#I really like him he's just a happy chap. he's just a jolly little fellow

[raylex]

vault boy... save me vault boy

#sorry y'all I've been doing horribly and just got really bad news and fallout is the only saving grace for my sanity rn LMAO #I really like him he's just a happy chap. he's just a jolly little fellow #he's silly :) #I've been playing fallout 4 and I love the lil animations of him for the perks and the S.P.E.C.I.A.L attributes 😭 #so cuteeee #mine

[imnotwolverine]

Wolfie’s Fic Recs | The Grand Library of Kink 1/2

THE GRAND LIBRARY OF KINK - Allow me to give you a list of treats to quench the unbearable thirst between your thighs. 

>> Looking for part 2 of this list? <<

🖐WARNING: NSFW - SMUT below the cut 🖐

Author’s note: Let’s be honest. You probably are prowling the Tumblr grounds for the same reasons I am: there’s some darn good porn fics out here. And in the year I’ve been in the Cavillry, I’ve gathered a most wondrous collection of soft to extremely kinky fics. Time..to make a more comprehensible list of my favourites thusfar! (💦It’s long, so you better have some fresh panties at the ready💦)

In this library you’ll find:

Part 1:

Self-help 101  

Cherry Popping Goodness 

Vanilla With A Sprinkling Of Sex Toys 

Vanilla - Toybox Special 

Henry’s Hands Special

The Hook-up

Part 2:

Sensory Delights

The Triple Threat  

Fuck - The Geralt Special

Take It Like A Pussy - The Napoleon Special 

Hammer-time - The Walker Special 

Cpt. Cunnilingus - The Syverson Special

Thighs And Canes - The Sherlock Special 

Fem!DOM 

--

Self-help 101

[This one’s all about the act of self love - solo masturbation]

Toys are for boys. Unless it’s in the bedroom..right? Almost The Same by @lunedelorient  [Henry x Reader]

Mike can’t help himself as his gaze falls upon your lipstick stains on a beer bottle. Where else would he like those stains to be? Lipstick by @emyearns [Mike / reader]

A toy arrives to sweeten the lonely nights when Henry is away. There’s only one minor detail as the package is being unwrapped; she isn’t alone yet. Flying Solo by me [OFC x Henry Cavill]

I love fics written in Henry’s point of view. In this one Henry can’t take it no more. He simply needs to let off some steam; I Need A Woman by @chamomilebottom [Henry Cavill x reader]

This man gets caught..a lot, doesn’t he? You give Henry a helping hand as you catch him in the shower in Welcome Home by @rosethornsanddaisies [Henry Cavill x reader]

I wasn’t sure whether I should put this in the self-help section. So consider yourself warned: watch out..you’re in for a solo-lovin’ surprise in On Display by @ladyreapermc [August Walker x Reader]

--

Cherry Popping Goodness

[There’s a first time for each flower to bloom - loss of vaginal/anal virginity]

The bookstore meet-cute, the skipping heartbeats, and the fluster of cheeks as she just read a steamy passage of her book aloud. It’s the perfect recipe for romance...though there is one tiny, tiny... Her Minor Thing by @ladyreapermc [Henry Cavill x erotica novelist!OFC]

For one night only, gigolo August Walker will make all your fantasies come true. His specialty? Sweet, innocent little flowers. Velvet Chains by @littlefreya [August Walker x reader]

The morning after the cherry popping, a bud starts to bloom. White Honey by @littlefreya [Henry Cavill x reader]

This fic! This. Fic. I hadn’t seen I Capture The Castle when I read this fic, but it made me fall for Stephen so freakin’ hard that I kind of watched the movie straight after. It’s sweet, blushing-cheeks worthy and utterly cinematic. Bluebells by @yespolkadotkitty [Stephen x reader]

August Walker, a virgin? Well..there’s a First Time For Everything by @hope-to-hell [August Walker x reader]

Theseus didn’t mean it to go this way. But he was so thirsty - and now for more then just a drink of water. To Die of Thirst by @hope-to-hell. [Theseus x reader]

It’s Geralt’s first time and isn’t a Witcher body just a fascinating thing..hmm... Anatomy Lessons by @princess-of-riviaa [Geralt x experienced!reader] 

I didn’t know bullet point lists could be this sensual and H.O.T. - First Time w/ Henry by @henchry [Henry Cavill x reader]

GOODNESS ME. Can first times be like this for everyone, please and thank you?! My Flower gives you squirt-inducing, sweet talkin’ Henry making the most out of this special little moment. By @viking-raider [Henry Cavill x reader]

Wait till marriage with August? Highly unlikely....right? Uncharted Territory by @chamomilebottom [August Walker x reader]

Now onto some other sanctuaries to plunder. (Anal that is) Poker Night @foodieforthoughts [Syverson x OFC]

Lets @littlefreya’s words entice you into a new world as you and Henry finally pick the Forbidden Fruit (yep, anal again) [Henry Cavill x OFC]

And now we’re on the anal train, I do notice that men barely ever get any backdoor lovin’ from their partners. And I know, I know: most men are really apprehensive about it. But goodness can it be good! Sy has learned of it’s sweetness and reminisces that first time in Sy And The Sex Tape by @hope-to-hell [Syverson x reader]

--

Vanilla With A Sprinkling Of Sex Toys

[Couple’s sex with just a touch of kink] 

Let’s start with a game. Written in the language of love (French that is), this enticing bit of foreplay gets the blood streaming alright. Invisible Touch by @emelinelovesjc [Henry Cavill x reader]

Is it time for my favourite poetic foreplay fic?! YES it IS! Ode by @wolvesandhoundshowltogether just does something for me and I can simply not explain - just go ahead and read it and see for yourself! [Henry Cavill x reader] 

The key to good sex, is foreplay. And teasing during an event? You bet your  sweet ass you can get Henry riled up. Tease by @captainbigdy [Henry Cavill x reader]

Ready for some myrrh mountain-esque, super indulgent eroticism? Read Confessions by @captainbigdy [Henry Cavill x reader]

Birthday sex

What do you give a man who has it all, for his birthday? A little boudoir, a little make-out on the couch and...Happy Birthday by @rosethornsanddaisies [Henry Cavill x reader]

Apparently boudoir pictures for Henry’s birthday is on y’alls mind! A Picture’s Worth by @sunflowersstan gives you a belated birthday present - but that definitely should not spoil the fun. [Henry Cavill x reader]

Home (coming)

For once, Henry is forgiven for his ungodly early alarm clock: it’s beach time! And Kal will be there too. Home by @chamomilebottom [Henry Cavill x reader]

Henry, unfortunately, isn’t always home. In fact, he’s away quite a lot. Meaning it’s all the important to make up for lost time: Welcome Home by @geralt-of-baevia [Henry Cavill x reader]

And what’d you do if he finally comes home, but an impromptu surprise party is organised by his friends? Better Keep Quiet, baby. By @toomanystoriessolittletime [Henry Cavill x reader]

Does that come with side effects? When a 200 pound beast tackles you after coming home, you just might feel it in the next few days. Lust Worthy by @viking-raider [Henry Cavill x reader]

Home is also domestic goodness ( “Can I, baby?” He whispers against your cheek, placing a soft kiss to it, his eyes searching to meet yours. >> I mean..YES YOU CAN!! DO WHATEVER YOU MUST YOU HUNK OF A BEAR 😩) in this sweet ficseries chap by @lovelycavills: The Night [Henry Cavill x reader]

Tropes to lovers 

Friends to lovers trope, anyone? Of Fck It by @tillthelandslide gives you beers on the couch, friendly banter and then WOOPSIEDOODLIEDOO. [Henry Cavill x reader]

More friends to lovers with one accidental wet dream while lounging on the couch with Henry. Dreaming by @yoursecretsmutblog [Henry Cavill x reader]

Or perhaps PA/boss to lovers? Thunder by @toomanystoriessolittletime gives you Henry in full Geralt gear and rain..lots and lots of rain - meaning it’s time for a ..😏break. [Henry Cavill x OFC]

One more PA story to get the storm in your pussy settled. Years after working for Henry, you send a drunk text and he Answers. In the flesh. By @toomanystoriessolittletime [Henry Cavill x reader]

Audio porn

Another thing I got quite attached to while I learned all about my kinks here on Tumblr, is audio porn. And what better than to have Henry do some audio recording for us thirsty women? Erotic Audios Present... By @thetaoofzoe [Henry Cavill x OFC]

More audioporn!Henry? @toomanystoriessolittletime has got you covered with Talk Dirty To Me, starring photographer Henry who has had.. a bit of a past - and doesn’t his voice sound terribly familiar? 🧐[au!Henry Cavill x reader]

Communication

Smutty fics practically always skip the “So what do you actually like”-part. Well. This fic covers it - and then some. The Interview by @peachyvulpixie. [Henry Cavill x OFC]

And communication is very - very important. Especially when moving stuff around, right Henry? A Little Bit To The Left by @lunedelorient [Henry Cavill x OFC] 

Communication is also key when you want to decide on sub/dom dynamics. Switch has daddy vibes, but in a domestic, confidential, well-established relationship. By @viking-raider [Henry Cavill x reader] 

