s rank in society does not determine their talent for musical play.”

“I apologise if I offended your sensibilities, my dove. I did not mean to imply that your origin should have anything to do with your capability of learning an instrument.”

“No apologies are needed, my lord. It is true that such opportunities are not provided to many of my status. I cherish my privileges every day.”

Her eloquence and quick wit impress him, the dignified countenance with which she holds herself even in the face of an older man much above her in station. It would be easy to think that she is a noble lady, if it weren’t for her lack of fine clothing and jewellery. He fights off the urge to accoutre her, to dress her in the finest garments he can find in all of London and Paris or Rome. How lovely she would look with her hair done up, her slender neck exposed for his eyes alone. 

And not just for his eyes.

Before he can inquire any further, Snowbell suddenly leaps from her lap. The rabbit lands on the soft carpet and scampers over towards the settee on her tiny legs.

“Oh, not again Snowbell,” the girl laments, but then she notices the rabbit’s direction and smiles softly. “I suppose she has taken a liking to you, my lord.”

“I hope she is not the only one,” he counters, allowing himself this moment of reverie.

Flustered, she averts her gaze, reacting in much the same way that he hoped she would. “Who could not be taken with him when his lordship is so very generous and kind of heart?”

Secondo smiles to himself as he leans down to pick up the cheeky rabbit, removing one of his dark leather gloves to finally feel the softness of her fur.  “How did you come in possession of such an animal?” he finds himself asking. “She is quite unusual, no?”

“Oh, my father was engaged to work for another noble house in the city just before we came here and he found a nest in their garden. Snowbell was the only white rabbit of the litter. While the children of the house were allowed to keep the other rabbits they thought her cursed and wanted to kill her. I begged him to let me save her and bring her here.”

How charitable, he thinks, saving those who are unwanted, those who are abandoned by God, not differentiating between human or beast. How perfectly she would fit into his family whose ideals and values would have them shunned from society if they lived them openly. Perhaps it was not God who sent her but Lucifer himself. For him to love, to cherish, to worship.

He is aware that he is getting ahead of himself.

Snowbell allows him to pet her but he eventually stands to place the rabbit back in her saviour’s hands. This time, her fingers brush against the bare skin of his palm. A shiver runs through him, tingling down his spine before settling warmly in his lower belly.

Her heated cheeks are evidence that she feels the same way.

“Do you enjoy reading, my girl?” he asks, only now noticing the book she must have placed on the instrument. A romance novel, he notes, not without a hint of disappointment. He could not be any more different from the heroes of such tales if he tried.

“I do, my lord.” She cradles Snowbell gently against her bosom, almost protectively, and he has to tear is his eyes away from the soft skin there. “I am an avid reader when I do find the time.”

“Please, feel free to use my personal library at your convenience. I am sure that you are in want of new reading material. This book appears to be… well-loved.”

“Are you quite certain, my lord? I would not want to impose–”

“Oh, nonsense. Many of the books have been collecting dust for way too long.”

Perhaps this suggestion stems from him wanting her to frequent his spaces and not those of his brother, if only to raise his chances of running into her. If Terzo offered her his instrument then he is sure that his eyes are not the only ones that she has caught. Secondo shares many a thing with his brother, but he will not share her.

“Thank you, my lord,” she says. “I am not sure what I have done to deserve your generosity but I shall cherish it forever.”

“Hm, your services are well-appreciated, my dove. I merely wish to make your life here a little more pleasant.”

She giggles. “His lordship must really like the lemon tarts.”

Her laughter shakes him to his very core. He is tempted to smile, or to tell her that it is not the tarts that have captivated him, but all this foolish impulse does is distort his stern features into a grimace. Before her eyes can linger on him, he departs with quick steps and a racing heart, making sure to leave the door open.

A few moments later the soft tunes of her music accompany him back to his study.

✦ ✧ ✦

The rustling of the page is a steady noise in the background as he works away at the desk he strategically positioned in his library. The expense reports of the estate are all in order and yet he goes over them once more – if only to stretch out the time in her presence. 

He looks up to find Snowbell happily munching on a carrot in her little crate on the floor. His true heart’s desire, however, is reading a romance novel that he so graciously stocked the library with. Not that anyone will ever see a report of this particular expense.

“Are the new books to your liking, my dove?” he finds himself asking.

“They are quite enjoyable, my lord.” She looks up, marking her page before she closes the book. “And yet… I find that I do not want a love like these books promise. It sounds rather boring to me.”

“How so?”

“The true appeal of a person lies in his or her imperfections, my lord. Not even the finest, most handsome young man could tempt me when there is no flaw in his character that captures my interest. If I should ever fall in love it should be with a man much older who has been shaped by the hardships of life, with rough edges but a core that still carries a soft heart that he only shows to those he holds dear. I should like to uncover this heart and have it beat only for me.”

Secondo pauses for a moment. Could it be true? Could a beautiful young woman like her truly fall for an old man such as himself? Accept that their love would be flawed and rejected by society and love him all the more for it? If it is true what she implies then does he dare hope–

“You are quite different from what I expected, my lord,” she says before his thoughts can carry him away. “I have heard many things that I now know to be untrue.”

“And how so?”

“Everyone told me that you were quiet and rather cold, polite but not in the habit of keeping anyone’s company and while generous with your staff they said it is rare to see you outside of your study. And yet… I have only ever sensed your warmth, your generosity, and while you are a private man I feel as though I got to know you merely by being in the same room and striking up idle conversation. You have requested my presence almost daily as of late and I must admit that I find great comfort in spending my time with you, so much so that I feel sad when a day goes by and I cannot see you.”

Secondo stands abruptly, overwhelmed by the sudden sparks of emotion that ignite the fire in a heart he has long since thought to be withered. His long legs carry him to where she is sitting on a plush settee, the golden sun from the window illuminating her like an angel incarnate. She is a dream he finds himself caught in, and not of his own volition.

“My dove,” he says as he kneels down in front of her, grasping her hand tightly in his. “Your companionship is the greatest gift that I have ever received.”

He presses a fervent kiss to her knuckles, quite overcome with his desires. How he longs to pull her into his embrace, to kiss her plump cheeks and soft lips, to keep her trapped against his chest and stroke her hair for hours.

When he meets her eyes, she seems surprised by his sudden outburst, but not at all repelled like he had feared. “My dear lord, how I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”

Secondo releases a shuddering breath and buries his face in her lap. When she begins to caress his head, running her soft fingers along the sharp lines of his cheekbones, he feels like he wants to weep.

✦ ✧ ✦

The delivery goes smoothly – until his brother appears in the doorway.

“A new instrument?” Terzo asks. “Whatever for? You could have asked to use mine, fratello.”

Secondo grumbles in reply, wishing his brother would finally leave. He is dressed smartly – a dark purple brocade waistcoat with a matching tailcoat, black breeches, a white cravat, high leather boots and a brand new top hat – ready to leave for a picnic or whatever social event he is planning to attend in pursuit of his latest sweetheart. He has always mirrored Secondo’s expensive taste in clothing but decided that his colour was purple instead of green. If it weren’t for Secondo’s lack of hair and Terzo’s thick black locks their brotherly relation would be uncanny, if not a little ridiculous.

“Do you not have to make an appearance somewhere else?” Secondo asks when his brother lingers while they set up the pianoforte under his watchful eyes. 

“Oh, I still have enough time to observe my brother’s folly. Tell me, did she bewitch you so that you are wasting the family’s funds now? How exactly do you plan on introducing the gardener’s daughter to polite society, fratello?”

A deep breath. Secondo cannot strangulate him in front of the suppliers. “I do not know what you are talking about. I merely wish to possess an instrument of my own.”

“Mhm and the ornate rabbits carved into the wood? Are those to your taste as well?”

“I am very fond of animals. I quite enjoy the design, do you not find it endearing?”

Terzo merely chuckles in reply, the words altogether unfamiliar from his bother’s tongue, and pats his shoulder with a heavy hand. “I will make sure that the pamphlets are filled with someone else’s transgressions, should you decide that a diversion of the ton’s attention is needed in light of your imminent marriage to a commoner.”

Secondo refuses to argue with him, Terzo is too smart for that. Instead he waits until they are alone again and his brother further inspects the pianoforte. The tunes he lures from the keys are splendid, much richer in sound than any he has heard before. A good investment, Secondo decides.

“What a splendid instrument,” his brother says. “I shall hope that your little rabbit plays it for you on many an occasion.”

“I plan to have her play it for me every day for as long as I live.”

Terzo raises a brow. “So you do intend to propose? My, my! I did not expect you to ever let go of your determination to stay alone for the rest of your days. What has changed?”

“I met the loveliest creature to walk this earthly plane, fratello, I have been touched by her angelic hands and saw the true meaning of paradise. I do not care much what polite society has to say about our union. I am quite ready to be selfish after I sacrificed my freedom for this family.”

“And politics, your favourite subject?”

“I do not plan to advertise this marriage, fratello. I shall be ready to face all the consequences, for her love will carry me through the worst of it.”

“Oh, how you have changed!” Terzo snickers but not unkindly. “I am very happy for you, brother mine. She will make a lovely wife for an old grump such as yourself.”

“You are just as old,” Secondo says dismissively. “And yet you act like a bachelor in the prime of his youth.”

“And I shall continue to do so for as long as I can. If you will excuse me now, I have a rendezvous to attend and I am already late.”

The moment Terzo departs, Secondo allows his own hands to explore the pianoforte. He is quite out of practice but the finely tuned instruments sounds wonderful even under his stiff fingers. An old song finds its way into his head and he allows his memory to do the rest of the work.

When he finally finishes, he is pulled from his trance by the loveliest of voices.

“My lord, you asked for me,” she says timidly as she approaches him. “I do not wish to interrupt when you play such lovely songs.”

“You are not interrupting, my dove. Please, come here, sit down in my stead. This is yours now.”

“Oh, but my lord–” She trails off, her pupils widening at the sight of the brand new instrument.

He is not certain what he did to upset her. “If you would rather play a harp or a lyre–”

“No, no, that is not what I mean, my lord. I just… I am not worthy of such an expensive gift.”

“Oh, but my dove, you are more than worthy. And it is not entirely selfless. I hope I will be hearing your sweet music more often while I am working in here.”

She smiles affectionately. “I shall play for his lordship whenever he wishes. I shall… I shall play until my fingers hurt!”

“I would never allow for this to happen,” he decides, reaching for her hands and massaging them gently in his. “No pain may befall my dearest for as long as I am here to prevent it.”

She holds his gaze, hope shimmering in her irises. “I shall play with caution then, I would not want my lord to be in distress on my behalf. Would you hold Snowbell for me, please?” 

Before she sits, she pulls the rabbit from the pocket of her dress where the she must have napped for she perks up sleepily when she is set down in his broad hands. Secondo does not make a move to stand.

“My lord–”

He uses his free hand to pull her into his lap and she gasps before her fingers find the keys. He can feel her shivering against his chest, her breathing as rapid as his heartbeat.

