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michaelbogild · 3 years

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Quotes by Lord Byron

Adversity is the first path to truth.

All farewells should be sudden, when forever.

All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin.

Always laugh when you can, it is cheap medicine.

And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.

And gave no outward signs of inward strife

And mind and dust- and passions and pure thoughts

And when we think we lead, we are most led

As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others.

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.

Being of no party, I shall offend all parties

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think

Come, lay thy head upon my breast and I'll kiss thee unto rest.

Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime, The image of Eternity, -- the throne Of the Invisible! even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

Eat, drink and love...the rest is not worth a nickel

Eternity forbids thee to forget.

Even innocence itself has many a wile, And will not dare to trust itself with truth, And love is taught hypocrisy from youth

For Earth is but a tombstone

For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest.

For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt.

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.

Had they been wisely mingled; as it is

Hath all the energy which would have made

he knew how to make madness beautiful

I am ashes where once I was fire...

I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil.

I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion.

I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.

I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, – and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, – thou livest forever!

I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.

I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.

I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.

I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learned the language of another world.

I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.

I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.

I suppose I had some meaning when I wrote it; I believe I understood it then.

In secret we met - In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears

In solitude, where we are least alone

In vain!—As fall the dews on quenchless sands, Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands!

It is an awful chaos-light and darkness-

Life's enchanted cup sparkles near the brim

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

Mix'd, and contending without end or order

My pang shall find a voice.

Oh too convincing - dangerously dear - In woman's eye the unanswerable tear

On with the dance! Let joy be undefined!

One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I’ll have a bit of a tussle before I let it get in again to that of any other

Opinions are made to be changed – or how is truth to be got at?

Prometheus-like from heaven she stole The fire that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll, From eyes that cannot hide their flashes: And as along her bosom steal In lengthened flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, And curled to give her neck caresses.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean - roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin - his control Stops with the shore

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes

Sigh to the stars, as wolves howl to the moon...

Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart still be as loving, And the moon still be as bright.

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

Start not—nor deem my spirit fled: In me behold the only skull From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull.

The best of prophets of the future is the past.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.

The dew of compassion is a tear

The drying up a single tear has more of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain

The great object of life is sensation—to feel that we exist, even though in pain. It is this ‘craving void’ which drives us to gaming—to battle—to travel—to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description, whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment..

The heart will break, but broken live on.

The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contained no tomb,— And glowing into day.

The power of thought is the magic of the mind.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

There are four questions of value in life... What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is same. Only love

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more

There is music in all things, if men had ears.

There is no instinct like that of the heart

There is the moral of all human tales: ’Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory - when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption - barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres.

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, he would have written sonnets all his life?

This should have been a noble creature: he

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.

Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come

To have joy, one must share it.

To him the magic of their mysteries; To him the book of Night was opened wide, And voices from the deep abyss revealed A marvel and a secret.

Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom.

We of the craft are all crazy. Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched.

Who knows whether, when a comet shall approach this globe to destroy it, as it often has been and will be destroyed, men will not tear rocks from their foundations by means of steam, and hurl mountains, as the giants are said to have done, against the flaming mass? - and then we shall have traditions of Titans again, and of wars with Heaven...

Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?

With just enough of learning to misquote.

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it

You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her. Never underestimate the power of love. The way to love anything is to realize it may be lost. The heart has its reasons that reason does not know at all. Music is love in search of a word. There is pleasure in the pathless woods; there is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society, where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar.

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“Having established friendship’s intimate links to proper womanhood, and having demarcated the unrequited passions, obsessive infatuations, and conjugal relationships often conflated with friendship, we can now turn to female friendship itself. What repertory of gestures, emotions, and actions defined friendship? How did women mark their friendships and how did friendships evolve? How did friendship interact with kinship and marital bonds, religious belief, and the Victorian gender system?

One of the most striking differences between Victorian and twentieth century friendship is how often Victorian friends used “love” interchangeably with weaker expressions, such as “fond of” or “like,” and how often women used the language of physical attraction to describe their feelings for women whom a larger context shows were friends, not lovers. In 1864, when Lady Knightley’s beloved cousin Edith died, the twenty three-year-old offset her grief with a romantic quotation: “And yet through all I feel sure / ‘Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all’” (71). A year later, Knightley rhapsodized that a new woman, also named Edith, “has come to bless my life. . . . I have grown to love Edie very dearly” (105–6).