Or, you may just want to tell sweet Henry that it’s definitely okay to get a little louder between the sheets. Express Yourself by @viking-raider [Henry Cavill x reader]

A thrilling ride

Want to “chose your own adventure” in smutty style? @sciapod’s got just the thing you’re looking for with BD Morning Energy  [Henry Cavill x reader]

Sometimes it’s rough, sometimes it’s sweet, but ever and ever; it’s truly Henry. Read about various types of horny Henry in Shapeshifter by @wanderinglunarnights [Henry Cavill x reader]

Body/orgasm insecurity

This was a very personal piece to write. I have difficulty reaching orgasms, especially with a partner, so for all fellow ladies with the same little problem: Henry is here to give you some Riding Lessons between the sheets. [Henry Cavill x OFC]

And I’m so, so glad that there’s at least a few of you here on Tumblr who can also get a little worried and even impatient between the sheets. Thankfully Henry is the posterboy of Patience, ready to unravel you piece...by.. delicious..piece. By @captainbigdy [Henry Cavill x OFC] 

Nipple love

Female nips get all the lovin’. But male nipples? Not often. Tease by @the-soot-sprite will make sure that is taken well taken care off. [Henry Cavill x reader]

Alright, and now for a little female nip-nip action, let’s dive right into the action. Rough lovin’, shovin’ Cavill is showing you how terribly fucked out he can get you in In My Thoughts by @jolly-polly [Henry Cavill x reader]

Horizontal vs. vertical sex 

Shower sex is such a delectable topic to read about (even though in real life it’s usually awkward and impractical). Let your dreams bring you..after workout Showers with Henry by @darklydeliciousdesires [Henry Cavill x reader]

Or perhaps honeymoon shower sessions? Mirror by @tillthelandslide [Henry Cavill x OFC]

Did someone say honeymoon? Marshall remembers having to climb through that darn window the night before he married you and it makes for a super sweet, domestic fluffy smutty sex scene. And did I mention there was family right at the other side of the door? 👀 Locked by @fourmarkdove [Marshall x reader]

After all that working out it’s time for some food. But what would Henry prefer: ragu or you? What’s Cooking by @writingforhenry [Henry Cavill x reader]

Netflix and Chill

Netflix and chill, anyone? This Movie Night becomes a little steamy 💦 by @writingforhenry [Henry Cavill x reader]

It’s really difficult to watch tv with Henry around, and Freya gets a little frustrated with his incessant teasing; can a woman not just watch some Mindhunter in peace, damnit?! The Refund by @wolvesandhoundshowltogether [Henry Cavill x OFC]

Play-time! 

From game play to girlfriend play during an extremely boring day in lockdown. Confined by @darklydeliciousdesires [Henry Cavill x reader]

More game chair smuttiness? It’s Game on! Mic on! - And ..Eh.. wait..what?! By @thecavillchronicles [Henry Cavill x reader]

Is tickle-play a thing? After a long day where everything seems to have gone wrong, you just need a good shag and Mike will make sure you can Sleep soundly tonight. @emyearns [Mikey x reader]

Alright, it’s a thing. Here’s some more tickle play with Marshall. Laughing During Sex by @promptandpros [Marshall x reader]

Hereby I declare that hairplay is also a thing. And with curls like Henry’s..I mean..come on. Love So Soft gives you dry-humping like horny teenagers after a bad day - and yes..hairplay. By @princess-of-riviaa [Henry Cavill x reader]

Needy Henry

Sad sky eyes are in dire need of some medicine, but Rose doesn’t realise until she’s getting some action for herself that the best medicine for Henry’s malady, is probably not watery soup. In Morbus Et Salus by @fanficsrusz [Henry Cavill x OFC]

Drunk Henry is in need of a midnight snack. And it’s a good thing there just happens to be one in his bed. Drunk In Love by @angrythingstarlight [Henry Cavill x reader]

And the next morning he might just be a really, really needy bear. (My boyfriend, for one, is always EXTRA horny when he is hungover 😂) Five More Minutes by @angrythingstarlight [Henry Cavill x reader]

A few more

And five minutes is probably all you get when you have kids. But it just makes these little mommy and daddy moments all the more sacred. Close To You by @the-soot-sprite [Henry Cavill x reader]

There’s also not a lot of time when you’re in a limo, trying to get your groove on. 🎶Driver roll up the Partition pleaseee 🎶by @fanficsrusz [Henry Cavill x reader]

Now to finish off this vanilla segment: vanilla kisses! Lick Me Till Icecream by @the-soot-sprite [Henry Cavill x reader]

--

Vanilla - Toybox Special 

[A special toy segment for you vanilla(ish) lovers] 

When it’s play time - long work day or no - Henry better be prepared for some frisky business. On Purpose by @wanna-do-bad-things (also hell yes for including some toys!) [Henry Cavill x one very frustrated OFC]

More toys? MORE TOYS! Command And Obey brings you dom!Henry being a terrible teasing ass, but alas..it still gets you all kinds of wet *shrugs* By @wanna-do-bad-things [Henry Cavill x reader]

Perhaps need some dom!Clark instead? With toys? We’ve got you covered. By @poledancingdinos [Clark x OFC]

Now, let’s not forget about Henry’s favourite toy of them all. His bike. In Good Vibrations by @deathonyourtongue [Henry Cavill x reader]

You find Henry pleasing himself with something you didn’t even know he owned; a fleshlight. Henry’s Toy by @viking-raider [Henry Cavill x reader]

--

Henry’s Hands Special 

[I can’t be the only one who has the hots for hands]

Having a bad day? Talented fingers belonging to one caring man of a Henry are here to let off your steam. Burn The Couch by @meowpurrbooks [Henry Cavill x reader]

I’m glad I’m not the only one who has a complete and utter obsession with male hands. This fic is amazing in every way. It’s got suspense, hands AND Henry; Idle Hands by @thelastsock [Henry Cavill x Reader]

More handsy stuff is offered in this private drawing session. Draw Me With Your Fingers by @emelinelovesjc [Henry Cavill x OFC!author]

This fic? ..it’s hands-on work. I must give a disclaimer: I’m hard to please when it comes to daddy!fics, but this one I truly enjoyed. It perfectly rides (hehe) the fine balance between rough throat fucking, choking and usage of the endearing nickname ‘little fawn’. Hands by @twhstuckylover [Henry Cavill x reader]

Henry’s hands are here to warm you up on a cold day in Finger Work by @yoursecretsmutblog [Henry Cavill x reader]

--

The Hook-up

[A little less established, a little more messy. But definitely h-o-t-h-o-t-h-o-t]

Changing rooms may just hide a Dirty Secret (and crotchless pantyhoses) by @foodieforthoughts [Henry Cavill x OFC]

Being toyed around, Henry can’t stand it any longer - and goodness where did he leave that darn bowtie?! Caught In The Storm by @thelastsock [Henry Cavill x Reader]

Syverson is also not one who likes to be toyed around with, especially when you’re in the same bar wearing that deliciously short dress and his favourite high heels. Mine by @yoursecretsmutblog [Syverson x reader]

Dancefloor delights and popping buttons (is this a good time to admit I have ripped some shirts like that? *woops* 😅) - this quite exhibitionistic fic is an utter delight and I’m Glad You Came  by @foodieforthoughts [Henry Cavill x reader]

Since this is steady-hook-up I wasn’t sure whether to post it in this segment or the Vanilla segment, but ..yea..it definitely deserves a read! Rules Of Engagement has Em and Henry coming to the realisation that a friendly hook-up isn’t all that easy. Especially not when one foul IUD throws baby dust in their busy lives. By @ladyreapermc​ [Henry Cavill x OFC] 

Marshall specials 

An old friend/lover shows up just when you find yourself with the predicament of a broken down car. Before you know it you’re having car sex with one curly haired police officer in..yea..a police car. A Perfect Shitty Day by @toomanystoriessolittletime [Marshall x reader]

OOPH you girls are in it for the Walter hook-ups. Forget That Asshole follows up after you had one particularly disappointing blind date. And thankfully a blue eyed sweater-bear-man is there to provide you some much needed consolation.  By @penwieldingdreamer [Marshall x reader]

Sex on set

On set things might just get a little steamy, so might as well take ..*clip scene* ACTION! Touch Me Tease Me by @deathonyourtongue [Henry Cavill x OFC]  

More on-set delights? Perhaps with a touch of embarrassing nerves? Directed By La Petite Mort by @wolvesandhoundshowltogether [Henry Cavill x reader]

--

>> Looking for part 2 of this list? <<

--

Artworks/edits are mine ❤️And as always: if you have more fic recs to add, share them in your reblogs/comments! 