“I am not sure that I can play under his lordship’s scrutiny,” she whispers.

“I am quite certain that you can.”

With another shaky breath she begins to play. Heavenly tunes fill the room, her hands working their magic on the keys of the fine instrument. It is a song he has not heard before, slow and rather quiet but all the more powerful on his emotions. Her confidence soon returns and she plays in the same carefree way that he has grown to enjoy, only this time she is in his space, where she belongs. She is in his arms, breathes the very same air that flows through his lungs, and he can sense that he made the right choice.

The moment her hands come to a stop, he places Snowbell back in her palms and turns her sideways over his lap. Flustered by the proximity she glances down to her hands, only to notice that the rabbit has a white ribbon loosely tied around her body.

“I will ask your father for your hand,” Secondo says bluntly and her eyes widen.

“My lord, that is… it is impossible.”

“It will be possible, if it is your wish as well.”

“But, I am just–”

He stops her, taking her chin between his fingers to force her eyes to meet his. “My dove, I need a clear answer.”

“Yes.”

Overcome with relief he closes the distance and devours her lips in a passionate kiss. She presses against him with the same fervour, though careful not to squash the rabbit in her hand. Her body feels heated underneath the thin fabric of her cheap dress and he vows to have the modiste come the very next day to take her measurements. His hands roam her curves without shame now while he ravishes her, kissing her with a passion that threatens to make his heart burst, unused as it is to such feral emotion. She tugs at his cravat then, and he relents, allowing them both to break away for air.

Her forehead falls against his, their noses brushing as their heavy breaths mingle in the space in between. Suddenly Snowbell squeals in her palm and when they both look down the rabbit leaps from her hand onto the keyboard. As the off-key notes penetrate the room, they both smile. Perhaps they have to hire a different musician for the wedding after all.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

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[oneawkwardwriter]

Hi i love ur writing. Sorry this is long but could you do a Caspian x pevensie!reader whose susan’s twin and like he chose her over susan and like they meet in prince caspian and fall in love and he “proposes” but then she can’t come back to narnia.

BUT THEN… she goes back with E Lucy and Eustace(whose kinda her enemy in a funny way) for some reason and she’s with Caspian and it’s just them on the Dawn Treader and Lucy tells caspian how sad she’s been the year they were back.

Can it just be really angsty and fluffy at the same time🤭🤭

Sorry this is long i just love ur writing💋💋

Prove Her Wrong

pairing: Dawn Treader!King Caspian x Pevensie!fem!reader warnings: angst obviously, dw it's also fluffy, mentions of drowning (no one actually does, but it feels like it for a moment), amicable banter, pining, regretting decisions, use of y/n (I'm so sorry) summary: both you and caspian have been miserable a/n: aahh, I love this idea so much! Also, thank you for giving me an excuse to watch the movies again, really needed that. I did kind of twist the plot to make it fit better, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Sorry it took this long to write it, my schedule's been packed for the last couple of weeks, I hope the fic makes up for it. wc: 2.6k

It had all happened too fast to comprehend. One second, you're standing in your cousin's room looking at a painting. The next, you're engulfed in a massive ocean trying to keep your head above the surface.

Too busy looking for the younger children, you hadn't even noticed the change in the atmosphere. Everything had gotten a little brighter, the air more fresh, the sky more clear. But you were preoccupied trying to make it out alive as the currents tried to pull you below the surface.

"Lucy!? Edmund!?" You yell out with what little breath you had left. "Eustace!? Anyone, where are you!?"

Somewhere to your right (or left, seeing as you had no sense of direction anymore), you heard a faint voice you recognised as your younger sister calling out for you.

"Lucy!" You manage to get out as you try to swim towards her. As you come closer, you were able to make out the two boys as well.

"What happened, where are we?" Eustace calls out, arms flailing around him as he tries to keep his head above water.

You share a fleeting look with your younger brother and sister, and something in your gut tells you you know exactly where you are.

"We're back, aren't we?" Edmund asks, confirming your suspiscion. But before you can answer his question, a ship dooms up, and it was approaching you rapidly.

"Swim!" You shouted, trying to put a safe distance between you and the ship while also trying to keep the others closeby.

You heard a few loud plunges into the water, and when you turned around for a moment, you saw some of the crewmembers swimming towards you. A moment later, you felt a pair of strong hands wrap around your waist.

"It's alright, I've got you." An all too familiar voice reassures you. You turned around, only to be met with a slightly older version of the man you had been forced to leave behind the last time you had left Narnia.

"Caspian..." You say breathlessly as you look into his eyes.

"Y/n..." He responds, equally out of breathe and clearly both surprised and confused to see you here.

Together with the other crewmates, he helps you onto the ship, even Eustace who is screaming fire and demanding to back to England. Someone hands you a warm blanket, which you gladly accept and drape around your shoulders. You glance at Caspian, and for a moment your gazes lock, before he is pulled away by Edmund.

"Did you call for us?" He asks, to which Caspian shakes his head.

"No, I didn't. Not this time, at least," Caspian answers, glancing over to you once more as he does.

You're interrupted by a shrieking Eustace, who is swatting away a large mouse sitting on his chest.

"Get this filthy animal off of me!" He screeches as he scrambles backwards.

"Pretty sure that mouse is far cleaner than you are, Eustace," You say as you roll your eyes and shake your head. "It's good to see you again, Reepicheep."

"It is a delight to see you as well, Your Majesties," He responds, bowing down for a moment.

Caspian walks up to the stairs that lead to the quarterdeck and addresses the crew. "Men, behold our castaways: Edmund the Just, Lucy the Valient and Y/n the Righteous; High King and Queens of Narnia."

All the men on the ship went down on their knees and bowed deeply in respect of you. No matter how many times you had been called Queen, it always sent shivers down your spine.

Caspian led the three of you towards the King's quarters, which doubled as his study, leaving Eustace in the care of the crew, who had fainted when he had seen Tavros the minotaur. You had been given some dry clothes that fit you like a glove, although your shirt was a little big and had a vaguely familiar scent to it.

In the middle of the room, a huge map of Narnia was sprawled out across the table. You scanned over it, your finger absently tracing the coastal lines as you lightly smiled to yourself. You wouldn't admit it out loud, but you had missed being here when you were back in England.

With Peter and Susan off to America, you been left to stay at your aunt and uncle's house with your younger siblings. At first, you had thought it wildly unfair to be stuck in England whilst your older brother and twin-sister got to live with your parents across the Atlantic ocean.

Eventually, you had calmed down and accepted your fate. Most of the time, you could be found lightly fidgeting with the one possession you had been able to take back with you from your last adventure in Narnia; a simple silver ring you kept on a piece of string around your neck. It reminded you of a time where you didn't feel like the second option, a feeling that haunted you often when being compared to your twin.

"It has been three years since we won Narnia back from my uncle," Caspian explains as he points towards the map, "There is peace in the entire country now."

"And have you found yourself a Queen in those three years?" Lucy asks, making you look up from the map. She truly didn't mean any harm with the question, but Edmund lightly nudges her side and gives her a stern look.

"No," Caspian says with a light chuckle to alleviate the tension, "not one to compare with your sister..."

"Hang on," Edmund interrupts, "But if there's no wars to fight, and no one's in trouble... then why are we here?"

"That's a good question. I've been asking myself the same thing," Caspian answers. "Before I tried to take the throne back from my uncle, he went after my father's closest advisors, the seven Lords of Telmar. They fled to the Lone Islands, but no one has heard from them since."

"So you think something's happened to them?"

"Well, if it has, it's my duty to find out," Caspian says rather solemnly. He looks over at you, trying to get a read on you, but your eyes are glued to the map in front of you.

"What's east of the Lone Islands?" Lucy asks, pointing towards the map where it just says The Great Eastern Ocean.

"Unchartered waters," Drinian, the captain, answers. "Things you could barely imagine. Tales of sea serpents and worse..."

"Sea serpents?" Edmund asks, his face lighting up at the sound of something dangerous to battle against.

"Alright, Captain, that's enough of your tall tales," Caspian interrupts. "You are free to go wherever you want on this ship, it is as much yours as it is mine."

It's a silent cue for Edmund and Lucy to go with the captain and explore the ship, while you stay in the quarters, leaning against the table, your eyes still locked on the parchment. After the door shuts, Caspian speaks up once again.

"Can you at least look at me?" He asks, his voice much softer and hesitant now. "Please?"

You lightly sigh as you look up at him, your eyes instantly finding his. "I'm sorry I left," You say truthfully, even though you sound rather defeated.

"Don't apologise, I- I shouldn't have asked you to stay." This time, it's Caspian who lets his head fall and gaze upon the map. "I knew you couldn't, yet I asked you anyway. I am sorry, for putting you in that position, that was selfish."

"It's alright," You somewhat reassure him, "Aslan knows I would have been just as selfish had roles been reversed. But we can't change the past, and we mustn't let it stand in the way of our future." You take a deep breath as you take a step closer to him. "You deserve a bright future filled with happiness, Caspian. Don't let me stand in the way of that by holding onto something that can't be."

It's the right thing to say, the logical thing to say. You're from a different world, there's no way of knowing if you'll be able to stay in this one after the adventure is over. It guts you to the core to walk out of the King's quarters, it tears your heart apart, but you try to shake it off as you go out onto the main deck.

Luckily for you, you're able to take your mind off of it when you notice your cousin Eustace talking to a regular seagull.

"What on Earth are you doing talking to a bird?" You say, a somewhat smug tone laced in your voice. You're called the Righteous, not the Humble, and for good reason.

"I just assumed that-" Eustace begins, his face turning a light shade of pink.

"That just because a mouse can talk, so must a bird?" Maybe it's a coping mechanism for the shattered heart in your chest, but you let out a light chuckle. "Oh cousin, you have a lot to learn about how things work here. Good to know you can't claim to be the smartest person in every realm." You shake your head and hear a few crewmen chuckle along.

The sky gets darker as the evening falls, and the crew celebrates the your arrival with festive spirits. Sea shanties are sung, dancing goes hand in hand with a lot of laughter and a couple of bottles of liquor are brought out.

Despite the gloomy thoughts that have been haunting you for the day (and the days before that), you laugh and leap along with the crewmen. Even Eustace loosens up a little, although keeping it modest. The only one who seems unaffected by the joyious celebrations is the king, who sits on the staircase and watches the others, or rather, watches you.

At some point, he is joined by Lucy, who due to her young age can't participate in the drinking and adult activities. She sits down next to him and keeps quiet for a little while, before speaking up.

"What's bothering you, Caspian?" She asks softly. "Is it the Lords?"

"For the first time in a long time, it actually isn't, my friend," He says truthfully, letting out a sigh. "It feels like even when she is this close, she is still worlds away."

He didn't have to say your name in order for Lucy to understand. It's the same way you didn't need to mention his whenever she would find you staring mindlessly at the wall or out the window back in England. You would always have that same tragic look in your eyes while you fidgeted with the ring around your neck, no matter how hard you would try to mask it whenever Lucy got your attention.