…Lifewriting provides many instances of a woman recording her attraction to other women or boasting of being “intimate” with other women in youth and adulthood; Ann Gilbert recalled how as a girl, her sister became “by instantaneous attraction” another girl’s “bosom friend” (24, 78). In an 1881 memoir published in 1930, fifty-one-year old Augusta Becher recalled a youthful meeting with a young woman who “proved just charming—took me captive quite at once” and went to dinner wearing “lilies of the valley I had gathered for her in her hair” (37–38). Ethel Smyth’s autobiography discussed her own sexual affairs with women in coded terms but openly described how her mother and the children’s author Juliana Ewing “were attracted to each other at once and eventually became great friends” (68, 111).

Others wrote of loving (rather than liking) women; in 1837, Emily Shore (1819–1839) wrote of her friend Matilda Warren, “I love her more and more. . . . It is difficult to stop my pen when once I begin to write of her.” The two women argued fine points of religious doctrine but concluded “that, after all, we agreed in loving each other very dearly.” Addressing her friend Catherine Marsh in 1862, twenty years after they first met, a married woman wrote, “My Katie, you were mine in 1842, and you have been twenty times more mine every year since,” reveling in friendship as the proud possession of a beloved intimate (40).

Such expressions of love between friends, as we have seen, were perceived as fulfilling the social function of feminization that led Sarah Ellis to promote friendship alongside motherhood and marriage as one of the duties of women. In The Bonds of Womanhood, historian Nancy Cott influentially argues that in the United States, domestic ideology promoted friendship between women as one way of confining women to a female world and to female roles, even as female friendship also laid the foundations for a feminist movement that sought to open the male worlds of education and professional work to women.

But even women who were not active feminist reformers enjoyed the ways that friendships allowed them to go beyond the limits assigned to their gender without being perceived as mannish or unladylike. Friendship was both a technology of gender and an enactment of the play in the gender system. As friends, for example, women were able to exercise a prerogative otherwise associated with men: taking an active stance towards the object of their affections. In an 1880s memoir about the 1830s, Georgiana Sitwell, later Swinton (1823–1900), recalled a governess who “was romantic, worshipped the curate, and formed a passionate attachment to our newly imported French governess.”

…Counseled to be passive in relation to men, women were allowed to act with initiative and spontaneity toward female friends, and friendship enabled women to exercise powers of choice and expression that they could not display in relation to parents or prospective husbands. Bonds with parents and siblings were given, not chosen, and friendship was for many girls their first experience of an affinity elected rather than assigned. For women who grew up in families with over ten children, friendship was also a girl’s first experience of a dyad rather than a swarm.

While women had the power to turn down marriage offers and had subtle ways of attracting men they wanted as spouses, they were not allowed to choose a mate too overtly; only in Punch lampoons did women propose to men, and it was considered equally improper for women openly to initiate courtship. It was perfectly acceptable, however, for a woman to make the first move toward friendship with another woman, or to solidify amity by writing to a female acquaintance, calling on her, or giving her a gift. Aristocratic women had exchanged gifts, miniatures, and poems for centuries, and in the Victorian era the practice became widespread among middle-class women of all ages.

One of adolescent Emily Shore’s several intimates, Elizabeth, gave her a “chain made of her beautiful rich brown hair” before leaving England, which Shore considered a token of her friend’s affection and looked forward to displaying as a sign of social distinction: “I have generally worn a pretty little chain of bought hair, and when people have asked me ‘whose hair is that?’ I have been mortified at being obliged to answer ‘Nobody’s.’ Now, when asked the same question, I shall be able to say it is the hair of my best and dearest friend” (269).

Mature women painted portraits of friends and composed poems about them that they then bestowed as gifts, creating a friendship economy based on artifacts whose praise of a friend’s beauty, loyalty, and achievements also implicitly lauded their maker for having chosen so wisely. Female friendship allowed middle-class women to enjoy another privilege that scholars have assumed only men could indulge—the opportunity to display affection and experience pleasurable physical contact outside marriage without any loss of respectability.