--

#wolfie's fic recs #kink fic library #fic recs #henry cavill sexy #captain syverson smut #august walker smut #napoleon solo smut #mikey hellraiser smut #stephen colley smut #walter marshall smut #superman smut #geralt of rivia smut

[dont-pray-for-my-sins]

rating the jack o’ lantern emojis because it’s spooktober

apple

a strangely-shaped fellow- a tad round for my liking, but a jolly enough spookster. i trust him, he is shaped like a friend. 7/10

google

ah now we have a pumpkin shaped pumpkin, doesn’t look like it’s been so much as carved as its had stickers haphazardly slapped on though. this feeling of deceit is worrisome, but on the whole a decent lad. 8/10

microsoft

that’s not a pumpkin, that’s an orange. 0/10

samsung

ahhh a proper spooky boy, real october hours up in this shit, jolly, properly-shaped and looks vaguely like it’s been carved. 9/10

whatsapp

LOOK AT THIS CUTE BOI, I want to take him home and snuggle him. i will call him mr spookypants and he will live a thousand years. 11.5/10

twitter

yikes! a proper fright here! a rather skeletal looking chap, that face is suitably spooky, however, it lacks the character befitting a good jack o’ lantern emoji. 7/10

Facebook

oho! what do we have here? almost all of the upsides of the twitter emoji, without most of the downsides! still not perfect, but i do like. 9/10

JoyPixels

look at that cocky motherfucker’s little smirk. i do not like your attitude, young man, however, i must admit you are a skilled one. 8/10 (i docked two points for rudeness)

openmoji

no. -5000/10

emojidex

i liked this one at first glance, but the longer i look at it, the more i realize this lad is rotten to the core- a slow burn of disgust. too much like mr. hyde. 3/10

messenger

this middle-aged chap looks like he’s about to try and sell me a riding lawnmower. i like his gumption, but i don’t like his capitalism. 6/10

LG

that’s an apple, not a pumpkin. 0/10

HTC

adorable! i love this happy little guy! 1000000/10

Mozilla

getting mighty sick of all these fruits that aren’t pumpkins. this is another orange, 0/10

softbank

there’s something mighty unnerving about this one, and not in the pleasant “it’s october time to get spooky” sorta way. this one looks like it just did something really bad, and is about to do some more really bad things. possibly a cop. -1000000/10

Docomo/au by KDDI

they both used the same emoji. this isn’t a pumpkin, but it is a trick-or-treating basket, and as such i cannot fault it, as it will bring joy to many a child in this, the spookiest of months. a model citizen. 10/10.

#decided to rate jack o' lantern emojis #i was very bored.

[the-scenic-route-stories]

The Ace of Hearts, Part 6d

The lock of the door and the wood around it singed, bubbled and disintegrated with a hiss, giving off an acrid smell. After waiting a few minutes, the Doctor wrapped one of the linen strips around his hand and carefully turned the handle. Outside were two pirates, both giving the appearance of having just been woken from a deep, possibly drunken slumber. The Doctor brought the star on its pole near to the more alert-looking of the two pirate guards while Betty approached the other with hers.

"Oh, what's that?" said the guard. "It's very bright, isn't it? And pretty hot.”

"It's a thermonuclear reaction. More commonly known as a star. And yes, it is pretty hot – around six thousand degrees, and growing bigger all the time. Don't look too long or you'll damage your eyes. Might I suggest putting this around your eyes to protect them?”

When the Doctor and Betty had finished applying the blindfolds to the pirates, and tied together their hands to keep them occupied for a little longer, they separated. Betty, still armed with her star, tucked herself out of sight around a corner to deal with any other pirates who might appear, while the Doctor went in search of the pirate captain.

“Ah, my dear fellow. I trust you had a pleasant evening. And what of the dress?”

“Oh, it definitely proved its worth,” said the Doctor.

“So you’ve come for your photograph? You’ve decided to be compliant after all?”

“Certainly. I’m usually very biddable. I just – sometimes one needs to put on a bit of a show in front of the ladies, don’t you find? They don’t tend to be terribly fond of chaps who let themselves be ordered about, unless of course it’s the lady herself who’s doing the ordering.”

“Indeed. I’m pleased that you’re willing to cooperate. Would you mind changing into something a little smarter? That dress shirt that you have on is rather dirty and seems to have a number of –” he looked quizzically at the Doctor, “what look like scorch marks.” He indicated a wooden trunk that looked as if it was of Earth origin, possibly from the Indian subcontinent, from the look of things. The lid was open and he could see a number of opulent-looking items of clothing.

“It seems you have what might be termed a dressing-up chest,” said the Doctor. “Rather jolly! Where did you pick it up?”

“A young nobleman from a small planet called Earth. Very pleasant fellow. Still travels with me, in fact.”

The Doctor suspected that the young man in question might be travelling under duress rather than out of choice - where was he, otherwise? - but he said nothing. First he must deal with the immediate question of what the pirates had done with the other guests and staff. Perhaps, if the young nobleman was a captive too, the Doctor would find him in the same place as the guests.

“I think this one would suit you very well,” said the captain, pulling out a garment in off-white decorated with gold thread and brocade. “Care to try it on?”

The Doctor was not fond of changing his clothes while anyone was around to watch. Particularly in this incarnation, much less physically imposing than the last, he felt the need for several layers of clothing, as if to occupy a little more space and create a barrier between himself and the outer world. He remembered the previous night and how Betty and he had slept beside one another, both so very vulnerable. Without her own protective outer layers, clinging to him, she had seemed less like a sophisticated, modern young lady and more like a lost little girl. But this morning she had been resourceful and brave and suddenly, surprisingly fierce. He felt himself blushing as he remembered the way she had taken hold of him. Hmmm, I suppose she must have been furious, but why kiss me at all if she was angry? Or was that this “passion” that Earth literature seems so fond of? But if so, why should she feel it now and not when I tried to give her a splendid time at the dance and fulfil her romantic dreams? All this romance business is dreadfully complicated. Marvellous girl, though. Dear Betty, I do so want you to be happy but - this is terrible of me, I know - I think I'd like you to be angry with me again too, if only for a moment...

“You know, we could work well together.” The Doctor felt, with discomfort, that the remark was being directed towards his chest or - confound it all - his collarbones (what was it with his collarbones that people kept noticing them?). Despite his fondness for sport, he suspected that he would be no match for the sheer bulk of the captain if it came to a physical fight, and that the captain had assessed him and come to the same conclusion. It was fortunate, then, that he had his wits. He hurried to put the shirt on.

“I'm not sure I have much to offer in the, umm, pirating line. I'm just a simple fellow, really, with a bit of a taste for the finer things of life. A good restaurant and a pretty little thing to dance with and I'm content. Like most of the guests here, I imagine. Where are they, by the way?”

“We've put them in the anteroom. My men are sorting through them to see how much they are worth.”

“Hmm, very clever. No point in wasting your efforts on any stowaways without a penny to their names, eh?”

“We tend to make anyone fitting that description walk the plank. Along with anyone else who is uncooperative.”

Another ridiculous cliché, thought the Doctor. “Pour encourager les autres, I suppose?”

“Indeed. A useful thing to bear in mind, my friend. Not that you would dream of being uncooperative.”

“Amenability is my middle name, my dear sir. By the way, I do find your adoption of traditional piratical customs frightfully picturesque. Is the plank in question literal or figurative?”

... to be continued...

#my fiction #the ace of hearts #fifth doctor #space pirates #betty #this was suppposed to be an action chapter but it is mostly banter and introspection

[throbbin-bobbies]

Harry Potter x Reader fluff

Requested? Yes

Forgive me if I accidentally wrote ‘I’ instead of ‘you’ where it’s appropriate, I’m used to first person because that ‘tis my preference usually. And it’s kinda long, sorry and has a semi slow start sorry. Enjoy!

You’re in the Gryffindor common room, along with some others as well, waiting for the match to start between Gryffindor and Slytherin that would take place in a couple hours. You were playing Wizard’s chess with Ron, and were pretty evenly matched, both concentrating hard on the game in front of you two. That is until a certain arry otter, with a capital HP walked through the portrait in a rather slap happy mood. “Y/n, can you help me with some stuff later?”

“I’m not your girlfriend Harry, you know that wouldn’t be right on both parties” you said laughing while Ron was about to take his turn.

He dropped onto the couch behind me, in a rather dramatic fashion for extra effect, arms draped like one would have in a old medieval painting. “Alas, I am wounded, fair maiden! Doth thou not will to aid Sir Potter, whom requires help?”, he said just as dramatic.

“Harry, the doctor’s note specifically said there’s no way to help such a case as yourself”, you chuckled, taking Ron’s last knight (“Bloody hell!”).

“Help me with History of Magic, pretty please y/n”

“Oh, seeker of truth? Then sir Potter must acknowledge Truth is a fair lady to be won, Sir Potter must chaser (chase her) and beater (beat her) taradiddler’s evil lies, should Sir Potter wish to  keeper (keep your) marks in a fashionable manner”

“Did you just say- did you just way tarradiddle? What the bloody hell does that even mean?!” Ron said looking up as confused as he’s ever been.

“Why of course, I did. Tarraddidler is a made up word, from the word tarradiddle, which means a petty lie Sir Weasley. And now I shall claim your king as mine” you say taking his queen “, ‘tis a shame, she’ll never feel the king’s presence in the bedchambers for quite some time”. You laugh at the innuendo while gathering your pieces and put them in a bag while they were all laughing - Ron’s pieces were too. You stand up and turn to Ron before turning to Harry, “Jolly good show ol’ chap! What do you need help with Harry? Best to get some done before the game starts, it’ll help you”. Harry got up and you two went over sit down at the unoccupied table before Harry tosses his bag in front of him, on the table of course.