"You know, she feels the same way right now," Lucy responds, feeling incredibly sorry for both your misery.

"She's evidently better at coping with it than I am." The words came out more bitter than intended, but Lucy couldn't really blame him.

"Out here, maybe. But back in England," She refrained from saying 'back at home', never having been able to call it home when she had missed Narnia too much. "Back in England, she was a mess. A beautiful, poised and collected mess, but crumbling down on the inside."

Caspian didn't speak up, but simply looked sorry and felt even more remorseful than he already had.

"She kept the ring, you know," Lucy continues, "Oh, she would never say it out loud, but it was obvious she regretted leaving Narnia, leaving you most of all. I'm pretty sure she would give anything to stay this time around, if you'd ask her again."

"She told me to let go of a future with her, said she didn't want to stand in the way of my happiness," Caspian argues solemnly, "Sounded a lot like she wanted to move on from all of this."

"That's what she thinks is the right thing to do, because it makes more sense," Lucy counters. "Prove to her that it isn't."

With that, she stands up from the stairs and walks out into the crowd. Turning around one last time, she says:

"Oh, and maybe do something about the beard, it might remind her of the man she fell in love with."

Caspian lightly rolls his eyes at her comment, but decides to take her up on it nonetheless when he retired to the barracks below deck. For the sake of privacy, he had given his quarters to you and Lucy to stay in while you were on the ship.

Later that night, when everyone was passed out in their beds, Caspian went onto the deck to get some fresh air, where he soon notices you, leaning on the railing while you looked up at the stars.

"Still having trouble sleeping?" He asks as he stands next to you.

"Insomnia doesn't go away so easily, it seems," You softly chuckle, having to do a double take when you notice he has shaved. "I was almost getting used to that beard, but I'm glad you shaved it off any way."

"What is it with the hostility against my facial hair?" Caspian comments as he raises an eyebrow at you. "I thought it made me look ruggedly handsome."

"Who'd you have to look ruggedly handsome for before we showed up today?" You ask in a mocking way, making you lightly snicker when Caspian takes on a defensive tone. "Oh, stop it, I was merely teasing."

"Teasing, are you now?" He asks, a mischievous glint sparking up in his eyes as he leans in just a little. "That's not very Queen-like behaviour, now is it?"

You lightly sigh, letting your head fall for a moment before you speak up. "Perhaps I've gotten a bit rusty," You note, "I haven't been a Queen for a while now, you know?"

"Oh, don't worry, it's like riding a horse," Caspian assures you, "It's not something you can unlearn, even if you don't practice anymore."

"Well, maybe it's a good thing. Might make the next time I leave more easy..."

"You're still planning on leaving after this adventure?" Caspian asks, his voice growing a little more quiet. "You can stay, you do know that, right? You did the first time, surely you can-"

"Caspian, please," You interrupt him, pushing away from the railing and taking a few steps back, "It's too difficult, you know that. I can't just leave my family behind, and I can't ask them to stay."

"You don't have to do that. I am certain there's a way for you to move freely between realms," Caspian suggests, "And if there isn't, we'll find a way. Somehow, things like this have a way of working out."

He takes a step towards you, reaching out but refraining from touching you just yet. "Besides," He continues, "Time goes by much slower there than it does here right? We can figure this out and they won't even notice you're not there."

He searches for your eyes as he takes another step towards you, a silent longing in his eyes as he does. "You don't have to come with an answer right now. Whether it's tomorrow, next week or at the very last second, I don't care as long as you're certain that whatever you choose is something you actually want, not what you think is right."

You close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. "Okay," You say after a while. Your eyes are still closed, but a small creeps up on your lips.

"Okay?" Caspian echoes, his eyes sparking up, even though he's not sure he heard you correctly.

"Yeah," You say, opening your eyes to look into his. "Okay, I'll stay. But I might change my mind if you don't come here and kiss me, because-"

Luckily, he cuts you off mid-sentence by pulling you in and effectively using his lips to shut you up. You can feel him smile against your lips, and you can't help but reciprocate the gesture while your hands run up into his hair.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unmanageable 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Pete Brenner

Summary: your manager sets his eye on your (plus!reader)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The ding of a bell jolts you. You sit back, pushing your glasses up to rub your eyes as you wait. You don’t hear anything. You sigh. 

You drop your glasses back to the bridge of your nose and get up. Your neck and shoulders hurt from slouching at your screen. You cross the office and swing your door open. You swiftly turn and thump on the door next to yours. 

“Customers,” you call through, irritated not only by your co-workers' current neglect by the chaotic morning. 

You march back to your office and send a glance towards the counter. You find a man and woman watching you from the other side. You vaguely recognise them but you cant never keep the names straight. Maybe that’s why you never could sort out the tangled threads of the town gossip. 

You huff and settle back in to the eye crossing work. You really don’t get it. They have no shame. Caught and they’re still messing around. The walls aren’t thick enough to block out the giggles or Pete’s low tones. 

You yawn and lift your thermos. You peer into the empty metal cylinder and clunk it back down. Damn it. You can’t even make a fresh pot. 

You yawn at the clock in the corner of the screen and carry on. The day will be over soon and you can go home and zone out with some Balder’s Gate. You’ve been waiting to try that one. 

A knock at the door disturbs your internal monologue. You sit up and look over the monitor. Before you can get up or answer, the door opens. The person on the other side doesn’t surprise you, especially as he lets himself in. 

Pete gives a crooked grin as he stands just inside the door, “you busy?” He doesn’t wait. He steps further inside and turns slightly, clinging to the door handle, “you want this shut?” 

Before you can tell him yes, close it from the outside, he snaps it shut and faces you. He tucks his hands in his pocket and approaches your desk. He stops just on the other side. 

“So, uh, I just wanted to have a chat,” he begins, “about the bell. You know, next time someone rings it, you can just help them.” 

You blink and take off your glasses, cleaning the lenses with the cloth your keep in the case, “I��m not a teller.” 

“Yeah, sure, but you can ask them what they need,” he suggests, “you know, before you bother me and Marska.” 

“Mm, that’s not in my job description,” you put your glasses back on and zero in on the screen. 

“Right, but it takes two seconds,” he counters. 

You look at him again, your hand on the mouse. You stare dully over the top of the monitor. It’s not your responsibility to cover them while they fuel the rumour mill. You flick your eyes back down and click. 

“I am the manager,” he says. 

You nod and type rapidly, clacking loudly. He clears his throat and shifts. He moves a little closer as you ignore him for the binary on your screen. 

“So you need to listen to me,” he puts his hand on the top of the monitor, stumbling as the arm that holds it up dips with his weight. He quickly rights himself and retracts his hand. You fix the screen on the floating mount and bite the inside of your lip. 

“I heard you,” you mutter. 

“Alright, so next time you hear the bell, you can just zip up to the front,” he claps his hands. 

“No,” you say. 

“But you said--” 

“I’m not a teller,” you repeat. “That’s Marska’s job.” 

“Okay, but when she’s busy--” 

“She should be working,” you insist as you go back to typing. 

“Huh,” he sucks his teeth, “I see.” 

You narrow your eyes in an effort to keep them from rolling. You sniff and don’t stop. He wastes enough of your time with his bad behaviour. 

“I get it, you’re jealous.” 

You snort, “jealous?” 

You stop and raise your eyes once more. 

“Yeah, sure, makes sense. You sit in this office all day. Alone. And you hear us having a bit of fun and you want some of that,” he smirks and tilts his head, his floppy hair falling forward. “sweetheart, if you want in on it, you just have to say so.” 

“Ew.” 

He hesitates, “ew?” 

“Not interested,” your fingers flit over the keyboard effortlessly as the front sears into your vision. 

“Hey, look, if I knew earlier you were feeling like that--” 

“I just said I’m not interested,” you snip without tearing your eyes from the screen. “And I am definitely not--” 

He grabs the monitor again, this time pulling it away from you. You cringe in frustration and sit back, crossing your arms. You grit your teeth, ready to say something very unprofessional. 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” He asks. 

“What? It was me, what?” You squint. 

“You told her.” 

“Who?” 

“You fucking snitched on me to my wife,” his grin disappears, “I’ve been trying to figure it out all day but I shoulda known--” 

“What? I don’t even know your wife,” you scowl. “And I don’t give a crap about whatever you’re doing or whoever you’re doing it with.” 

“Bullshit,” he sneers, “it makes sense. You can’t have me so you go and tattle,” he accuses, “that’s sad. Real sad. But what’s a girl like you gonna do?” 

“I didn’t tell your wife,” you insist and reach for the monitor.  

As you grab the side of the screen, he latches onto your wrist. You try to rip your arm away but he squeezes tights. He keeps a solid grip on you as you wrench your hand helplessly. 

“You did it. I know it.” 

“I didn’t--” 

“You’re going to regret that, sweetie,” he snarls as he yanks you so hard you roll forward and your ribs hit the desk. “Don’t forget, I’m in charge here.” 

“Let me go--” 

As you pull again, he releases you and the chair tilts dangerous but the wheels save you from a topple. You rub your wrist as you grimace at him. He plants his hand on your desk and bends forward. 

“You want it so bad, baby, well, I’m gonna give it to you,” he winks.  

[acapelladitty]

Jonathan Crane/Reader - Corn Fucking 🌽😈 (Kinktober #1)

Summary - It's a corn fucking fic lads. Someone gets fucked with an ear of corn. Not much more to say aside from the fact there's heavy bdsm themes. Bon ape tit!

As far as Crane’s little tests went, this one was proving to be somewhat unique.

All it had taken was an off-colour comment about the dinner you had prepared for you both – a simple stew with a few sides littered around the rickety table which you had scrounged up within his workspace – and he had ordered you to stand from your seat and approach him, a task you completed in an instant as your naturally submissive dynamic settled over your skin like a thick veil.

Crane was dining in full costume, his Scarecrow grab wrapped around his thin frame as he had been pulled from work to have something to eat, and he hadn’t seen the point in changing anything when he fully planned to return as soon as he were finished.

Now standing before him, you flinch in place as his cool hands jump straight to your thighs – willowy, scarred fingers disappearing up your skirt to wrap around the waistband of your underwear and pull the scant fabric free of your ass. Heat rises in your cheeks as you allow him to slip the thin cotton panties free of your body, allowing them to fall carelessly to the floor as you willingly step free, feeling utterly exposed as a delicious anxiety alights in your chest, awaiting his next move.

“Raise your skirt and hold it in place.”

Your fingers move of their own accord as the smooth tenor of his low voice washes over you, the digits plucking at the hem of your skirt as you raise it to your waist – a fresh blush staining your cheeks as you were forced to showcase your most intimate self. A traitorous dampness rapidly makes itself known between your slit as you clench your cunt around nothing while Crane gazes as your sex with a calculating expression, his milky eyes casually switching between you and the dinner table.

One hand still gripping the flesh of your outer right thigh, his other hand – the one which often housed his fear gauntlet – skimmed over the table, delicately trailing over the small variations of different foodstuffs before landing on its intended target.

An ear of corn, boiled to perfection.