Women who were friends, not lovers, wrote openly of exchanging kisses and caresses in documents that their spouses and relatives read without comment. Women regularly kissed each other on the lips, a gesture that could be a routine social greeting or provide intense enjoyment. Emily Shore, whose Bedfordshire Anglican family was so proper they did not allow her to read Byron, described in a diary later published by her sisters the “heartfelt pleasure” she obtained from a visit to her friend Miss Warren’s room: “She was sitting up in bed, looking so sweet and lovely that I could not take my eyes off her. . . . She made me sit on her bed, and kissed me many times, and was kinder to me than ever [and] held my hand clasped in hers” (203).

Female amity gave married and unmarried women the opportunity to play the social field with impunity, since a woman could show devoted love, lighthearted affection, fleeting attraction, and ardent physical appreciation for multiple female friends without incurring rebuke. The editor of Emily Shore’s journals noted that when Shore wrote of loving Matilda Warren her diary was also “filled most especially with her passionate love” for a woman named Mary (207). Thomas Carlyle wrote indulgently about Geraldine Jewsbury’s affection for his wife Jane as well as about “a very pretty . . . specimen of the London maiden of the middle classes” who “felt quite captivated with my Jane.”

Marion Bradley, wife and mother, wrote of her deep bond with Emily Tennyson and in an 1865 diary entry observed more casually that her new governess was “a gentle, lively, wise, cultivated little creature. . . . I love her and hope always to be very thoughtful for her and good to her.” Equal latitude was afforded to unmarried women. The biography of Agnes Jones (1832–1868), written by her sister and published in 1871, narrated her life in terms of two arcs: achievements as a nurse and love for various women. In adolescence, her sister’s “ardent affectionate nature was drawn out in warmest love” for a teacher, followed by an “attachment” to a fellow missionary that “ripened into a warm and lasting friendship” as well as a close connection with another “devoted friend” (15, 21).

In an era that saw no contest between what we now call heterosexual and homosexual desire, neither men nor women saw anything disruptive about amorous badinage between women, and therefore no effort was made to contain and denigrate female homoeroticism as an immature stage to be overcome. Only in the late 1930s, after fear of female inverts had become widespread, did women’s lifewritings start to describe female friendship as a developmental phase to be effaced by marriage. Since then, erotic playfulness between women has either been overinterpreted as having the same seriousness as sexual acts or underinterpreted and trivialized as a phase significant only as training for heterosexual courtship.

…Victorian society harshly condemned adultery, castigated female heterosexual agency as unladylike, and considered it improper for women to compete with men intellectually, professionally, or physically. But a woman could enjoy, without guilt, the pleasures of toying with another woman’s affections or vying with other women for precedence as a friend. In maturity as in youth, women delighted in attracting and securing female friends whom they often singled out for being beautiful and socially in demand. In a letter to her brother in 1817, the unmarried Catherine Hutton of Birmingham (1756–1846) boasted, “I have been a great favourite with a most elegant and clever woman.”

To a married female friend who often gave her fashion advice she wrote of acquiring yet another “new” friend: “[S]he is beautiful, unaffected, and to me most friendly.” Female rivalry over men was discouraged because it implied that women fought for and won their husbands, but women were allowed the agency of competing for one another’s favor. Lady Monkswell crowed about having “supplanted” one woman as the “great friend” of Mrs. Edith Bland, and the relative who edited her published letters and diaries included many other instances in which she bragged of similar successes (12).

Such relish in contending with women over women was possible without any loss of ascribed femininity, even as it took women well beyond the parameters of womanhood as defined relative to men. Just as women boasted of making conquests of female friends, they also openly appreciated each other’s physical charms. Women commented compulsively in their journals and letters on the appearance of every new woman they met, even when they did not know the woman personally.

Adrienne Rich has influentially argued that “compulsory heterosexuality” works by stifling all kinds of bonds between women, from the homosocial to the homosexual, but Victorian society’s investment in heterosexuality went hand-in-hand with what we could call compulsory homosociability and homoeroticism for women. The imperative to please men required women to scrutinize other women’s dress and appearance in order to improve their own, and at the same time promoted a specifically feminine appetite for attractive friends and lovely strangers. Conduct literature praised female friendships for developing in women the loyalty, selflessness, empathy, and self-effacement that they were required to exercise in relation to men.