“How would that help? If anything it would make it worse, if you ask me”

“It’ll get your noggin joggin for when you’re flogging and hoggin the snitch”

“Why are you so weird?” Harry let out a laugh teasing you.

You fake a surprised gasp, and look around pretending to be offended, “Why I never! Who do you think you are!”.

“The Chosen One” Harry said trying to keep a serious face, but in all honesty, you both were starting to have a hard time trying not to laugh.

“Who?”

“Harry Potter?”

“Nah” you say with a sly smile and opening Harry’s History of Magic book to the first page you would need.

“Nah?! Then what?!” he threw his hands out laughing.

“You really wanna know?” giving him a side glance.

“Of course, why would I be ‘The Chosen one’ or ‘Harry Potter’? I’m all of the above!” he tried to bargain with you.

“You’re not ‘The Chosen One’ and you’re not ‘Harry Potter’”

“Then tell me!” Harry groaned putting his head between his arms on the table.

You turn to him, with an evil grin, “You can’t be either...”. You wrap an arm around his shoulders and put your head on his shoulder “...because you are cute”. Seeing his face turn red, he turned his head and hid his face in the sleeve of his arm furthest from you, followed with a muffled ‘oh my gosh’. You leaned off of him to be a little more mischievous, you put a hand on his leg and saw his head shoot up towards you, face even redder. “Among other things” you say in a teasing voice, but the shock it brought out in Harry’s expressions was priceless. You just didn’t know that Harry was this, we’ll call it embarassed, was because, well, he liked you like you liked him. A lot. “So, what’s been giving you trouble from yee olden book?” “O-oh, yeah- tha- that’s, um, right…”

*some time passed, both of you are walking to the quidditch field alone*

“OH MY GOSH HARRY, YOU CAN’T JUST HAVE THE WORLD IN YOUR HANDS!” you laugh at some of the sarcastic stuff that’s come out of Harry’s mouth.

“Why, I most certainly can! Just you watch!” he was trying to convince you of one of his many opinions once again.

“Proof it” you challenged him still smiling from laughing.

“Fine!”, he said stopping, making you stop and turn to him. Then he put his hands on either side of your face “There, see?! Have the whole world in my hands!”

It was your turn to turn red today, “H-Harry, that doesn’t count! I’m not the whole world!” chuckling from excitement and hormones because your crush was touching you in such a manner (oh my! lol). “You’re right.” Harry said stepping closer to you, causing both of your hearts to quicken, unbeknownst to both of you. “You’re mean much more than that….” he finished, there being no space between you in the empty hall. You wrap your arms around his torso and he wraps his arms around you too, embracing each other, smiling like gits, but looking like two hugging tomatoes with how red both of you are. He put his head on top of yours before opening his mouth “DOTH THEE WILL TO ACCOMPANY SIR POTTER AS COURTMANSHIP, FAIR LADY? TO THEE VILLAGE DOWNETH YONDER? HOGETHS-MEAD?”

You start to laugh, hysterically even, how could you say no to that? It’s not like you didn’t hear it, he practically screamed the question right on top of your head. “Thee fair maiden upholds of this proposition before her” you say as Harry looks at you smiling, even with his eyes you could tell. “Alas, we should part from this spot, the game finds itself neareth with each second - and I hear there art a exquisite set of exotic, robust looking young fellows”. You both laugh, arm in arm walking the rest of the way to the quidditch field, both happy with the courtship to sooned be and to be swooned.

So this happened, yeah. Well, hoped you liked it, I have more requests to do, but feel free to ask for any other types of fics, I’d be happy to write!

#harry potter #harry #potter #harry potter fluff #harry potter x reader #x reader #ron weasley #gryffindor #hogwarts #quidditch #gryffindor quidditch #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff fanfiction

[readbookywooks]

THE RIVER BANK

The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring- cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said `Bother!' and `O blow!' and also `Hang spring-cleaning!' and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat. Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he made for the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to the gravelled carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences are nearer to the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, `Up we go! Up we go!' till at last, pop! his snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.

`This is fine!' he said to himself. `This is better than whitewashing!' The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes caressed his heated brow, and after the seclusion of the cellarage he had lived in so long the carol of happy birds fell on his dulled hearing almost like a shout. Jumping off all his four legs at once, in the joy of living and the delight of spring without its cleaning, he pursued his way across the meadow till he reached the hedge on the further side.

`Hold up!' said an elderly rabbit at the gap. `Sixpence for the privilege of passing by the private road!' He was bowled over in an instant by the impatient and contemptuous Mole, who trotted along the side of the hedge chaffing the other rabbits as they peeped hurriedly from their holes to see what the row was about. `Onion-sauce! Onion-sauce!' he remarked jeeringly, and was gone before they could think of a thoroughly satisfactory reply. Then they all started grumbling at each other. `How STUPID you are! Why didn't you tell him----' `Well, why didn't YOU say----' `You might have reminded him----' and so on, in the usual way; but, of course, it was then much too late, as is always the case.

It all seemed too good to be true. Hither and thither through the meadows he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across the copses, finding everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves thrusting--everything happy, and progressive, and occupied. And instead of having an uneasy conscience pricking him and whispering `whitewash!' he somehow could only feel how jolly it was to be the only idle dog among all these busy citizens. After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy working.

He thought his happiness was complete when, as he meandered aimlessly along, suddenly he stood by the edge of a full-fed river. Never in his life had he seen a river before--this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and leaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that shook themselves free, and were caught and held again. All was a-shake and a-shiver--glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chatter and bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.

As he sat on the grass and looked across the river, a dark hole in the bank opposite, just above the water's edge, caught his eye, and dreamily he fell to considering what a nice snug dwelling-place it would make for an animal with few wants and fond of a bijo riverside residence, above flood level and remote from noise and dust. As he gazed, something bright and small seemed to twinkle down in the heart of it, vanished, then twinkled once more like a tiny star. But it could hardly be a star in such an unlikely situation; and it was too glittering and small for a glow-worm. Then, as he looked, it winked at him, and so declared itself to be an eye; and a small face began gradually to grow up round it, like a frame round a picture.

A brown little face, with whiskers.

A grave round face, with the same twinkle in its eye that had first attracted his notice.

Small neat ears and thick silky hair.

It was the Water Rat!

Then the two animals stood and regarded each other cautiously.

`Hullo, Mole!' said the Water Rat.

`Hullo, Rat!' said the Mole.

`Would you like to come over?' enquired the Rat presently.

`Oh, its all very well to TALK,' said the Mole, rather pettishly, he being new to a river and riverside life and its ways.

The Rat said nothing, but stooped and unfastened a rope and hauled on it; then lightly stepped into a little boat which the Mole had not observed. It was painted blue outside and white within, and was just the size for two animals; and the Mole's whole heart went out to it at once, even though he did not yet fully understand its uses.

The Rat sculled smartly across and made fast. Then he held up his forepaw as the Mole stepped gingerly down. `Lean on that!' he said. `Now then, step lively!' and the Mole to his surprise and rapture found himself actually seated in the stern of a real boat.

`This has been a wonderful day!' said he, as the Rat shoved off and took to the sculls again. `Do you know, I`ve never been in a boat before in all my life.'

`What?' cried the Rat, open-mouthed: `Never been in a--you never--well I--what have you been doing, then?'

`Is it so nice as all that?' asked the Mole shyly, though he was quite prepared to believe it as he leant back in his seat and surveyed the cushions, the oars, the rowlocks, and all the fascinating fittings, and felt the boat sway lightly under him.

`Nice? It's the ONLY thing,' said the Water Rat solemnly, as he leant forward for his stroke. `Believe me, my young friend, there is NOTHING--absolute nothing--half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing,' he went on dreamily: `messing--about--in--boats; messing----'

`Look ahead, Rat!' cried the Mole suddenly.

It was too late. The boat struck the bank full tilt. The dreamer, the joyous oarsman, lay on his back at the bottom of the boat, his heels in the air.

`--about in boats--or WITH boats,' the Rat went on composedly, picking himself up with a pleasant laugh. `In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not. Look here! If you've really nothing else on hand this morning, supposing we drop down the river together, and have a long day of it?'

The Mole waggled his toes from sheer happiness, spread his chest with a sigh of full contentment, and leaned back blissfully into the soft cushions. `WHAT a day I'm having!' he said. `Let us start at once!'

`Hold hard a minute, then!' said the Rat. He looped the painter through a ring in his landing-stage, climbed up into his hole above, and after a short interval reappeared staggering under a fat, wicker luncheon-basket.

`Shove that under your feet,' he observed to the Mole, as he passed it down into the boat. Then he untied the painter and took the sculls again.

`What's inside it?' asked the Mole, wriggling with curiosity.

`There's cold chicken inside it,' replied the Rat briefly; `coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrollscresssan dwichespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater----'

`O stop, stop,' cried the Mole in ecstacies: `This is too much!'

`Do you really think so?' enquired the Rat seriously. `It's only what I always take on these little excursions; and the other animals are always telling me that I'm a mean beast and cut it VERY fine!'

The Mole never heard a word he was saying. Absorbed in the new life he was entering upon, intoxicated with the sparkle, the ripple, the scents and the sounds and the sunlight, he trailed a paw in the water and dreamed long waking dreams. The Water Rat, like the good little fellow he was, sculled steadily on and forebore to disturb him.