To the side of the bowl sat an even smaller bowl, this one filled with seasoned butter which was intended to add a little bit of flavour, and he ignored it entirely as he brought the thick length of corn back towards your prone body.

Something wicked and shameful washed through your system as you sussed out his intent. He was going to fuck you with it and your fingers trembled against the fabric of your skirt as a full-bodied shudder skittered its way down your spine. He had fucked you with objects before, setting your strained body up for failure as you were forced to choose between impaling yourself on a rubber cock which stretched you to the point of tears or choking yourself with a thin noose, but this was different. There was no planning here. Just a showcase of his power and how willing you were to accept it.

“I think we should warm up that lovely skin before we test just how depraved you are, little mouse.”

A sharp yelp escapes your lips as he slides the length of corn against your cunt and the intense heat against your sensitive skin – the temperature of the kernels still hot despite sitting on the plate since the meal began – feels almost scalding against the delicate skin, causing your knees to knock in place even as every instinct in your body screamed at you to pull away.

Relief is quick to sweep through your tensed skin as he slid the corn away, only to then twist it and replace it a moment later – sparking a fresh cry from your lips as the heated assault resumed. Biting your lips, the tension in your thighs makes your legs tremble as you fight against the urge to step away and escape the torment.

Your eyes meet Crane’s once more and you can feel the sadistic amusement at play there as he holds the corn in place for a moment longer, daring you to complain or attempt to escape. Knuckles white against your skirt, you refuse to give in even as he tests it out a few more times, every attempt seeking out more sensitive skin as he pushes the length roughly between your slit and grinds it hard against your exposed cunt.

Your teeth gritting against the hot discomfort, only soft mewls can slip through as he ensures that every inch of your wettened cunt was ‘warmed up’ by his ministrations. The heat was only just bearable, despite being cruelly intense, and it enough that the constant movement ensured that you would not be burned while also allowing every millimetre of skin to enjoy the scalding warmth.

He adjusts the length slightly and you scream out a sharp yelp as the tip of the corn presses against your clit – the sensitive bud sending a sharp jolt of pain through your body as your knees snap together and you jerk away, unable to take it any longer.

“Please. It’s too hot.” Your words are panicked and dripping regret as disappointment that you pulled away trickles across your skin. “I can’t take it. Please, Sir.”

“You could take it and more.” Crane chastises roughly, his deadpan tone revealing nothing of the very visible arousal which is tenting his darkened slacks as his hand fully removes itself from your cunt. “And maybe one day you will so I can enjoy those panicked screams as you feel your skin burn from the inescapable heat. But for the moment, I’ll show mercy. You have 20 seconds to adjust the temperature and then it goes inside you, no matter what.”

“Thank- thank you, Sir.” You stutter out as you drop your skirt, pluck the corn from his extended fingers and move quickly to the nearby sink. Turning the tap, you test the stream for a moment before washing the corn in the cold water, ensuring that every inch was cleansed and cooled as much as possible for what you knew was coming next.

“Time.” Crane calls out firmly after his internal count ends. His gnarled fingers immediately extend out to summon you back to him and you scurry back over to his side as he pushes his chair even further free of the dinner table.

Crane pats his knee, the movement slow and mocking, as he gives you a simple, non-verbal command. It’s a command you know intimately and the immediate throb of your cunt as you realise he plans to put you over his lap is embarrassing in its earnestness. It was one of his favourite places to keep you; painting and bruising your skin to a mottled range of abuses with his hands or a ruler or whatever item he pleased as you screamed and apologised for your mistakes.

The fact that the spankings always ended with either his cock or his fingers buried deep within your aching cunt also never hurt.

You drop smoothly to take a familiar, humiliating position across his knee, careful to avoid the metallic mechanism of his knee brace as you raise your ass up high, your short skirt riding further up with every small shuffle of your frame.

His fingers push within your cunt without warning, the sudden intrusion taking your breath away as he rubs the pads of his fingers against your walls, testing how wet and prepared you were with an almost clinical fashion. Arousal, hot and shameful in its intensity, pulses within your groin and you can’t help but writhe against him as he completes his examination, feeling more like a piece of meat than a wistful lover. Your breath comes in short gasps and you can’t help but roll your hips against his fingers, encouraging him to move faster.

“Sit still.” Crane warns and the words are a shock, like freezing water dashed across your skin as you force your body still. A rumble of approval rolls through his thin frame at the instant submission and he taps two fingers against your exposed ass. “Good girl.”

In an instant, his fingers pull free, but he leaves you no time to mourn their loss as something much larger moves to press at your hole, the slightly tapered end of the corn breaching the first inch of your cunt without difficulty. Your breath is held deep within your chest, the solid feeling of his knees beneath your stomach giving you something to ground yourself to as your fingers grip at the legs of the wooden chair Crane is still lounging on.

“You’re so wet already.” Crane growls. “Have you no shame? Are you really just a whore? A little mouse who is soaked at the prospect of being fucked by something as disgusting as an ear of corn.”

Already feeling thoroughly degraded and slave to the hot arousal which is tight across your groin, you give him a pathetic nod and follow the desperate move a hasty agreement as a soft yes falls from your lips. It’s enough to satisfy him and his hand is rough against your lower back as his other hand begins to slowly force the ear of corn against your fluttering hole.

The stretch draws a low discomforting keen from your lips as you spread your legs further and try to relax around the girth of the intrusion. It’s thicker than Crane, that was for sure, and you can’t help but imagine how your poor cunt will look once he’s finished, all fucked out and raw, reddened by his little off-the-cuff punishment.

With a grunt, the widest part of the corn pops within your cunt and you muffle the cry which threatens your lips by burying your mouth against your arm. Your flesh burning around the intruder, every small kernel adds a layer of sensation that allows a very pleasant arousal to rise aside the warmth – the feeling growing more intense as Crane slowly begins to pump the corn within you, building up a slow pace.

Your knees are spread as wide as the position would allow and you squirm against his steadying hand as stunted moans and whimpers break free of your lips. The feeling of his cock, hard and heavy against your stomach, makes your mouth water as you long for the familiar taste of him in your mouth.

Crane twists the corn unexpectedly and the movement pulls at your walls as every little ridge rubs itself against your most sensitive skin, a bolt of arousal making you jerk in place and grab on to his ankle.

“Do you think you could come like this?” Crane asks, flexing his leg beneath your grip as he picks up the pace on his movements – every thrust now pushing the corn a few millimetres deeper into your stretched cunt as he forced you towards a humiliating orgasm. “A whore so pathetic that even an object like this can get her off"

Perhaps after our meal I should organise a more involved punishment to correct this abnormal behaviour.”

“Yes, sir.” You agree, shame at the rapidly growing band of tension which spilled heat across your skin making you compliant as your cunt clamped around the corn.

“Ask me to make you come like this.”

His demand was met with a sharp increase in his pace, the ridged length within your cunt now moving rapidly as it pulled at and stimulated your fluttering walls with every messy pump.

“Please fuck me.” You beg, fingers scrambling against his legs. “Fuck me with the corn like the -pathetic whore-whore I am. Make me come with it.”

Crane complies and all it takes is one particularly cruel thrust which pushes the thick length so deep within your cunt that it knocks against your cervix, the added discomfort enough to push you over the edge as you come. Toes curling within your shoes, the band of arousal snaps and your cunt spasms around the corn – a shrill, stuttering cry making you shake in place as his thumb slips around to brush sadistic circles around your engorged clit. The added stimulation drawing out your release to the point of overstimulation as your bucking frame is held in place by his firm hand pushing down against your lower back.

Eventually, your movements still as the waves of pleasure recent and your aching cunt feels disgustingly wet and hollowed out as Crane pulls the thick length of corn free with a none-too-gentle yank. It’s a move that draws a fresh grunt from you as the wicked little kernels give you one last kiss of pleasure before a sense of emptiness settles in the abandoned space.

Your earlier thoughts return as you feel the cool air brush against your hole, the slight gape there cause a fresh flush of shame to roll across your heated skin. Reddened and fucked-out.

Just as he liked.

Crane’s hand released your back and you stand on trembling legs, not quite trusting the ground to remain solid below you as you allow your skirt to fall back down. Your release trickles free of your cunt, a wet and sticky mess that feels uncomfortable against your thighs as you await his next instruction.

One of Crane’s hands is pressed against the tented bulge of his cock, teasing his own length as he observes you with a heated gaze. The fingers of his other hand move to drop the slickened ear of corn to the closest plate, the ceramic clinking quietly against the wooden table.

“Now, return to your seat and finish your meal. Our lesson will continue once you are finished.”

This fic is my first offering for this years Kinktober. The tag will be #Kinktober23 for all of the fics if you want to keep up 💖😈

[deviousdeliciousness]

Not a Mouse Pt. 1

And here's a lil' drabble from a giant's POV this time; Unintentional Fear Play, here we come! :333

~~~~~~~~~~

Of all the times for the power to go out, it just had to be in the middle of the night right after Jack was sure he'd seen what had to be a mouse ducking behind his toaster.

Yeah, he'd wandered into the kitchen for a late night snack - unusual for him already, since he tended to go to bed early - and he'd snagged a couple pop-tarts from the counter 'cause he didn't want to bother with anything requiring more prep than they would. Then, as one does, he'd looked up as he headed to the toaster. Only, he did so just in time to see something dart behind the stainless steel appliance. Something had had definitely been too big to be any kind of bug. Which meant that it was probably a mouse - or worse, a rat.

To make matters even more terrible than they were quickly summing up to be, Jack didn't have time to do more than inhale in shock before a thunderous boom practically shook the house along with an accompanying crack of thunder, and all the lights went out, pitching the world into darkness.

Fuck.

He blinked rapidly, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sudden loss of light while unconsciously shifting into a defensive position, his still sealed pop-tart held up like a weapon.

He quickly compartmentalized. One, the power was out, and by the loud crash nearby, it probably wouldn't be turning back on anytime soon. Two, there was a rodent in his kitchen.

As if to reinforce his thoughts, his ears pricked at the sound of a tiny, barely audible scuff, and he squinted his eyes in the direction of the sound, his brows furrowing low on his forehead when he realized it was from the same direction where he'd last seen his intruder, undeniably confirming its existence.

There was no way he was gonna be able to go back to bed while knowing that he had a damn rat in his apartment. Just the thought of it crawling all over his stuff, getting into his food, crawling over him while he slept - eugh. He shuddered in revulsion.

Hey, alright, he didn't have anything against mice or rats, not in general, but wild ones were known for being prime disease carriers for a reason: because they were. So he was very much against having one of the things in his home.

There was another little noise - it was sort of sharp and almost like a barely-there breath - and Jack steeled himself as he realized what he'd have to do.

He'd have to catch it - and fast. Before it had the chance to get away and do whatever it was that rats did after finding a home to inhabit. Like invite its little rat friends over or have a hundred baby rats in his walls. Yeah. No thank you.

Fumbling around in the dark (which was thankfully not completely pitch black to him anymore as his eyes finally began to adjust), Jack grabbed one of the plastic food containers from the drying rack at his side, simultaneously dropping his pop-tarts back onto the counter.

The Tupperware was rectangular and of a decent size. He was sure the rat would fit comfortably inside once he caught it.

What he would do with it after he caught it? Well... he'd figure that out then.

Clutching the container tight in his hands, he crept closer to the soft little scuffling sounds that he was able to better pick up on as he approached his invader, and the noises seemed to pick up in their urgency the closer he got. His muscles tensed in preparation as he scoured the near-darkness for any little figure out of place, his heartbeat picking up its pace in his chest with both nerves and thready anticipation.

He roved his eyes over the countertop, and -

There!

A small blob of shadow - smaller than he'd been expecting - moved, and he reacted. His arms came down from above his head to slam the lidless Tupperware container down over of the thing, and he almost winced at the sound of the plastic slamming hard against the countertop.

In the exact same instant, a sharp, piercing cry cut through the air, and for the life of him, he couldn't help but think it sounded far less like a squeak and disturbingly more like a high-pitched, terrified scream.