Women’s lifewriting shows an acceptance of that idealized and ideological version of female friendship; few women left records of conflict or rivalry with friends, though some acknowledged engaging in jealous competition with relative strangers over prized acquaintances and intimates. At the same time, friendship provided a realm where women exercised an authority, agency, willfulness, and caprice for which they would have been censured in the universe of male-female relations. Female friendship provided women with a sanctioned realm of erotic choice, agency, and indulgence, in contrast to the sharp restrictions that middle-class gender codes placed on female flirtation with men.

A woman who wrote of spending time alone with a man in his bedroom or giving him a lock of hair without being engaged to him would have transgressed the rules governing heterosexual gender, but to write of doing so with another woman was to describe an accepted means of forming social bonds and acquiring social status in the realm of homosocial gender. The celebration of women’s friendships shows that femininity was defined not only in relation to masculinity but also through bonds between women that did not simply tether them to the gender system but also afforded them a degree of play within it.”

- Sharon Marcus, “The Play of the System.” in Between Women: Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England

#sharon marcus #between women #victorian #history #gender #sexuality

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chiseler · 4 years

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TWO NEW FILMS

Viewed by Henri Duvernois

Le Bataillon des sans-amour [Battalion of the Unloved]

(The Mayor of Hell)

I was greatly moved by this film. The dreadful existence of some delinquent children, I believe, can never be shown enough. And it is not blindly optimistic to declare most of them capable of reform. During my research for a novel, I discussed this subject with the man most qualified to do so, the head of instruction at the Petite Roquette [a Paris prison for boys 7-20]. He told me flat out:

“Eight out of ten, at least, if they are treated kindly, intelligently, gently, are capable of becoming splendid fellows. And I myself would not hesitate to have them associate with my own children. If you write a book on this subject, your surest inspiration will be pity.”

He told me this at a time when France did not yet have a juvenile court, and where judges, broken-hearted—more than once I saw tears in their eyes—were obliged to condemn a poor tubercular starveling of twelve, guilty only of vagrancy and not the slightest crime.

The effect of these films on the public is healthy. There are still too many martyred children—as recent news items show—but there are, above all, unrecognized, too many unfortunate children. Their sad stories do not always end in suicide, like the poor little Rozentweig child, victim of brutish imbeciles [a minor cause célèbre of 1933: Sonia Rozensweig, 13, a refugee Polish Jew, drowned herself after an encounter involving herself, a 7-year-old brother or cousin, and a local shopkeeper, which ended in the police station; leftwing and rightwing papers gave widely divergent accounts of the affair], or the baby slowly tortured by an appalling stepmother. Children are beaten. Children are, morally, abandoned. I was struck by these lines, during the courtroom scene of the film: “I’m sick of supporting him!” says one father, to which the boy replies, “When did you ever support me?”

The battalion of the unloved, then, is made up of young vagabonds left to the streets by the carelessness or poverty of their parents. A director may, through his careful reproduction of life, make a work of art at art’s finest: the sensitive transposition of truth. So it is here. The actors are between twelve and fifteen years old. Each, by his physical appearance, voice, costume, is a chapter of a novel. Here is the snitch, the traitor, who steals and pillages but can and will sell out his comrades. Here is the leader, quick to deal out chastisement, bolder and more energetic than the others, more dangerous too, in whose generous nature his good and bad instincts are at war. A kind word, a caress may save him. But one must divine his heart and pierce his tough shell to reach it. There is the hate-filled one, who would love with the same fervor if he were given the chance; the fat kid, greedy and lazy; the pickaninny who follows the gang because he’s hungry; the sickly boy who wants to have a little fun before he dies.

The whole gang is condemned to reform school. The latter is directed by one Thompson, whom the film’s authors have perhaps made too starkly a villain. There are (and, above all, there have been) a good many of these civil servants who, without being monsters of cruelty like Thompson, even while undeviatingly pursuing their duty—what they believe is their duty—have produced equally deplorable results.