`I like your clothes awfully, old chap,' he remarked after some half an hour or so had passed. `I'm going to get a black velvet smoking-suit myself some day, as soon as I can afford it.'

`I beg your pardon,' said the Mole, pulling himself together with an effort. `You must think me very rude; but all this is so new to me. So--this--is--a--River!'

`THE River,' corrected the Rat.

`And you really live by the river? What a jolly life!'

`By it and with it and on it and in it,' said the Rat. `It's brother and sister to me, and aunts, and company, and food and drink, and (naturally) washing. It's my world, and I don't want any other. What it hasn't got is not worth having, and what it doesn't know is not worth knowing. Lord! the times we've had together! Whether in winter or summer, spring or autumn, it's always got its fun and its excitements. When the floods are on in February, and my cellars and basement are brimming with drink that's no good to me, and the brown water runs by my best bedroom window; or again when it all drops away and, shows patches of mud that smells like plum-cake, and the rushes and weed clog the channels, and I can potter about dry shod over most of the bed of it and find fresh food to eat, and things careless people have dropped out of boats!'

`But isn't it a bit dull at times?' the Mole ventured to ask. `Just you and the river, and no one else to pass a word with?'

`No one else to--well, I mustn't be hard on you,' said the Rat with forbearance. `You're new to it, and of course you don't know. The bank is so crowded nowadays that many people are moving away altogether: O no, it isn't what it used to be, at all. Otters, kingfishers, dabchicks, moorhens, all of them about all day long and always wanting you to DO something--as if a fellow had no business of his own to attend to!'

`What lies over THERE' asked the Mole, waving a paw towards a background of woodland that darkly framed the water-meadows on one side of the river.

`That? O, that's just the Wild Wood,' said the Rat shortly. `We don't go there very much, we river-bankers.'

`Aren't they--aren't they very NICE people in there?' said the Mole, a trifle nervously.

`W-e-ll,' replied the Rat, `let me see. The squirrels are all right. AND the rabbits--some of 'em, but rabbits are a mixed lot. And then there's Badger, of course. He lives right in the heart of it; wouldn't live anywhere else, either, if you paid him to do it. Dear old Badger! Nobody interferes with HIM. They'd better not,' he added significantly.

`Why, who SHOULD interfere with him?' asked the Mole.

`Well, of course--there--are others,' explained the Rat in a hesitating sort of way.

`Weasels--and stoats--and foxes--and so on. They're all right in a way--I'm very good friends with them--pass the time of day when we meet, and all that--but they break out sometimes, there's no denying it, and then--well, you can't really trust them, and that's the fact.'

The Mole knew well that it is quite against animal-etiquette to dwell on possible trouble ahead, or even to allude to it; so he dropped the subject.

`And beyond the Wild Wood again?' he asked: `Where it's all blue and dim, and one sees what may be hills or perhaps they mayn't, and something like the smoke of towns, or is it only cloud- drift?'

`Beyond the Wild Wood comes the Wide World,' said the Rat. `And that's something that doesn't matter, either to you or me. I've never been there, and I'm never going, nor you either, if you've got any sense at all. Don't ever refer to it again, please. Now then! Here's our backwater at last, where we're going to lunch.'

Leaving the main stream, they now passed into what seemed at first sight like a little land-locked lake. Green turf sloped down to either edge, brown snaky tree-roots gleamed below the surface of the quiet water, while ahead of them the silvery shoulder and foamy tumble of a weir, arm-in-arm with a restless dripping mill-wheel, that held up in its turn a grey-gabled mill- house, filled the air with a soothing murmur of sound, dull and smothery, yet with little clear voices speaking up cheerfully out of it at intervals. It was so very beautiful that the Mole could only hold up both forepaws and gasp, `O my! O my! O my!'

The Rat brought the boat alongside the bank, made her fast, helped the still awkward Mole safely ashore, and swung out the luncheon-basket. The Mole begged as a favour to be allowed to unpack it all by himself; and the Rat was very pleased to indulge him, and to sprawl at full length on the grass and rest, while his excited friend shook out the table-cloth and spread it, took out all the mysterious packets one by one and arranged their contents in due order, still gasping, `O my! O my!' at each fresh revelation. When all was ready, the Rat said, `Now, pitch in, old fellow!' and the Mole was indeed very glad to obey, for he had started his spring-cleaning at a very early hour that morning, as people WILL do, and had not paused for bite or sup; and he had been through a very great deal since that distant time which now seemed so many days ago.

`What are you looking at?' said the Rat presently, when the edge of their hunger was somewhat dulled, and the Mole's eyes were able to wander off the table-cloth a little.

`I am looking,' said the Mole, `at a streak of bubbles that I see travelling along the surface of the water. That is a thing that strikes me as funny.'

`Bubbles? Oho!' said the Rat, and chirruped cheerily in an inviting sort of way.

A broad glistening muzzle showed itself above the edge of the bank, and the Otter hauled himself out and shook the water from his coat.

`Greedy beggars!' he observed, making for the provender. `Why didn't you invite me, Ratty?'

`This was an impromptu affair,' explained the Rat. `By the way-- my friend Mr. Mole.'

`Proud, I'm sure,' said the Otter, and the two animals were friends forthwith.

`Such a rumpus everywhere!' continued the Otter. `All the world seems out on the river to-day. I came up this backwater to try and get a moment's peace, and then stumble upon you fellows!--At least--I beg pardon--I don't exactly mean that, you know.'

There was a rustle behind them, proceeding from a hedge wherein last year's leaves still clung thick, and a stripy head, with high shoulders behind it, peered forth on them.

`Come on, old Badger!' shouted the Rat.

The Badger trotted forward a pace or two; then grunted, `H'm! Company,' and turned his back and disappeared from view.

`That's JUST the sort of fellow he is!' observed the disappointed Rat. `Simply hates Society! Now we shan't see any more of him to-day. Well, tell us, WHO'S out on the river?'

`Toad's out, for one,' replied the Otter. `In his brand-new wager-boat; new togs, new everything!'

The two animals looked at each other and laughed.

`Once, it was nothing but sailing,' said the Rat, `Then he tired of that and took to punting. Nothing would please him but to punt all day and every day, and a nice mess he made of it. Last year it was house-boating, and we all had to go and stay with him in his house-boat, and pretend we liked it. He was going to spend the rest of his life in a house-boat. It's all the same, whatever he takes up; he gets tired of it, and starts on something fresh.'

`Such a good fellow, too,' remarked the Otter reflectively: `But no stability--especially in a boat!'

From where they sat they could get a glimpse of the main stream across the island that separated them; and just then a wager-boat flashed into view, the rower--a short, stout figure--splashing badly and rolling a good deal, but working his hardest. The Rat stood up and hailed him, but Toad--for it was he--shook his head and settled sternly to his work.

`He'll be out of the boat in a minute if he rolls like that,' said the Rat, sitting down again.

`Of course he will,' chuckled the Otter. `Did I ever tell you that good story about Toad and the lock-keeper? It happened this way. Toad. . . .'

An errant May-fly swerved unsteadily athwart the current in the intoxicated fashion affected by young bloods of May-flies seeing life. A swirl of water and a `cloop!' and the May-fly was visible no more.

Neither was the Otter.

The Mole looked down. The voice was still in his ears, but the turf whereon he had sprawled was clearly vacant. Not an Otter to be seen, as far as the distant horizon.

But again there was a streak of bubbles on the surface of the river.

The Rat hummed a tune, and the Mole recollected that animal- etiquette forbade any sort of comment on the sudden disappearance of one's friends at any moment, for any reason or no reason whatever.

`Well, well,' said the Rat, `I suppose we ought to be moving. I wonder which of us had better pack the luncheon-basket?' He did not speak as if he was frightfully eager for the treat.

`O, please let me,' said the Mole. So, of course, the Rat let him.

Packing the basket was not quite such pleasant work as unpacking' the basket. It never is. But the Mole was bent on enjoying everything, and although just when he had got the basket packed and strapped up tightly he saw a plate staring up at him from the grass, and when the job had been done again the Rat pointed out a fork which anybody ought to have seen, and last of all, behold! the mustard pot, which he had been sitting on without knowing it--still, somehow, the thing got finished at last, without much loss of temper.

The afternoon sun was getting low as the Rat sculled gently homewards in a dreamy mood, murmuring poetry-things over to himself, and not paying much attention to Mole. But the Mole was very full of lunch, and self-satisfaction, and pride, and already quite at home in a boat (so he thought) and was getting a bit restless besides: and presently he said, `Ratty! Please, I want to row, now!'

The Rat shook his head with a smile. `Not yet, my young friend,' he said--'wait till you've had a few lessons. It's not so easy as it looks.'

The Mole was quiet for a minute or two. But he began to feel more and more jealous of Rat, sculling so strongly and so easily along, and his pride began to whisper that he could do it every bit as well. He jumped up and seized the sculls, so suddenly, that the Rat, who was gazing out over the water and saying more poetry-things to himself, was taken by surprise and fell backwards off his seat with his legs in the air for the second time, while the triumphant Mole took his place and grabbed the sculls with entire confidence.

`Stop it, you SILLY ass!' cried the Rat, from the bottom of the boat. `You can't do it! You'll have us over!'