~~~~~~~~

Dun Dun DUuuun.... Pt 2 ya think?

[opossumloverr]

✪TURTLE BROS X SNOW LEOPARD YOKAI READER✪

Summary:

Turtle bros with a snow leopard yokai reader ♡

Warning(s):

None! Maybe some swearing?

A/N:

I posted the one with the ask so I had to delete it cause it wasn't finished yet 💀 I'M SO SORRY, this is the person who requested this @saltydoesstuff TY FOR THE REQUEST! (Gender-neutral reader, can be platonic or romantic)

《RAPH》

Raph loves cats

He probably shields cats with an umbrella from the rain

So, to him, you're just a really big kitty cat who deserves a bunch of praises and pats

Loves to just cuddle with you

Scratching your sweets spot while churring in your ear

And for fun, he likes to count all of your spots

gets mad when he loses count though,

"64, 65…" Raph murmured in silence,

You chuckled in between sentences, "Big red, what are you doing?" Raph replied with a huff.

"Shh, I'm trying to count all of ya spots"

You questioned, "For what?" Raph groans in response

"Ugh! I lost track!" He huffed as he laid his head on your stomach, you looked at him in confusion,

"I'm sorry Raph, would you like some chin scratches as an apology?" you asked,

"Yes that would be very much appreciated, thank you sweets"

He can't stay angry at you for long, you're his weak spot

《LEO》

Beware, this man is a nose booper

So whenever you're around, expect him to get close to you, lift his finger up, and touch your nose while making a 'boop' sound

It's an obsession, he can't help it

So you've grown into the habit of hiding from him whenever you sense him approaching

Fun fact; Snow leopards can jump really high, one leap can send them almost 50 feet in the air

So you take this skill to your advantage

Jumping into high places so he can't find you/reach you

But he will always find a way

"C'mon [NAME], come out! I swear I won't boop you again" You hear Leo's voice all the way in the movie room, You're currently hiding in the kitchen, on top of one of the high shelves, You hear his footsteps walking away, You sigh in relief but it was short-lived as you feel your tail bump into a plastic cup causing it to fall down to the hard concrete floor,

"Damn it!" You whispered to yourself

"Oh, so you're hiding in the kitchen?" Leo says, you can practically taste the grin he has on his face, almost instantly you see a blue portal next to you, with Leo's hand sticking out of it to grab you by the scruff of your neck and pull you into said portal,

You were then met with his face, a victory smirk plastered all over it. He raised his hand with his index finger out and pressed your nose.

"Boop"

Damn it, Leo, you lovable jackass

《DONNIE》

He wants to be around you and hangs out with you a lot

Just let him unwind around you

Will occasionally indulge in 'play time' with you

Messing with you by pointing a laser pointer at random objects

He once pointed the laser at Leo's face and watched in amusement as you pounced on him

He actually has a box full of cat toys just for you

Finds it absolutely adorable when you eye down that plastic mouse

Spends hours playing with you even if it means ignoring his brothers for a while,

Donnie watches you run for the red-beaming laser as he rapidly slides it to the floor while grinning amusedly. Just then, he hears loud footsteps and voices outside the room.

One of the voices yells, "DONNIE!"

"DONNIE, WE NEED YOUR HELP!" the second one claims

The door swings open, revealing Donnie's brothers, Leo and Mikey, frantically flailing their hands about in some terrified manner, he groans.

"DONNIE PLEASE HELP, I WAS HELPING LEO MAKE SOUP FOR DINNER, I TURN AROUND FOR ONE SECOND AND HE MAGICALLY BURNED THE WATER AND NOW THE STOVE IS ON FIRE," the turtle exclaimed, Leo gasped dramatically,

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT, I NEVER KNEW THAT WATER COULD BURN"

Mikey responds, "I DIDN'T ETHIER-" before being cut off.

"Enough! Can't you see I'm spending quality time with [NAME]?" Donnie states, they all look at you, still trying to catch the laser that has moved from the floor to the wall,

"Don, the kitchen is literally catching on fire as we speak." Leo says,

"Not my problem" Donnie retorts.

Oopsies I made this a little too long, not that y'all mind, right? Anyways the kitchen caught on fire and Raph had to lecture everybody while putting it out

《MIKEY》

'COME HERE PSPSPSPSPS'

Does that ALL the time to get your attention

Yes, it does get annoying, but you'll get used to it, don't worry

Likes to hang out and just chill with you like Donnie,

One of the perks of being a snow leopard is your coat. It keeps you warm during the winter,

So, throughout winter, you'll always stop by the lair to help Mikey stay warm

Using your tail as some sort of blanket, and holding you close

"[NAME]! You're here!" Mikey greeted you with his signature goofy smile, running up to you and tackling you in a tight hug,

"Of course I'm here Mikey, it's the winter. You'll practically die if I hadn't," you return the hug, wrapping your warm tail around his torso, Mikey hummed

"Hmm, so warm!" He sighed in delight, nuzzling his snout into your cozy neck.

I LOVE MIKEY SM YALL DON'T EVEN KNOW

He finds it extremely calming, some sort of stress relief

IRL heated blanket

Call me Coryxkenshin at this point, I'm so sorry for the wait! YK, I'm just dealing with life, and also, writer's block is currently kicking me in the ass rn, I'm the embodiment of never back down... NEVER GIVE UP

Me when no one is around:

[daydream-cement]

i am ON MY KNEES 🧎 BEGGING

THIS BUT ITS LARISSA X READER, PLEASE

I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING 🙇

💳💥💳💥

Best Friend’s Mom

Larissa Weems x Reader (NSFW)

Authors Note: @wlwmitchell is a dirty little dog for this one and of course i wrote you the smut to go with it. Songs to listen to would be Do I Make You Nervous? and FMRN by Lilyisthatyou.

You were in her room. Her actual bedroom. She called you in, asking you to help her help her with something.

There she stood in a short, white sheer nightgown. You could see the faint outline of her nipples and your mouth began to water. You couldn’t help it. She was so hot. Your eyes continue downward, her legs seemed to continue forever.

She noticed you looking. How could she not? You couldn’t look away. When she saw you lick your lips, that’s when she knew she had to have you.

You stood there, immobilized. She closed the door and approached you, her hand came up to grip your face, “I’ve seen how you have been watching me… I’m surprised I haven’t caught you drooling…”

You whimper as she grazes your lips with hers, teasing you. She pushes you backwards so you land on her bed. Was this really happening? You didn’t know your gaze had been so obvious. It was hard not to stare at her when she entered a room. Her body was mesmerizing.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, your jaw slack as she places her hands on either side of you. She creeps closer and closer. A whimper left your mouth as she slowly dragged her lips down your neck. You secretly hoped that her red lipstick would be left behind, allowing you to remember this moment.

A breathy laugh left her lips, butterflies swirling around in your stomach like a sandstorm. You could tell that she was enjoying this. She was going to absolutely destroy you and you knew it. Her lips left your neck and you felt her move so her face was level with yours.

“Kiss me…” She whispered through the dark, her lips hovering over yours with impatience. God, she made you so nervous. This was really happening and you knew you needed to seize the opportunity.

Your mouth captured hers, the kiss desperate and sloppy. She shifted your bodies, keeping you close to her. She rolled you over so you were now on top of her. The kisses grew more intense. Her hands danced at the hem of your shirt. Any movement her hands made against your skin had your heartbeat growing quicker. You felt like a mouse caught in the grasp of a cat.

A sound came from the hallway, causing you to freeze. Was that your friend? She couldn’t know you were in here. She would never forgive you if she found you in here.

“Relax, sweetheart,” She murmured, slightly biting at your bottom lip. You let out another whimper, knowing that your friend would never forgive you for this.

It was hard to relax when you were hooking up with your best friends mum.

Your best friends mum was in fact, Larissa Weems, and she was grasping at your clothing, trying to pull it from your body. You gave into your urges. You wanted this woman more than anything. Shifting downward, you pulled her nightgown upwards and felt your mouth water at the sight of her bare hips and her mound that was covered by delicate white lace panties.

While she was supposed to be dominating you right now, you were in a rush not to waste the moment. You needed to taste her in case you would be caught in the next few minutes. You slide back down to the floor, dragging her panties off with you.

Larissa gasped at your willingness to take control. In seconds, your mouth was against her pussy so your tongue could begin exploring her. She was so wet and you savored the scent of her perfume mixed with the musk of her sex. Your tongue found her swollen clit and you saw Larissa bite at her hand to suppress a moan.

Your heart was still beating rapidly. You wanted to bring her so much pleasure. Her moans spurred you onward you pull her legs over your shoulders and wrap your arms around them, keeping her close to you. Her hips bucked and ground into your mouth. there was so much urgency to this sexual act. She must have known the precarious situation you were in as well.

You were dedicated to the thought of making her cum with your mouth alone. You wanted her to love this experience so much that she would want to keep you in her bed for all time.

You applied pressure on her lower abdomen as you swirled your tongue around her clit. Then you moved your tongue downward so you could tongue fuck her. Her response was exactly what you hoped for, “Oh, gods, yes… Ohmygod… Right there baby…”

You felt her movements become more jerky and her breathing became ragged. She was close. You took the opportunity, knowing she was desperate, “Beg for it, Ms. Weems.”

You felt her pause, shocked by your bravery. You pressed kisses to the insides of her thighs as you waited for a response. Larissa took the control back from you, knowing you would do anything she asked, “Make me cum, baby.”

You followed her orders, hoping that she may pleasure you afterwards. You dive back into her pussy, alternating licking and sucking at her clit. Her hand came to the back of your head and she ground her hips against you face. She was thoroughly in control up until she tipped over the edge. There was no hiding her orgasm. She gave a throaty moan that sent a little panic into you, wondering if your friend had heard.

Ms. Weems’ voice calls you back to what you were doing, “Get on the bed. It’s your turn.”