But there must be a counterforce: Dorothy, the reform school’s nurse. She is not satisfied merely to take care of the boys when they are ill. She wants them to be better treated and better fed. Her smile and her blondeness perform the miracle. An inspector is named, an insouciant young man placed there by crooked politicians. For love of Dorothy, he no longer smiles and approves. He furloughs the savage director and takes his place. Surprise! The mess hall’s foul gruel is replaced by bacon and eggs and cream cakes. The boys are made responsible for organizing themselves; they name one judge, another chief of police, etc. There is laughter and song in what once was hell. But the director returns. By a rather too neat coincidence, Gargan, the inspector, is charged with murder. The other triumphs. Once again the school is a prison. A little TB case, confined to an icy cell, dies of cold. The boys revolt, a torch-bearing mob. Terrified, the director jumps off a roof and falls to his death. Gargan, found innocent, returns. Order is restored and Gargan will marry Dorothy.

The film is full of exquisite details. One, especially poignant, bowled me over. This was not the death of the little TB case, admirably handled though it was. It was the moment when Jimmy, the gang leader, while being upbraided, takes a sheet of paper and a pencil and, in a few strokes, makes a lovely sketch. If someone takes an interest in him, flatters him with a few compliments, he might become a great artist. If he is treated roughly, he will surely become a criminal… The agonizing question of vocation is raised here. And a detail like this honors and illuminates a film.

This film is marvelously interpreted by the boys, headed by Frankie Darrow as Jimmy, very well by Madge Evans and James Cagney as the nurse and the inspector, and with great sensitivity by Arthur Byron as the kindly judge.

La Porte des rêves [The Door of Dreams]

(The Keyhole)

The Keyhole tells the story of the beautiful Anne, wife of Maurice, her former partner in a dance act. Believing herself divorced, she has married a rich older man, Schuyler Brooks. But the divorce was not finalized. Maurice takes advantage of the situation, blackmailing his ex-wife by threatening to reveal the truth. He makes her meet with him, extorts large sums, tears her jewels from her.

Terrified, Anne asks her own sister-in-law for help. Maurice must be gotten out of New York. He is a foreigner; they will arrange that his return visa be refused. Anne claims she is going to Cuba. Maurice will follow her there and she will be rid of him.

Brooks thinks she is traveling because she is weary of her luxurious but dull conjugal existence and seeks an adventure. He hires a handsome private detective, Davis, to seduce her and become her lover. When he has done so, he is to telephone the husband, who will fly to Cuba and take the couple in flagrante. But Anne falls truly in love with the detective, and he falls in love with her. He saves her from an ambush arranged by Maurice. When Brooks, alerted by his sister, arrives to take Anne back, the ex-husband flees, falls off a balcony, and is killed. Brooks opens the door. Anne is in Davis’s arms, passionately kissing him. The jealous husband has gotten what he paid for…

Of course, any plot summary is derisive for a film of this type, whose worth lies in its dramatic sweep and the talent of its interpreters. The action is here only to serve the actors and give a pretext for ingenious images, marvelously coordinated. There is no question of psychology. In any event, to disarm criticism, the actors in The Keyhole make the heroine a former dancer, accustomed to a certain liberty and who may thus, over the course of a cruise, swayed by sweet music, the sea, and the starry sky, let herself be beguiled by a mere detective, private though he be.

But what delighted me and must be set apart is, in the role of Dot, a little blonde tart, the charming Glenda Farrell. We have already seen her in certain supporting roles where she struck us by her intelligence and acuteness of observation. Glenda Farrell belongs to that small number of actresses who produce true literary creations, through the amused tenderness with which they realize a character who would be, with another, insignificant and purposeless. She was from head to toe the cruise ship charmer who shares her takings with the barman, chooses lonely and naïve men, and drops them when she sees that the game is not worth the candle. More and more, talking pictures will use and showcase talents of this sort. And it is among them that directors must seek future stars, rather than among the immobile beauties, vamps or victims, inherited from the late silent cinema.

Such a reproach is not addressed to Kay Francis, who has magnetism and authority and, above all, that invaluable advantage for a cinema artist: a ravishing and sensitive shape to the mouth. I do not have the space here to develop this argument, but the mouth is of capital importance in film—more so even than the eyes—and not for the final kiss alone. Smile, emotion, irony, fear, radiant youth and sudden aging, it expresses everything. Take, for example, in France, the mouth of Gaby Morlay and, in America, that of Irene Dunne. If so many actresses disappoint us with their monotony, it is above all because nature has refused them this power of expression.

Henry Kolker has naturalness and ease. He establishes the character of a deceived husband and saves it from convention. Finally, the rhythm of the film is excellent and its technique fully mastered, meaning that it does not intrude and serves the story without overwhelming it.