The Mole flung his sculls back with a flourish, and made a great dig at the water. He missed the surface altogether, his legs flew up above his head, and he found himself lying on the top of the prostrate Rat. Greatly alarmed, he made a grab at the side of the boat, and the next moment--Sploosh!

Over went the boat, and he found himself struggling in the river.

O my, how cold the water was, and O, how VERY wet it felt. How it sang in his ears as he went down, down, down! How bright and welcome the sun looked as he rose to the surface coughing and spluttering! How black was his despair when he felt himself sinking again! Then a firm paw gripped him by the back of his neck. It was the Rat, and he was evidently laughing--the Mole could FEEL him laughing, right down his arm and through his paw, and so into his--the Mole's--neck.

The Rat got hold of a scull and shoved it under the Mole's arm; then he did the same by the other side of him and, swimming behind, propelled the helpless animal to shore, hauled him out, and set him down on the bank, a squashy, pulpy lump of misery.

When the Rat had rubbed him down a bit, and wrung some of the wet out of him, he said, `Now, then, old fellow! Trot up and down the towing-path as hard as you can, till you're warm and dry again, while I dive for the luncheon-basket.'

So the dismal Mole, wet without and ashamed within, trotted about till he was fairly dry, while the Rat plunged into the water again, recovered the boat, righted her and made her fast, fetched his floating property to shore by degrees, and finally dived successfully for the luncheon-basket and struggled to land with it.

When all was ready for a start once more, the Mole, limp and dejected, took his seat in the stern of the boat; and as they set off, he said in a low voice, broken with emotion, `Ratty, my generous friend! I am very sorry indeed for my foolish and ungrateful conduct. My heart quite fails me when I think how I might have lost that beautiful luncheon-basket. Indeed, I have been a complete ass, and I know it. Will you overlook it this once and forgive me, and let things go on as before?'

`That's all right, bless you!' responded the Rat cheerily. `What's a little wet to a Water Rat? I'm more in the water than out of it most days. Don't you think any more about it; and, look here! I really think you had better come and stop with me for a little time. It's very plain and rough, you know--not like Toad's house at all--but you haven't seen that yet; still, I can make you comfortable. And I'll teach you to row, and to swim, and you'll soon be as handy on the water as any of us.'

The Mole was so touched by his kind manner of speaking that he could find no voice to answer him; and he had to brush away a tear or two with the back of his paw. But the Rat kindly looked in another direction, and presently the Mole's spirits revived again, and he was even able to give some straight back-talk to a couple of moorhens who were sniggering to each other about his bedraggled appearance.

When they got home, the Rat made a bright fire in the parlour, and planted the Mole in an arm-chair in front of it, having fetched down a dressing-gown and slippers for him, and told him river stories till supper-time. Very thrilling stories they were, too, to an earth-dwelling animal like Mole. Stories about weirs, and sudden floods, and leaping pike, and steamers that flung hard bottles--at least bottles were certainly flung, and FROM steamers, so presumably BY them; and about herons, and how particular they were whom they spoke to; and about adventures down drains, and night-fishings with Otter, or excursions far a- field with Badger. Supper was a most cheerful meal; but very shortly afterwards a terribly sleepy Mole had to be escorted upstairs by his considerate host, to the best bedroom, where he soon laid his head on his pillow in great peace and contentment, knowing that his new-found friend the River was lapping the sill of his window.

This day was only the first of many similar ones for the emancipated Mole, each of them longer and full of interest as the ripening summer moved onward. He learnt to swim and to row, and entered into the joy of running water; and with his ear to the reed-stems he caught, at intervals, something of what the wind went whispering so constantly among them.

#WindInTheWillows

[readbookywooks]

DULCE DOMUM

The sheep ran huddling together against the hurdles, blowing out thin nostrils and stamping with delicate fore-feet, their heads thrown back and a light steam rising from the crowded sheep-pen into the frosty air, as the two animals hastened by in high spirits, with much chatter and laughter. They were returning across country after a long day's outing with Otter, hunting and exploring on the wide uplands where certain streams tributary to their own River had their first small beginnings; and the shades of the short winter day were closing in on them, and they had still some distance to go. Plodding at random across the plough, they had heard the sheep and had made for them; and now, leading from the sheep-pen, they found a beaten track that made walking a lighter business, and responded, moreover, to that small inquiring something which all animals carry inside them, saying unmistakably, `Yes, quite right; THIS leads home!'

`It looks as if we were coming to a village,' said the Mole somewhat dubiously, slackening his pace, as the track, that had in time become a path and then had developed into a lane, now handed them over to the charge of a well-metalled road. The animals did not hold with villages, and their own highways, thickly frequented as they were, took an independent course, regardless of church, post office, or public-house.

`Oh, never mind!' said the Rat. `At this season of the year they're all safe indoors by this time, sitting round the fire; men, women, and children, dogs and cats and all. We shall slip through all right, without any bother or unpleasantness, and we can have a look at them through their windows if you like, and see what they're doing.'

The rapid nightfall of mid-December had quite beset the little village as they approached it on soft feet over a first thin fall of powdery snow. Little was visible but squares of a dusky orange-red on either side of the street, where the firelight or lamplight of each cottage overflowed through the casements into the dark world without. Most of the low latticed windows were innocent of blinds, and to the lookers-in from outside, the inmates, gathered round the tea-table, absorbed in handiwork, or talking with laughter and gesture, had each that happy grace which is the last thing the skilled actor shall capture--the natural grace which goes with perfect unconsciousness of observation. Moving at will from one theatre to another, the two spectators, so far from home themselves, had something of wistfulness in their eyes as they watched a cat being stroked, a sleepy child picked up and huddled off to bed, or a tired man stretch and knock out his pipe on the end of a smouldering log.

But it was from one little window, with its blind drawn down, a mere blank transparency on the night, that the sense of home and the little curtained world within walls--the larger stressful world of outside Nature shut out and forgotten--most pulsated. Close against the white blind hung a bird-cage, clearly silhouetted, every wire, perch, and appurtenance distinct and recognisable, even to yesterday's dull-edged lump of sugar. On the middle perch the fluffy occupant, head tucked well into feathers, seemed so near to them as to be easily stroked, had they tried; even the delicate tips of his plumped-out plumage pencilled plainly on the illuminated screen. As they looked, the sleepy little fellow stirred uneasily, woke, shook himself, and raised his head. They could see the gape of his tiny beak as he yawned in a bored sort of way, looked round, and then settled his head into his back again, while the ruffled feathers gradually subsided into perfect stillness. Then a gust of bitter wind took them in the back of the neck, a small sting of frozen sleet on the skin woke them as from a dream, and they knew their toes to be cold and their legs tired, and their own home distant a weary way.

Once beyond the village, where the cottages ceased abruptly, on either side of the road they could smell through the darkness the friendly fields again; and they braced themselves for the last long stretch, the home stretch, the stretch that we know is bound to end, some time, in the rattle of the door-latch, the sudden firelight, and the sight of familiar things greeting us as long-absent travellers from far over-sea. They plodded along steadily and silently, each of them thinking his own thoughts. The Mole's ran a good deal on supper, as it was pitch-dark, and it was all a strange country for him as far as he knew, and he was following obediently in the wake of the Rat, leaving the guidance entirely to him. As for the Rat, he was walking a little way ahead, as his habit was, his shoulders humped, his eyes fixed on the straight grey road in front of him; so he did not notice poor Mole when suddenly the summons reached him, and took him like an electric shock.

We others, who have long lost the more subtle of the physical senses, have not even proper terms to express an animal's inter- communications with his surroundings, living or otherwise, and have only the word `smell,' for instance, to include the whole range of delicate thrills which murmur in the nose of the animal night and day, summoning, warning? inciting, repelling. It was one of these mysterious fairy calls from out the void that suddenly reached Mole in the darkness, making him tingle through and through with its very familiar appeal, even while yet he could not clearly remember what it was. He stopped dead in his tracks, his nose searching hither and thither in its efforts to recapture the fine filament, the telegraphic current, that had so strongly moved him. A moment, and he had caught it again; and with it this time came recollection in fullest flood.

Home! That was what they meant, those caressing appeals, those soft touches wafted through the air, those invisible little hands pulling and tugging, all one way! Why, it must be quite close by him at that moment, his old home that he had hurriedly forsaken and never sought again, that day when he first found the river! And now it was sending out its scouts and its messengers to capture him and bring him in. Since his escape on that bright morning he had hardly given it a thought, so absorbed had he been in his new life, in all its pleasures, its surprises, its fresh and captivating experiences. Now, with a rush of old memories, how clearly it stood up before him, in the darkness! Shabby indeed, and small and poorly furnished, and yet his, the home he had made for himself, the home he had been so happy to get back to after his day's work. And the home had been happy with him, too, evidently, and was missing him, and wanted him back, and was telling him so, through his nose, sorrowfully, reproachfully, but with no bitterness or anger; only with plaintive reminder that it was there, and wanted him.

The call was clear, the summons was plain. He must obey it instantly, and go. `Ratty!' he called, full of joyful excitement, `hold on! Come back! I want you, quick!'

`Oh, COME along, Mole, do!' replied the Rat cheerfully, still plodding along.