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter 2: Mutual Aid Among Animals (continued)

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

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

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

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

Further north, in the Arctic archipelagoes,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[pocket-lad]

CH 1- A Few Important Details

She faced down Human Beans. She faced down dinosaurs. What crazy thing could the world possibly throw at Adelaide next? Try another borrower and an adventure far beyond the walls.

A sequel to Only a Couple Days & Growing Pains. This work is going to be quite a bit different than previous stories, mostly because it's not directly based on a movie. I hope you enjoy!!

“Oh my God,” Adelaide breathed. She was really staring at a real-life borrower. She hadn’t seen anyone her size in over a decade!

Years seemed to pass in the silence between them, but the new person broke it first. “Come on!” she whispered urgently. “Are you crazy? There’s three whole Beans in that room!”

Adelaide sputtered. Where could she even start?

“What were you doing in there?”

“I, uh…I thought I saw…a mouse,” Adelaide half-lied.

The woman was pretty. She had wildly curly black hair and dark skin. Her big eyes were the color of chocolate, and she stood only slightly taller than Adelaide. “Well, they won’t be asleep forever,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Adelaide.”

“Adelaide, I’m Ollie.”

“Do you live here?” Duh. Of course she lives here.

“Yeah, and I’ve never seen you around before. Where’d you even come from?” Ollie’s tone of voice wasn’t exactly suspicious. Hesitant, maybe.

“I just got here today.” It wasn’t technically a lie.

“I assume you plan on staying, then?”

“I’m not sure,” Adelaide admitted. It didn’t escape her mind that Ian and Sarah were getting serious. She always assumed it would either end badly or Sarah would move to Texas. She never considered that Ian would want to move here, but now that she was forced to think about it, she wasn’t so sure.

“Well, we have a place for you if you do.”

“Oh, thanks!” God, Adelaide forgot what it was like to be a borrower around other borrowers. They always helped those in need and always welcomed others with open doors, no questions asked. They had to stick together in such a large world.

“We should hurry while they’re still asleep. I’ll show you where the best food is, but really, you can find stuff pretty much anywhere. This Bean is super messy.” 

Adelaide laughed, remembering the way she pointed out the cluttered apartment straight to Sarah’s face. “Let’s go.” Ollie said, and she roughly guided Adelaide toward her thread that hung from the kitchen counter.

Adelaide blinked as all of the information sunk in. Ollie was a borrower. She lived in Sarah’s house. She was in the middle of borrowing. She didn’t know that the humans were friendly and she didn’t know that Adelaide regularly interacted with them. Adelaide decided she wanted to keep it that way for the time being, because honestly, she missed this. She missed the camaraderie, she even missed the thrill a little bit. Maybe it was selfish, but she played along anyway.

“You go up first,” Ollie said.

“I’m probably gonna be pretty slow,” Adelaide admitted, holding up her mess of a hand.

“Holy shit, what happened?!”

“I fell on it when Ia- when a Bean…” She closed her mouth. Less is more .

“Oh my God, that must have been terrible. I’m so sorry…” Ollie looked pitifully at Adelaide’s hand. Morbid curiosity nearly made her ask for details, but she respected her privacy, and now was not the time. “You should still go first. I don’t want to leave you stranded on the floor. Better to stick together.”

Guilt crept up on Adelaide. She wasn’t exactly lying, but whatever she was doing, it didn’t feel good. She felt like she was betraying Ollie’s trust. Ollie didn’t know her, and yet she was risking her life for her.

“Okay,” she said. She prepared herself to start climbing, but the sound of something massive shifting around stopped her in her tracks. Somebody was awake. This was about to go downhill very fast.

Ollie heard it too. “Change of plans,” she said, immediately dislodging her hook and coiling it around her arm.

Footsteps rumbled in the distance, but they were rapidly approaching. It may have been a vast distance for the borrowers to traverse, but they both knew it would take a Bean mere seconds to cross from the couch to the kitchen. They had no time. Adelaide would be surprised if they made it out of this one without being noticed.

Ollie took off, but looked back to see Adelaide rooted in place. She assumed the new borrower was in shock, or was simply too scared to move. She couldn’t imagine what happened to make a Bean crush her hand, but it couldn’t have been anything good. Regardless, they had to keep moving. Ollie sprinted back to grab Adelaide’s good hand and dragged her along.

***

Ian’s eyes cracked open at the sound of voices…Voices? Plural?

Shaking the grogginess off, he stretched and slowly inched toward the kitchen. He would have heard somebody come in, right? And the voice sounded too quiet to be human, which meant…

***

They weren’t going to make it. Ollie stopped and pulled out her knife. “Go without me. Just around the corner, there’s a hole that leads into the wall. Wait for me there, and if I don’t make it back…well, I’ll make it back.” She gave Adelaide a cocky smile, but her nervous eyes betrayed her.

Adelaide still didn’t move. She couldn’t leave Ollie to deal with this on her own, especially when it was almost definitely Ian headed their way.

“Go, stupid!” Ollie yelled, shoving Adelaide as hard as she could.

Adelaide, unprepared, fell to the ground.

***

Ian had just looked over the edge of the table in time to see two people, both around three inches tall, standing down on the floor. One was Adelaide. The other had just shoved Adelaide - hard - and brandished a knife.

Ian quickly bent down and snatched this new borrower up. With his other hand, he gently scooped Adelaide off the floor.

***

“Nonononononono,” Adelaide mumbled. This was going so wrong so fast. What sealed the deal was Ian’s inexplicable and frankly idiotic decision to reach for them both.

She braced herself like she usually did, but had no time to warn Ollie. She couldn’t even see what he was doing to Ollie from her vantage point, but she felt her own body slide into his warm palm and could only hope he was being as gentle with her.

Adelaide fought against Ian on principle. Obviously it was useless. She flew through the air and could only focus on keeping her hand from getting hurt worse.

When the movement ended, she found herself on the kitchen table. Looking around, no sign of Ollie. Then she looked up. Her jaw dropped.

Ollie was stuck in Ian’s fist, fighting for her life. Ian had taken her knife and set it down on the table beside Adelaide, and he knew to keep the new borrower angled away so she couldn’t bite him.

Adelaide didn’t think about how, if for some reason, Ian wanted to hurt another borrower, he knew exactly how to do so because of his experience with her. She thought back to all the times she explicitly told him what not to do, told him all the things that made her uncomfortable, not thinking for even a second that Ian would use this information to take advantage of a smaller being. This was her fault.

“Put her down!” Adelaide yelled, running up to Ian’s other hand that rested on the table. She kicked at it repeatedly to knock some sense into him.

“What’s going on?” he asked defensively. 

“Ian, she’s scared! Put her down! Now!”

“She pushed you!”

“She was saving me from you!”

Ian realized his mistake. In his attempt to protect his friend, he may have just scarred another borrower for life. Slowly, he set the girl down.

As soon as Ian’s hand opened, Ollie leapt away, scooping up her knife and pointing it up at him. “Adelaide, get behind me.” It sounded like she heard none of their conversation, too occupied with escaping.

Adelaide blinked but did as she was told. Ian regarded them both with utter confusion plastered across his giant face. He wasn’t often confused, and he certainly didn’t like it.

“Let us go,” Ollie demanded. The confidence in her voice was impressive. Only Adelaide could hear the slight falter in it.

“Um…okay,” Ian said, but he didn’t move. Adelaide knew this meant he was going to stay hands off and just observe, let them do whatever they wanted, but since he still sat there, it looked like he was still holding them captive. For all Ollie knew, he would just grab them when they attempted to escape.

“Yeah, let us go!” Adelaide echoed in support. She guessed she was keeping up the charade, then. She just hoped Ian would play along.

He didn’t say anything, but his brow furrowed. Adelaide sent him a look that said to just go with it and that she’d explain later. She knew her face was small and distant to him and therefore hard to read, but she was pretty sure he got the point.

Ollie didn’t take her eyes off Ian, but she whispered to Adelaide. “He doesn’t live here. I think he’s partnered with the Bean who does live here, which means we’ve probably got more incoming. Watch your back.”

Adelaide checked behind her, but as far as she could tell, Sarah and Kelly were still fast asleep.

It also turned out that Ian did not get her point. In fact, he interpreted it all wrong.

“Ahh, I’m uh…I’m going to get you!” he said half-heartedly, wiggling his fingers and smirking at how ridiculous his attempt at being the evil Bean sounded.

Ollie was more than confused. Was this some kind of game? His words indicated mal intent, but he didn’t sound very sincere.

Adelaide closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She looked Ian in the eye and shook her head, hoping that maybe he would get it this time.

Ian corrected himself. “Oh, um…what’s your name?” he asked the new borrower, but his tone was asking Adelaide if that was the right thing to say.

Ollie flinched when he looked at her. “I’m warning you,” she said, ignoring his question and raising her knife a little higher.

“That’s a - that’s a weird name…Warning me? For what?” This new borrower was obviously sacred, but she obviously wasn't in any danger, either. It was hard not to tease her, and it was even harder to keep a straight face.

“I’ll stab you.” Ollie said seriously. Her hand started to shake. Adelaide felt horrible.

“I see why you guys get along,” Ian chuckled. They were both so unnecessarily violent.

“No!” Adelaide blurted.

Ollie whipped her head back to Adelaide, a sudden spark of betrayal piling on top of her confusion, but she didn’t want to keep her attention off the Bean too long.

“What’d you want me to do?” Ian asked Adelaide, too impatient to play this game. He wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to know who this new person was. He hated being in the dark.

Ollie continued to look back and forth between them. She was suddenly very suspicious of Adelaide, so she repeatedly moved her knife from Ian to Adelaide and back. She wasn’t taking any chances.

“Do not point that at her,” Ian warned. He sat up a bit straighter, ready to protect his friend.

Ollie's knife dipped.

“Ian, don’t,” Adelaide said harshly. He was not going to threaten Ollie. She was just defending herself.

“I’m serious,” he said.

“So am I!”

“What’s going on?” Ollie yelled. The quick rise and fall of her chest indicated that a panic attack was fast approaching.

“Okay,” Adelaide held out her hands placatingly and slowly approached the trembling borrower. “Ollie, you’re safe. This is Ian. He’s my friend.”

“Bullshit,” Ollie spat.

“He is. I know you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe myself, either, if I hadn’t spent the past couple years with him.”

As Adelaide approached, Ollie backed up. Her eyes darted around, trying to find some sense of reality to latch onto. A borrower and a Bean? Friends? She backed toward the edge of the table, and Ian instinctively held his hand out behind her, just in case she fell.

Ollie sensed the massive presence and turned around. She screamed at the sight of a towering, enormous hand looming above and stumbled backwards towards Adelaide. That hand was going to grab her. It was going to take her away. Or it would crush her. She’d never see her family again.

Adelaide grabbed the woman’s shoulders, which made her jump. Ollie turned around again , feeling backed into a corner. There was nowhere to go.

“What? You’re - you’re his pet or something? You lure people out of the walls so Beans can snatch them up? Is that it?”

“God, no!” Adelaide said, sick even at the idea of such a thing. She realized that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with Ian hovering. “Ian, can you go literally anywhere else right now?”