Translated by Phoebe Green

First published in Pour Vous magazine

NUMERO. 259

2 NOV. 1933

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harryff · 7 years

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CEO: The Merge Part 1

CEO Harry.

The Merge the plague in your marriage. It was the reason you and Harry were at each other’s throats the reason you walked in almost naked that day the reason you slept alone most nights. You two were supposed to be happy a newly married young couple approaching your second year of marriage but this merge was creating a rift between you two.

You hear the door slam you take a deep breath he is home; he must have left work early because he was livid and needed space

“ ‘M not staying if they go through with this ‘m’fuckin quitting not gonna bloody drag me or my name into that shit hole mum!” you hear him sigh aggressively “I kno’ I kno’ I’m trying I worked too hard ‘s’not fair I kno’ yes mum alright bye love yeh talk to yeh later”

You knew all too well what was happening Pandemonium Records wanted to merge with Harry’s company, and because they had more artists it was going to dethrone Harry from his position as CEO. Pandemonium Records CEO Byron Paton was a real prick always commenting on Harry’s ‘new’ money compared to his ‘old’ money. The merge meant that Harry would be demoted to be director of something you weren’t sure what at the moment. Harry was fighting with all he had but ‘they’, the board of directors insisted on the merge which meant all of his new artists would suffer and half of his staff laid off.

You hear the bedroom door open and you play dead you don’t want to argue you’re just glad his home. You hear him huffing and puffing removing his clothes “bloody shoes” he grumbles before you hear them thud against the floor. It’s quiet, you hear the water run in the shower, you slowly drift away to sleep.

You’re awaken by Harry pulling you making you lie on your back

You squeal

“Sorry” you hear him mumble before he bends down and kisses you. He’s sloppy uncoordinated, rough like he hasn’t done it in awhile, which he hasn't, you grab on to his face and take control he moans into you his hands roam your body as much as you missed his touch this is becoming unbearable.

You pull away “Harry” you say scooting towards the night stand as he attacks your neck. “Harry stop!” you demand turning on the lamp

His eyes are puffy you can’t tell if he’s been crying or its lack of sleep

“Harry” you say softly caressing his face

“Don’ want to talk about it” you shut him down

You nod and pull him back down to kiss you. He’s still uncoordinated trying to remove your night clothes

“Harry!” you huff “let me do it” you complain

As much as you want him there he isn’t there you shake out of your night clothes and your hand snakes down to his cock

He whimpers into the kiss he pulls away and he continues sucking on your neck. He hisses as your grip tightens around him “oh fuck” he whispers against your neck you kiss his shoulder scooting down getting on the perfect position for him to slid in. He resumes kissing you and his aggressive its when you have an epiphany

You pull away trying to catch your breath “Harry!”

“Need to be inside yeh” he says grabbing his bulge

“No Harry stop” you stop him as his tip is in your entrance

“Wha’?” he looks bewildered

You breath heavily “you own Styles Entertainment.”

He’s confused

“If you leave you can take your name!”

“What?” he’s still confused

“You own Styles Entertainment the name is trademarked you own it!” you smile.

You see him thinking spinning “so if I leave….”

“They have to find another name they can’t use the Styles in Pandemonium Styles and you can start another company right?”

“RIGHT!” his face brightens “I fuckin luv yeh” he bends down to kiss you before hopping out of the bed.