`PLEASE stop, Ratty!' pleaded the poor Mole, in anguish of heart. `You don't understand! It's my home, my old home! I've just come across the smell of it, and it's close by here, really quite close. And I MUST go to it, I must, I must! Oh, come back, Ratty! Please, please come back!'

The Rat was by this time very far ahead, too far to hear clearly what the Mole was calling, too far to catch the sharp note of painful appeal in his voice. And he was much taken up with the weather, for he too could smell something--something suspiciously like approaching snow.

`Mole, we mustn't stop now, really!' he called back. `We'll come for it to-morrow, whatever it is you've found. But I daren't stop now--it's late, and the snow's coming on again, and I'm not sure of the way! And I want your nose, Mole, so come on quick, there's a good fellow!' And the Rat pressed forward on his way without waiting for an answer.

Poor Mole stood alone in the road, his heart torn asunder, and a big sob gathering, gathering, somewhere low down inside him, to leap up to the surface presently, he knew, in passionate escape. But even under such a test as this his loyalty to his friend stood firm. Never for a moment did he dream of abandoning him. Meanwhile, the wafts from his old home pleaded, whispered, conjured, and finally claimed him imperiously. He dared not tarry longer within their magic circle. With a wrench that tore his very heartstrings he set his face down the road and followed submissively in the track of the Rat, while faint, thin little smells, still dogging his retreating nose, reproached him for his new friendship and his callous forgetfulness.

With an effort he caught up to the unsuspecting Rat, who began chattering cheerfully about what they would do when they got back, and how jolly a fire of logs in the parlour would be, and what a supper he meant to eat; never noticing his companion's silence and distressful state of mind. At last, however, when they had gone some considerable way further, and were passing some tree-stumps at the edge of a copse that bordered the road, he stopped and said kindly, `Look here, Mole old chap, you seem dead tired. No talk left in you, and your feet dragging like lead. We'll sit down here for a minute and rest. The snow has held off so far, and the best part of our journey is over.'

The Mole subsided forlornly on a tree-stump and tried to control himself, for he felt it surely coming. The sob he had fought with so long refused to be beaten. Up and up, it forced its way to the air, and then another, and another, and others thick and fast; till poor Mole at last gave up the struggle, and cried freely and helplessly and openly, now that he knew it was all over and he had lost what he could hardly be said to have found.

The Rat, astonished and dismayed at the violence of Mole's paroxysm of grief, did not dare to speak for a while. At last he said, very quietly and sympathetically, `What is it, old fellow? Whatever can be the matter? Tell us your trouble, and let me see what I can do.'

Poor Mole found it difficult to get any words out between the upheavals of his chest that followed one upon another so quickly and held back speech and choked it as it came. `I know it's a-- shabby, dingy little place,' he sobbed forth at last, brokenly: `not like--your cosy quarters--or Toad's beautiful hall--or Badger's great house--but it was my own little home--and I was fond of it--and I went away and forgot all about it--and then I smelt it suddenly--on the road, when I called and you wouldn't listen, Rat--and everything came back to me with a rush--and I WANTED it!--O dear, O dear!--and when you WOULDN'T turn back, Ratty--and I had to leave it, though I was smelling it all the time--I thought my heart would break.--We might have just gone and had one look at it, Ratty--only one look--it was close by--but you wouldn't turn back, Ratty, you wouldn't turn back! O dear, O dear!'

Recollection brought fresh waves of sorrow, and sobs again took full charge of him, preventing further speech.

The Rat stared straight in front of him, saying nothing, only patting Mole gently on the shoulder. After a time he muttered gloomily, `I see it all now! What a PIG I have been! A pig-- that's me! Just a pig--a plain pig!'

He waited till Mole's sobs became gradually less stormy and more rhythmical; he waited till at last sniffs were frequent and sobs only intermittent. Then he rose from his seat, and, remarking carelessly, `Well, now we'd really better be getting on, old chap!' set off up the road again, over the toilsome way they had come.

`Wherever are you (hic) going to (hic), Ratty?' cried the tearful Mole, looking up in alarm.

`We're going to find that home of yours, old fellow,' replied the Rat pleasantly; `so you had better come along, for it will take some finding, and we shall want your nose.'

`Oh, come back, Ratty, do!' cried the Mole, getting up and hurrying after him. `It's no good, I tell you! It's too late, and too dark, and the place is too far off, and the snow's coming! And--and I never meant to let you know I was feeling that way about it--it was all an accident and a mistake! And think of River Bank, and your supper!'

`Hang River Bank, and supper too!' said the Rat heartily. `I tell you, I'm going to find this place now, if I stay out all night. So cheer up, old chap, and take my arm, and we'll very soon be back there again.'

Still snuffling, pleading, and reluctant, Mole suffered himself to be dragged back along the road by his imperious companion, who by a flow of cheerful talk and anecdote endeavoured to beguile his spirits back and make the weary way seem shorter. When at last it seemed to the Rat that they must be nearing that part of the road where the Mole had been `held up,' he said, `Now, no more talking. Business! Use your nose, and give your mind to it.'

They moved on in silence for some little way, when suddenly the Rat was conscious, through his arm that was linked in Mole's, of a faint sort of electric thrill that was passing down that animal's body. Instantly he disengaged himself, fell back a pace, and waited, all attention.

The signals were coming through!

Mole stood a moment rigid, while his uplifted nose, quivering slightly, felt the air.

Then a short, quick run forward--a fault--a check--a try back; and then a slow, steady, confident advance.

The Rat, much excited, kept close to his heels as the Mole, with something of the air of a sleep-walker, crossed a dry ditch, scrambled through a hedge, and nosed his way over a field open and trackless and bare in the faint starlight.

Suddenly, without giving warning, he dived; but the Rat was on the alert, and promptly followed him down the tunnel to which his unerring nose had faithfully led him.

It was close and airless, and the earthy smell was strong, and it seemed a long time to Rat ere the passage ended and he could stand erect and stretch and shake himself. The Mole struck a match, and by its light the Rat saw that they were standing in an open space, neatly swept and sanded underfoot, and directly facing them was Mole's little front door, with `Mole End' painted, in Gothic lettering, over the bell-pull at the side.

Mole reached down a lantern from a nail on the wail and lit it, and the Rat, looking round him, saw that they were in a sort of fore-court. A garden-seat stood on one side of the door, and on the other a roller; for the Mole, who was a tidy animal when at home, could not stand having his ground kicked up by other animals into little runs that ended in earth-heaps. On the walls hung wire baskets with ferns in them, alternating with brackets carrying plaster statuary--Garibaldi, and the infant Samuel, and Queen Victoria, and other heroes of modern Italy. Down on one side of the forecourt ran a skittle-alley, with benches along it and little wooden tables marked with rings that hinted at beer- mugs. In the middle was a small round pond containing gold-fish and surrounded by a cockle-shell border. Out of the centre of the pond rose a fanciful erection clothed in more cockle-shells and topped by a large silvered glass ball that reflected everything all wrong and had a very pleasing effect.

Mole's face-beamed at the sight of all these objects so dear to him, and he hurried Rat through the door, lit a lamp in the hall, and took one glance round his old home. He saw the dust lying thick on everything, saw the cheerless, deserted look of the long-neglected house, and its narrow, meagre dimensions, its worn and shabby contents--and collapsed again on a hall-chair, his nose to his paws. `O Ratty!' he cried dismally, `why ever did I do it? Why did I bring you to this poor, cold little place, on a night like this, when you might have been at River Bank by this time, toasting your toes before a blazing fire, with all your own nice things about you!'

The Rat paid no heed to his doleful self-reproaches. He was running here and there, opening doors, inspecting rooms and cupboards, and lighting lamps and candles and sticking them, up everywhere. `What a capital little house this is!' he called out cheerily. `So compact! So well planned! Everything here and everything in its place! We'll make a jolly night of it. The first thing we want is a good fire; I'll see to that--I always know where to find things. So this is the parlour? Splendid! Your own idea, those little sleeping-bunks in the wall? Capital! Now, I'll fetch the wood and the coals, and you get a duster, Mole--you'll find one in the drawer of the kitchen table--and try and smarten things up a bit. Bustle about, old chap!'

Encouraged by his inspiriting companion, the Mole roused himself and dusted and polished with energy and heartiness, while the Rat, running to and fro with armfuls of fuel, soon had a cheerful blaze roaring up the chimney. He hailed the Mole to come and warm himself; but Mole promptly had another fit of the blues, dropping down on a couch in dark despair and burying his face in his duster. `Rat,' he moaned, `how about your supper, you poor, cold, hungry, weary animal? I've nothing to give you--nothing-- not a crumb!'

`What a fellow you are for giving in!' said the Rat reproachfully. `Why, only just now I saw a sardine-opener on the kitchen dresser, quite distinctly; and everybody knows that means there are sardines about somewhere in the neighbourhood. Rouse yourself! pull yourself together, and come with me and forage.'

They went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every cupboard and turning out every drawer. The result was not so very depressing after all, though of course it might have been better; a tin of sardines--a box of captain's biscuits, nearly full--and a German sausage encased in silver paper.

`There's a banquet for you!' observed the Rat, as he arranged the table. `I know some animals who would give their ears to be sitting down to supper with us to-night!'