Ian looked like he wanted to protest, but just shrugged and pushed his chair out from the table.

Ollie jumped and gripped her knife tighter at the sound of the chair scraping against the floor.

Ian sauntered over to the corner of the kitchen and leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed, watching the interaction from afar. Adelaide rolled her eyes. This wasn’t what she wanted, but it was as good as she was going to get.

Ollie watched with wide eyes. Adelaide just told the Bean what to do! And he listened!

Adelaide set her knife down on the table and kicked it away, showing she meant no harm. She hoped that wouldn’t backfire.

“Ollie, I never lied to you. I just…I left out some pretty important details,” she laughed. Ollie did not reciprocate. “I’m not his pet. We’re friends. His name is Ian-” (Ian waved) “-and he would never hurt you-”

“Then let me go,” Ollie interrupted. It seemed as though none of Adelaide’s words made it through to her. Hell, she could barely look at her, too distracted by the looming Bean.

“Okay,” Adelaide sighed. She wasn’t going to stop the borrower from leaving, but she was severely disappointed.

Ollie secured her hook on the table and turned to climb down, eyes never leaving Ian. If Adelaide was telling the truth, then the Bean wouldn’t stop her. Hopefully.

Adelaide dug her hook out as well. “Let me walk you to-”

“No,” Ollie said forcefully. She couldn’t deal with this right now. She needed time to think. And she certainly wasn’t going to let this borrower know where her home was, where her family was. Not when said borrower was allied with a Bean.

Adelaide froze in her tracks as her heart sank. She blew it. The first time she’d seen a borrower in over a decade and she blew it. All she could do was stand there and watch Ollie’s progress. She didn’t move even after the woman disappeared into the walls, using the entrance Adelaide happened upon earlier.

Small quakes on the surface of the table and the sound of shifting fabric signaled Ian’s approach. Only when he laid a finger on her shoulder did she move, shrugging him off and turning toward him. “Back off!” she shouted.

Ian was taken aback by the outburst. “Della-”

Adelaide ignored him, marching toward the edge of the table. She collected her knife, readied her hook, and started to climb down.

“Hey, maybe you shouldn’t-” Ian started, but was cut off by a very angry look from Adelaide, daring him to finish that sentence. Maybe you shouldn’t climb with your broken hand. He sighed. Both of them knew this was a bad idea, she knew this was a bad idea, which was what irritated him so much. She was going to hurt herself because she didn’t want him telling her what to do.

Adelaide tried to take deep breaths as she lowered herself down. She squeezed the thread with her legs and used her right hand to stabilize herself. Then, very slowly, eased the pressure of her legs, letting herself slide in a semi-controlled manner to the ground.

Silently, she coiled up her hook and shoved it back in her bag. She stomped over to the hole she watched Ollie disappear into. Adelaide’s intentions weren’t super clear even to herself, but she justified it as wanting cover. Or wanting a sense of familiarity. Something like that. Definitely not following Ollie.

“Della,” Ian called after her again. “Della!”

“What?!” Adelaide exploded, whipping around. She wavered a little when she had to look up at a skyscraper of a person, but she held her ground. Why were Bean’s heads always just a little higher than she thought? It was as if they grew a foot on purpose each time, just to intimidate her.

“Calm down, let’s talk about this… Uh, forgive me for being curious but there’s a whole - a whole new person on the floor sticking a, um, a knife at you. Perhaps maybe-”

Adelaide cut him off. “I want to be alone.”

Ian paused. “What?”

Oh. That wasn’t a clarifying ‘what’. He legitimately did not hear her, which felt like a real kick in the head. As if she didn’t already feel small, standing on the ground no taller than his ankles. “I said I want to be alone.”

Ian bit his tongue. “Okay.”

Adelaide took off toward the walls, running as fast as she could. Ian didn’t move the whole time, but she could feel his eyes tracking her. As soon as she made it inside, she collapsed into a seated position, catching her breath. God, Ian could be so thick sometimes!

Adelaide sat there for an indeterminate amount of time. She was right - she really did need the comfort of the walls. It had only been a couple days, but it felt like years had passed since she was in the walls back home. While these ones were not the same, they would suffice. As long as she had cover over her head and darkness to conceal herself, she would be fine. And there was the added bonus of cleanliness, thanks to the borrower(s?) who already lived there.

Adelaide said she wanted to wander the walls. Well, there was no time like the present. She hoisted herself up, dusted herself off, and began her journey into the unknown.

.

Next

[losfacedevil]

Change // SFK (PT5)

a/n~ A little behind schedule this week my lovelies, but here is the next installment! Sophia's past is beginning to come to light, will Sam be able to process it?

CATCH UP HERE

“No, Daniel, you need to use the crinkle cutter so they look cool. Yknow what, just give me that damn thing and move.”  Sam rolled his eyes as Danny tossed down the knife he held, holding his hands up in surrender and he stepped back from the counter. 

“Is this why they call it weaponized incompetence? You know exactly what to do and yet choose not to. Cut those into spears then.” Sam shook his head as he snatched up the crinkle cutter. Danny chuckled as he switched places with Sam, slowly lifting the butcher's knife and began cutting the cucumbers into spears. 

“What made you think to try pickles? You’ve been growing cucumbers for as long as I can remember but you never tried pickles.” Danny questioned, shooting a sidelong glance at his best friend. Sam shrugged and slowly gathered up the cucumber coins, placing them gently into a mason jar. 

“Well Sophia said she loves pickles. In her words it was “pickle coins, spears, julienne, relish. You name it, I'll eat it.” So I mean, I thought maybe if I could get this sweet chili brine down right I could make something special just for her.” Sam shrugged, turning to face the stove where his brine was coming to a boil, carefully stirring it to make sure the salt was dissolving. 

Danny shook his head softly, eyes dancing over the mess that was splayed over the counter top. A soft smile spread across his lips as he turned his attention back to the task at hand. 

“Someone’s smitten.” Danny teased. Sam’s head shot up and he narrowed his eyes at Danny. His eyes held a teasing light as he chopped the cucumber spears in half and placed them into the mason jar on the counter. 

“I am not.” Sam mused, turning back to the concoction coming to a rolling boil on the stovetop. He carefully stirred it once more, making sure the salt was dissolved fully before shutting the burner off. Danny tossed the knife in his hand into the sink and took a step back from the counter. 

“If you say so.” 

~*~*~

“You don’t listen you need to stop being so fucking stupid.”

“I asked six different times what you wanted and you said that.” Sophia countered, eyes welling with tears. 

“No I didn't, why the hell would I want a half of a half of a sandwich? Why do you hate me?!” He slammed his hand down on his desk, knocking the computer mouse out of the way. 

“That’s why I asked why you had me put that in the l fridge in the first place, it’s only two bites.”

“You can throw it away now, you’ve fucking ruined it.” 

Sophia woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed and her hand flew to her chest where her heart was beating uncontrollably. Stars erupted in her line of vision as she tried to steady her breathing, pulling a deep breath in through her nose and slowly letting it slip past her lips. 

“It was just a nightmare, you’re okay.” She mumbled, reaching up to press the heels of her hands against her eyes.

She pulled another deep breath in, holding it until the count of ten before slowly releasing it. She threw the comforter off of her and swung her legs out of the bed, planting her feet firmly on the ground as she stretched her back. Flicking on her bedside lamp she screwed her eyes shut as the room came to life with the soft light. Reaching over to the side of her bedside table she tapped on her phone screen, bringing it to life. 

12:45am 

“At least it’s not the witching hour.” She mumbled, rising to her full height before snatching the phone up off of the table. 

She slowly padded her way out of her room and down the hallway into the cool kitchen and a breeze from the open window kissed her skin. The nights were becoming increasingly colder as the fall months rapidly approached. 

She flicked on the light above the stovetop and reached for the basket of goodies she had purchased from Sam a few days prior. A soft smile caressed her face at the thought of him, how warm he had been and the distinct smell of him that had infiltrated her nose when they had hugged. 

Her eyes landed on something scribbled across the top of one of the mason jars as she plucked a jam bar from between them. It was longer than that of a jam name and in sloppier than usual penmanship. Pulling the jar from the basket she let her eyes focus as she pulled her treat apart and popped a piece in her mouth. 

On the lid read a phone number with ‘Drinks were on me, your move.’ 

She couldn’t help the smile that caressed her lips as she read the words over and over again. There was a boldness that erupted in her chest, quickly typing the number into her phone and pressing the call command. 

~*~*~

“What the hell? HOW DID YOU PASS ME?!” Sam yelled, pushing his shoulder into Danny’s as the television screen changed to show Danny’s Mario Kart victory. 

“I dunno, I guess I’m just that good.” Danny chuckled, tossing the game controller down before standing and making his way into the kitchen. 

Sam’s phone began chiming, the ringtone and vibrations causing him to jump and yank the phone out of his sweats pocket. His brows furrowed together as he looked at the unknown number displayed across his screen. 

“Who is it?” Danny called, making note of the way Sam’s face contorted in confusion. Sam raised his shoulders in a shrug as he slid the answer bar to the right and pressed the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” His eyes narrowed and brows remained furrowed as he waited for the person on the other line to speak. 

“Sammy?” Her voice was light and she stifled a yawn. 

“The one and only, and you are?” He questioned, eyes dancing over to where Danny stood, cracking open another cold beer. 

“Sophia.” He could hear the nerves crackling in her tone, his eyes growing wide as a smile spread across his face. 

“Ohh so you finally got the balls to call me, huh?” 

A sigh slipped past Danny’s lips and he rolled his eyes at Sam’s shenanigans. He held the open beer up to Sam, a silent question to which Sam held up a hand. He stood to his full height and made his way out onto their front porch. 

“I mean, I could hang up if you’d prefer.” Sam chuckled, shaking his head before pulling the phone away and looking at the time on the screen. 

“So, Miss. Fia, to what do I owe this pleasure of a late night call?” A nervous giggle slipped past her lips and he could hear the rustling of what could only be her bed sheets as she settled back in her bed. 

“I just happened to see the number on the jam jar and was curious who it belonged to.” He could picture the shy smile spread across her face as she spoke. He nodded gently, eyes trained on the stars scattering the night sky. 

“Oh really? That couldn’t wait until the world was awake? You just had to make sure I was the one at the other end of the number?” He teased, leaning up against the porch banister. 

“Yeahh, we’ll go with that. But I’m gonna let you go, I’m sorry for calling so late.” Her tone changed as she pulled a deep breath in through her nose and her nerves began to creep up her neck. 

Sam let silence fall over the line, giving her a minute to collect herself. He let his eyes wander across the sky, the moon half hidden by the clouds. A cool night breeze blowing past him causing a shiver to dance up his spine. 

“You ever wonder how many stars actually come out on a clear night?” His question caught her off guard. 

“I’m sorry? Stars?” Sam chuckled, bringing himself back to the conscious realm. 

“Sorry I was stargazing apparently. What did you say?” Sophia chuckled, quickly placing an AirPod into her ear and placed her phone on her bedside table. 