“No wait!” you were ready for him

“Not now petal later I promise” he says grabbing his phone

You roll your eyes and plop back in bed. When you wake up you turn to your side the bed remains made up which means Harry either went back to the office or was in the study and as you walked around his keys were gone so that means he was in the office.

~~~~

A week later and you haven’t seen him at all so you do your wife duties you make lunch and dinner since you know he won’t be home. You’re greeted by staff once more before you enter his office

“Oh Mrs. Y/L/N” Alicia greets you

“It’s Mrs. Styles to you” you correct her

“Oh Harry”

“You mean Mr.Styles”

“He told me I could call him Harry.” She says with a slight attitude

“And I’m telling you to call him Mr. Styles”

“Anyway I thought you didn’t change your last name”

“I didn’t doesn’t mean you don’t address me appropriately”

“Oh sorry” she says flatly

“Where’s my husband?” you look around his office a few things had changed

“Meeting” she says grabbing paperwork from his desk

“Ok could you please make sure this" you tap on the lunch bag "gets to him” you decide to kill her with kindness

“Yes ma'am”

“He needs to eat” you smile at her

“I make sure he does every night” she gives you this look that makes it seem like she’s implying something else.

“Mmmm” you draw your lips in

The door swings open and Harry walks in “Pet! you’re here!”

“Hi” you say dryly

“Wha’ brings yeh around?”

You hold up the lunch bag “Lunch and dinner” you grab your purse he looks between you two “going back to work” you mumble

“No wait! Alicia”

She nods and walks away

“Wha’s wrong?” he makes you face him

You sigh deeply “I hope whatever you’re working on is worth not coming home”

He feels the ache in his heart.

“I gotta go” you whisper

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next week the news of the merge is released and the launch party is that weekend. It’s an obligation for you to show up you don’t want to not like Harry would notice he left you at home to arrive on your own and as predicted Alicia is right there next to him looking doe-eyed bushy tailed eager to please

“Oh god” you say in disgust once you spot them. You make your way to the bar you know a few people from Pandemonium and not that many people from Harry’s company are there. You down your first drink in seconds but pace the second.

“Hello there beautiful!”

You turn to face Byron Paton. You try to not contort your face in disgust “Hi Mr.Paton!”

“Oh you know me!?”

“Yes” you offer a tight lip smile

He smirks “did you come alone?”

“No I’m here with my husband Harry” you motion to him

“Oh you’re the wife he barely talks about you! I wonder why? you’re beautiful!” he comments

You nod “Thank you, where’s your wife?”

“Oh Cindy right there!” he points to her “we came together unlike your husband who arrived with Ashley? Whats her name again? Oh Alicia!”

You sigh “I was busy” you lie

“It’s ok beautiful there’s plenty of men who would gladly take his place” he looks you over making you feel uncomfortable

“Don’t want anyone else”

“Shame I have to run let’s chat later” he kisses your cheek

You nod and down some more drinks

You had texted Harry when you arrived informing him of arrival and now watching him check his phone yet ignore you made you upset. You try to mingle, try to charm your way around the room but you’re off your game. You’re mind is preoccupied with Harry and a combination of stress and sadness you can’t quite hide your emotions. The alcohol really isn’t helping you do so either, so you stop drinking. Harry’s still working the room and by the looks of it people are liking him. You smile when you see him smile a natural reaction of yours.

You stand to the side and people watch try to kill time and giggle at a few drunks.

“Still won’t take me up on my offer?” Byron snaps you out of your thoughts

“What offer?”

“Other men will gladly take his place”

You’re irritated “I’m no mistress”

“Didn’t say you were, could be a wife as good as you look”

You sigh “Mr.Paton why don’t you go love on your wife”

“Could be ex. You’ll have the world at your fingertips”

“Don’t want the world Byron” you say frustrated

He moves closer and growls softly “love how you say my name”

“Ok I’m going”

He stops you “No don’t i’m sorry, I’m sorry, you look wonderful can’t help myself.”

You’re both silent looking around playing coy “Anyway your husband will do great in this merge”

You smile looking at Harry “Yes he will extremely talented”

“Obviously one of the reasons I wanted to merge” You nod “We are hoping to triple our revenue with this new direction”

“Thats a huge target” you comment

“Your husband will get us there”

“Yea which by the way why isn’t he the CEO?”

“You must not know your place sweetheart,” you raise your brow “thats matters will not discuss with you. Besides I’m CEO can’t have two can we?”

“He can be CFO” you challenge

His jaw clenches “No we need him to be Director of Entertainment”

You try to calm your temper and look around