`No bread!' groaned the Mole dolorously; `no butter, no----'

`No pate de foie gras, no champagne!' continued the Rat, grinning. `And that reminds me--what's that little door at the end of the passage? Your cellar, of course! Every luxury in this house! Just you wait a minute.'

He made for the cellar-door, and presently reappeared, somewhat dusty, with a bottle of beer in each paw and another under each arm, `Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole,' he observed. `Deny yourself nothing. This is really the jolliest little place I ever was in. Now, wherever did you pick up those prints? Make the place look so home-like, they do. No wonder you're so fond of it, Mole. Tell us all about it, and how you came to make it what it is.'

Then, while the Rat busied himself fetching plates, and knives and forks, and mustard which he mixed in an egg-cup, the Mole, his bosom still heaving with the stress of his recent emotion, related--somewhat shyly at first, but with more freedom as he warmed to his subject--how this was planned, and how that was thought out, and how this was got through a windfall from an aunt, and that was a wonderful find and a bargain, and this other thing was bought out of laborious savings and a certain amount of `going without.' His spirits finally quite restored, he must needs go and caress his possessions, and take a lamp and show off their points to his visitor and expatiate on them, quite forgetful of the supper they both so much needed; Rat, who was desperately hungry but strove to conceal it, nodding seriously, examining with a puckered brow, and saying, `wonderful,' and `most remarkable,' at intervals, when the chance for an observation was given him.

At last the Rat succeeded in decoying him to the table, and had just got seriously to work with the sardine-opener when sounds were heard from the fore-court without--sounds like the scuffling of small feet in the gravel and a confused murmur of tiny voices, while broken sentences reached them--`Now, all in a line--hold the lantern up a bit, Tommy--clear your throats first--no coughing after I say one, two, three.--Where's young Bill?--Here, come on, do, we're all a-waiting----'

`What's up?' inquired the Rat, pausing in his labours.

`I think it must be the field-mice,' replied the Mole, with a touch of pride in his manner. `They go round carol-singing regularly at this time of the year. They're quite an institution in these parts. And they never pass me over--they come to Mole End last of all; and I used to give them hot drinks, and supper too sometimes, when I could afford it. It will be like old times to hear them again.'

`Let's have a look at them!' cried the Rat, jumping up and running to the door.

It was a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their eyes when they flung the door open. In the fore-court, lit by the dim rays of a horn lantern, some eight or ten little fieldmice stood in a semicircle, red worsted comforters round their throats, their fore-paws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for warmth. With bright beady eyes they glanced shyly at each other, sniggering a little, sniffing and applying coat- sleeves a good deal. As the door opened, one of the elder ones that carried the lantern was just saying, `Now then, one, two, three!' and forthwith their shrill little voices uprose on the air, singing one of the old-time carols that their forefathers composed in fields that were fallow and held by frost, or when snow-bound in chimney corners, and handed down to be sung in the miry street to lamp-lit windows at Yule-time.

CAROL

Villagers all, this frosty tide, Let your doors swing open wide, Though wind may follow, and snow beside,

Yet draw us in by your fire to bide; Joy shall be yours in the morning!

Here we stand in the cold and the sleet, Blowing fingers and stamping feet, Come from far away you to greet--

You by the fire and we in the street-- Bidding you joy in the morning!

For ere one half of the night was gone, Sudden a star has led us on, Raining bliss and benison-- Bliss to-morrow and more anon,

Joy for every morning!

Goodman Joseph toiled through the snow-- Saw the star o'er a stable low; Mary she might not further go-- Welcome thatch, and litter below!

Joy was hers in the morning!

And then they heard the angels tell `Who were the first to cry NOWELL? Animals all, as it befell, In the stable where they did dwell!

Joy shall be theirs in the morning!'

The voices ceased, the singers, bashful but smiling, exchanged sidelong glances, and silence succeeded--but for a moment only. Then, from up above and far away, down the tunnel they had so lately travelled was borne to their ears in a faint musical hum the sound of distant bells ringing a joyful and clangorous peal.

`Very well sung, boys!' cried the Rat heartily. `And now come along in, all of you, and warm yourselves by the fire, and have something hot!'

`Yes, come along, field-mice,' cried the Mole eagerly. `This is quite like old times! Shut the door after you. Pull up that settle to the fire. Now, you just wait a minute, while we--O, Ratty!' he cried in despair, plumping down on a seat, with tears impending. `Whatever are we doing? We've nothing to give them!'

`You leave all that to me,' said the masterful Rat. `Here, you with the lantern! Come over this way. I want to talk to you. Now, tell me, are there any shops open at this hour of the night?'

`Why, certainly, sir,' replied the field-mouse respectfully. `At this time of the year our shops keep open to all sorts of hours.'

`Then look here!' said the Rat. `You go off at once, you and your lantern, and you get me----'

Here much muttered conversation ensued, and the Mole only heard bits of it, such as--`Fresh, mind!--no, a pound of that will do-- see you get Buggins's, for I won't have any other--no, only the best--if you can't get it there, try somewhere else--yes, of course, home-made, no tinned stuff--well then, do the best you can!' Finally, there was a chink of coin passing from paw to paw, the field-mouse was provided with an ample basket for his purchases, and off he hurried, he and his lantern.

The rest of the field-mice, perched in a row on the settle, their small legs swinging, gave themselves up to enjoyment of the fire, and toasted their chilblains till they tingled; while the Mole, failing to draw them into easy conversation, plunged into family history and made each of them recite the names of his numerous brothers, who were too young, it appeared, to be allowed to go out a-carolling this year, but looked forward very shortly to winning the parental consent.

The Rat, meanwhile, was busy examining the label on one of the beer-bottles. `I perceive this to be Old Burton,' he remarked approvingly. `SENSIBLE Mole! The very thing! Now we shall be able to mull some ale! Get the things ready, Mole, while I draw the corks.'

It did not take long to prepare the brew and thrust the tin heater well into the red heart of the fire; and soon every field- mouse was sipping and coughing and choking (for a little mulled ale goes a long way) and wiping his eyes and laughing and forgetting he had ever been cold in all his life.

`They act plays too, these fellows,' the Mole explained to the Rat. `Make them up all by themselves, and act them afterwards. And very well they do it, too! They gave us a capital one last year, about a field-mouse who was captured at sea by a Barbary corsair, and made to row in a galley; and when he escaped and got home again, his lady-love had gone into a convent. Here, YOU! You were in it, I remember. Get up and recite a bit.'

The field-mouse addressed got up on his legs, giggled shyly, looked round the room, and remained absolutely tongue-tied. His comrades cheered him on, Mole coaxed and encouraged him, and the Rat went so far as to take him by the shoulders and shake him; but nothing could overcome his stage-fright. They were all busily engaged on him like watermen applying the Royal Humane Society's regulations to a case of long submersion, when the latch clicked, the door opened, and the field-mouse with the lantern reappeared, staggering under the weight of his basket.

There was no more talk of play-acting once the very real and solid contents of the basket had been tumbled out on the table. Under the generalship of Rat, everybody was set to do something or to fetch something. In a very few minutes supper was ready, and Mole, as he took the head of the table in a sort of a dream, saw a lately barren board set thick with savoury comforts; saw his little friends' faces brighten and beam as they fell to without delay; and then let himself loose--for he was famished indeed--on the provender so magically provided, thinking what a happy home-coming this had turned out, after all. As they ate, they talked of old times, and the field-mice gave him the local gossip up to date, and answered as well as they could the hundred questions he had to ask them. The Rat said little or nothing, only taking care that each guest had what he wanted, and plenty of it, and that Mole had no trouble or anxiety about anything.

They clattered off at last, very grateful and showering wishes of the season, with their jacket pockets stuffed with remembrances for the small brothers and sisters at home. When the door had closed on the last of them and the chink of the lanterns had died away, Mole and Rat kicked the fire up, drew their chairs in, brewed themselves a last nightcap of mulled ale, and discussed the events of the long day. At last the Rat, with a tremendous yawn, said, `Mole, old chap, I'm ready to drop. Sleepy is simply not the word. That your own bunk over on that side? Very well, then, I'll take this. What a ripping little house this is! Everything so handy!'

He clambered into his bunk and rolled himself well up in the blankets, and slumber gathered him forthwith, as a swathe of barley is folded into the arms of the reaping machine.

The weary Mole also was glad to turn in without delay, and soon had his head on his pillow, in great joy and contentment. But ere he closed his eyes he let them wander round his old room, mellow in the glow of the firelight that played or rested on familiar and friendly things which had long been unconsciously a part of him, and now smilingly received him back, without rancour. He was now in just the frame of mind that the tactful Rat had quietly worked to bring about in him. He saw clearly how plain and simple--how narrow, even--it all was; but clearly, too, how much it all meant to him, and the special value of some such anchorage in one's existence. He did not at all want to abandon the new life and its splendid spaces, to turn his back on sun and air and all they offered him and creep home and stay there; the upper world was all too strong, it called to him still, even down there, and he knew he must return to the larger stage. But it was good to think he had this to come back to; this place which was all his own, these things which were so glad to see him again and could always be counted upon for the same simple welcome.

#WindInTheWillows