“I said I’ll let you go so you can go to bed, I’m sorry I called so late. I should probably try and go back to sleep myself.” Sam nodded as he made his way back into the house, shooting a quick nod at Danny before making his way to his bedroom. 

“It’s no big deal really, but if you wanna hang up that’s cool. I don’t mind staying on the phone with you.” Sam stretched out across his bed, digging his headphones out of his bedside table. 

“Honestly I’m just going to try and sleep, nightmares be damned. I’ll see you at the market this weekend right?” 

“Wait, nightmares? Did you call me because you had a… nightmare?” Sam questioned, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout as an overwhelming want to hug her washed over him. He could hear the breath she pulled in and how shaky it was when she exhaled. 

“It’s so juvenile, it’s nothing, I promise. Go to sleep Sammy, I’ll talk to you later.” She mumbled, burying her face in her pillow. 

“Are you sure? Cause I have no problem staying on the phone with you until you fall asleep.” Sam was adamant, shaking his head as he got comfortable in his bed. 

“Scouts honor. I don’t even know why I called honestly. Lack of impulse control I suppose.” Sam couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped past his lips as he rubbed his hands together, something that kept him grounded. 

“No, wait. Talk to me. What’s bothering you?” He knew she had no obligation to answer him but he was going to try anyway. 

“Just some old memories of my ex come back to haunt me is all. It’s okay though, I’ll be fine.” A sad smile played across her face as more memories bloomed in her mind, causing her to screw her eyes shut and bring her teeth down to worry her bottom lip. 

“This ex wasn’t a good person, I take it? I mean he can’t be if you’re having nightmares about him.” Sam kept his voice level, a hint of sympathy in his tone as he tried to get her talking. She sighed, shaking her head gently before speaking. 

“He would say god awful things to me, threaten to kick me out, threaten violence. You name it. But the worst was what he would say, the emotional and mental abuse took a big toll on me.” She let her eyes flutter shut, willing away the tears that prickled the backs of her eyes. 

“How long were you with him? If you don’t mind me asking.” Sam needed to know more, needed to know why she would flinch when his voice would boom or when he’d lay a gentle hand on her. 

“Just shy of ten years. I know I know! Don’t yell at me.” 

Sam’s jaw dropped, his mind reeling as he processed just how long ten years truly was.  A comfortable silence washed over them as his mind worked through what little she had told him. 

“That’s…. That’s a long time. And he was like this the entire time?” Sam’s heart ached for her, wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe. 

“Not the entire time. But you know what they say, love is blind and abuse is scary. It took everything I had to get out and stay out. But, enough about that. It’s a sad unnecessarily long story.” She sighed, trying to regain her composure. 

“Is… is that why you flinch when I raise my voice? Did he yell at you a lot?” Sam was sure he already knew what her answer would be. 

“On and off he did, yeah. So it’s still a big trigger but I’m working on it.” She shrugged her shoulders, her gaze dancing out to look at the stars in the sky. 

“I’m sorry, that sounds like a shitty time.” Sam was at a loss for useful words, unsure of what to say to make her feel better. 

“You ever wonder how many stars actually come out on a clear night? There’s so many out my window right now.” She giggled, reiterating his earlier question and caught him off guard. 

“Stars? I’m sure there’s hundreds of thousands of them out there.” 

A comfortable silence soon fell over them as their mundane chit chat expanded over the course of the next hours. Simple one word answer questions, favorites colors, bands, songs, food. Sam could quickly tell she was fading off into sleep as her answers took longer to come, her breathing shallowing out with every passing minute.

“Fia? Fiiiiaaaaa.” Sammy sing-songed, a sleepy chuckle escaping him. 

“Hmm?” He could tell by her tone she was almost asleep. 

“Are you sleeping on me over there?” He cooed, reaching up to rub his eyes. 

“Noooo.” She cooed, nuzzling her head deeper into her pillow. 

“Yes you are. Go to sleep, sweet girl. I’ll see you soon.” He chuckled, stifling a yawn as he waited for her response.

“Goodnight Sammy, I’ll see you soon.” 

A sigh slipped past Sam’s nose as the line beeped, indicating she had hung up. His mind reeled with what he had gotten out of her. To know her past and where she came from was to love her. He took a deep breath, turning on some low music and buried his face in his pillow, willing sleep to overtake him.

TAGLIST: @gretasmokerising @ascendingtostardust @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @puzzle-gvf @sunfl0wer-power @vanfleeter @ppoutine @aintthatapity @twistedmelodies @gvfpal @psychedelicsprinkles

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Merry Whumpmas Day 5: Poison

TW: missing person, unconsciousness, poison

A hammered rapidly on the door. “I know you’re not asleep yet, B!” They shouted, not caring if the noise would wake the rest of the team. “Open the door, I need your help!”

B cracked open the door, fixing A with a glare heightened by the dark circles under their eyes. “Y’know, banging on my door just when I’m trying to take your advice and better my sleep schedule probably isn’t the best—”

“C’s missing!” A interrupted.

B blinked. “What?”

“They didn’t get back when they said they were going to, it’s been three hours now, they aren’t answering any calls or texts—”

B opened the door fully and held up their hands placatingly. “It’ll be alright, A. They’re on a date, right? Maybe they got caught up talking, or went to see a movie last-minute, or C let themselves get talked into going home with the date and just forgot to text you. Or the text didn’t go through. Or their phone ran out of battery. I’m sure whatever it is, they’re fine.”

A pursed their lips and fiddled with the hem of their shirt nervously. “...I guess that makes sense… can you run tracking on their phone just to be safe? Please?”

B sighed. Turning, they went over to their desk and powered up their laptop. “Alright, but just know that if their phone’s dead, I can’t do anything. You can yell at them all you want when they finally get back, but don’t take it out on me, ‘kay? We all know how you get when you’re nervous.”

Their fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the tracking program all team members had installed in case of emergency.

“What’s all the noise about?” D stuck their head inside the room, their hair a mess.

“C hasn’t gotten back yet and A’s freaking out,” B called over their shoulder, tapping on the laptop mouse impatiently as the program loaded.

D snorted. “Never thought C as the kind of person to go home on a first date.”

“That’s why I’m worried,” A mumbled, peering anxiously at the loading icon. “Why is it taking so long?”

B shot them an amused look. “It always takes a second. Exact location, log of the last six hours, all that stuff. Those’re the specs we all agreed upon, right?”

A clenched their jaw, more in worry than annoyance. It wasn’t like C to do things spontaneously. They’d planned this date a week ago with someone they’d met after one of their missions. A hoped it was one of the reasons B had listed. They didn’t like thinking about the alternatives.

Finally, the program finished buffering, revealing the city map with a light blue line detailing C’s exact location history. “Here we go,” B said, pointing at the map. “See, that’s the restaurant they were going to, and I guess they went to the nearby park after that, and then—” They paused, frowning.

“What?” A demanded, squinting at the map. 

D moved into the room, concern evident on their face as they peered at the map. “Isn’t that where the headquarters of that one small-time gang from ages ago used to be? Before we shut them down?”

“Yep…” B entered the address into their phone and shared it with the other two. “Wake E if they aren’t up already. We gotta go. Fast.”

The headquarters had been a restaurant front for the various things an up-and-coming gang needed money for. Drugs, illegal weapons, experimental medication, et cetera. The medication was the main reason why A’s team had to shut them down, alongside a pair of murder cases pointing in that direction. It was leftover from an attempt at creating superpowered individuals and had… disastrous side effects for anyone who took it.

The gang was trying to take revenge, A thought to themself as the team approached the building. I hope C’s alright. I don’t know what I’m gonna do if they’re hurt.

The building was derelict and crumbling. It would’ve appeared completely abandoned if the dining room lights weren't on. A could make out C through the front window, bound and gagged in a chair. They didn’t appear to be conscious. Rage started to bubble in A’s stomach. They started forward, but B stopped them.

“We gotta be careful,” they reminded A, “we don’t know what these guys’ll do. E, can you check if anyone else’s inside? Maybe we can just grab C and deal with the gang when we know they’re okay.”

C definitely didn’t look okay, but A wasn’t about to argue with B’s logical plan. E nodded and slipped into the shadows, sneaking around the perimeter of the building and peeking through the windows.

When they returned a few minutes later, their expression was grim. “Most of the windows are blacked out from when the operation was still running, but from what I could see, a couple of people are in the back. I recognize a couple of them from when we first busted them. C’s alone in the dining room. A and I could probably get them out without causing too much noise.”

A jumped up immediately. “Are they hurt?”

E shrugged. “Not that I could tell, but they’re definitely asleep or unconscious.”

A’s fingers curled into fists, but they forced themselves to nod. E led the way to the front window, which had been smashed the first time they’d been there, and they clambered inside. The broken glass crunched underfoot as they approached C, keeping a firm eye on the door to the kitchen.

Neither of them said a word as E took out their knife and started sawing at C’s bonds. A undid the gag wrapped around C’s mouth and tossed it aside. Suddenly their eyes widened, and they gestured at E to the trickle of blood leaking from C’s lips. E frowned but persisted at cutting the ropes.

Finally, the last rope was severed, and E lifted C over their shoulders. But when they turned to leave, a voice spoke from behind them. “If you leave,” the voice said, “your companion will die.”

A and E spun to find C’s date in the kitchen doorway. Whumper glared at the three of them, a small vial in their open palm. “I bet you recognize this.”

A gasped softly, a mixture of shock, terror, and pure fury coursing through their veins. “You didn’t.”

Whumper smirked. “Oh yes I did. Do you know what percentage of those who received this so-called ‘superhero’ drug survived? Zero. Zip. None.”

A stalked forward, expression contorted with rage.

“Of course,” Whumper continued, “that didn’t stop people from trying to—”

A shoved them into the doorframe. “Give. Me. The. Cure. Now.”

Whumper grunted. “Are you stupid? There is no cure.”

Growling, A seized them by the collar and lifted them off their feet. E started to yell for them to stop but thought better of it. Whumper grinned down at A. “Threaten me, kill me, doesn’t matter. I’ve gotten my revenge. You’ll never save your precious teammate.”

A saw red. Yelling something unintelligible, they hurled Whumper across the room, where they slammed into one of the heavy tables and slumped. Blood dripped from their temple, where they struck the edge of the table. The empty vial rolled on the ground. Glowering, A stooped and retrieved the vial, staring at it.

Barely a drop of the superhero drug remained at the bottom. It would have to be enough. A glanced at E, who stared at Whumper’s body, frozen in shock. “Let’s go!” A shouted, breaking into a run for the door. “If B and D can make an antidote from this we have to move quickly!”

Startled into action, E followed them out the door. A pressed the vial into B’s hands. “You’re C’s only hope now.”

B flinched back a step at A’s ferocity. “I…We’ll try our best.”

A looked over at C’s limp form, still draped over E’s shoulders. Their face was pale, too pale, and they barely breathed. Their gaze hardened. If C didn’t survive, Whumper wouldn’t live to see the light of day again.

They would make sure of it.