“But enough about us boys. Tell me what do you do you’re a mystery, you’re husband never speaks of you almost like you don’t exist” he smirks and dropping his voice by the end of the sentence, moving closer to you and placing his hand on your lower back

You step away “I work in research” you speak softly those words hurt

“Oh pharmaceutical?”

“Yes”

He chuckles “you know what they say about you guys”

“Yea” you roll your eyes

“Why aren’t you at home? being a housewife Too pretty to be working darling” he grabs your hand “with me you would never have to lift a finger”

You pull your hand away “ Please stop!” you move away making sure your at arms distance away from him “plus that’s not a lifestyle for me”

“Shame you look like a good fuck toy” he bites his lip and glances over your body

You had enough “Good night Byron” you begin to walk away

“No no wait” he tries to grab your arm but you’re quicker

You try to hide by sitting in chairs along the back which were hidden overlooking the Chicago skyline

You’re startled by Harry “Why the fuck re’yeh talking to Byron about me being CEO!?” he snaps at you

“I was just asking” you cower away

“Fuckin told yeh not to mention anything! we’re going home!” he yanks you up by the arm

“Ow Harry!” you complain

He grabs your hand and almost drags you around as he says his goodbyes “missus had too much to drink” his excuse as you stand looking at the ground embarrassed

“Oh no where are you two off to?” Byron asks

“She had too much to drink” Harry speaks flatly

“Awww light weight? Well thank you for coming Y/N sorry sorry" he chuckles "Mrs.Styles”

“Play nice Byron” Cindy comments

He chuckles some more grabbing your free hand bringing it to his mouth placing a soft kiss on it. Harry’s grip on your other hand tightens “lovely young lady. Harry see you later”

“Yea bye Cindy always a pleasure” He pecks her cheek

You both walk away Harry’s grip on your hand is still taught. You can’t keep up and he’s not slowing down at all so when you almost trip all he does is jerk you towards him.

“Oww! Harry! Damn it stop manhandling me! I’m not a damn rag doll!” you yank your hand away rubbing where his grip was

He chuckles and continues to walk away from you. He only got like this when he was enraged. He gets in the car and waits for you to enter.

“So ‘re yeh gonna tell me why yeh couldn’t keep your mouth shut?” he begins as he drives you home

“I was just asking you don’t tell me anything any more” you try to explain yourself

“I don’ have to tell yeh anything!”

You remain silent

He slams his hand in the steering wheel scaring you for the second time tonight “I told yeh not to say anything! Yeh just made shit worse!”

“I’m sorry” you mumble

There’s no more conversation between you two the rest of the way home. When you arrive you’re not in for 2 minutes when he starts again.

“And why the fuck were yeh flirting with him?!”

“Are you kidding me? I wasn’t!” you remove your coat walking away from him

“He told me yeh were! tha’s why yeh were around him majority of the night?!”

You roll your eyes “Are you listening to yourself right now? You believe that dick over your own wife?”

“If my wife knew her place non o….”

You spin around and cut him off “Excuse me?! KNEW my place so enlighten me wheres my place? HUH?! At home being your trophy wife while you fuck your assistant?!”

“Oh please don’t make this about me! I don’t want her yeh know that!”

“Do I? Do I truly know that?”

“ ’M not having this argument.” he points at you “yeh fucked up”

“How can you be mad at me? What have I done? You let your assistant practically be all over you and look like she’s your mistress! While I look like your estranged wife!”

“Stop making this about her! Alicia knows I’m married”

“I know she knows it’s the reason she’s all over you.“

You both stand in the middle of the living room remaining silent trying to calm down, but your temper won’t calm down

“You didn’t even come check on me I’m your wife not your girlfriend not your fiancé your wife I should come before anyone! Remember what you said to me? Your vows?!”

He remained silent still glaring at you

“You have Byron pointing out how you showed up with her yet I fucked up? You left me so I arrive to the party alone yet I fucked up?” he looked at you with his infamous blank stare as if all that you were saying was just bullshit

“Fine! You wanna believe Byron fine! Go ahead and disregard the fact that you ignored me all night. Go ahead and disregard the fact that you don’t mention me to anyone so I truly am the estranged wife! You want Alicia to be your wife fine! While you’re at it make sure you thank Byron for making me uncomfortable all night. At least he acknowledged me in his own fucked up way. Thank him for telling me I’m nothing but a fuck toy!”

His glares at you “When did he say that?!”

You sigh feeling defeated, the tears start to build up, you bring your hands to your face rubbing your temple a migraine beginning to form

“Y/N when did he say that?” he grits through his teeth

You speak softly “It doesn’t matter you don’t believe me anyway.” your voice cracks “If you don’t want me anymore Harry just tell me.”

You walk away from him this is the peak of all the stress both of you were under. You couldn’t keep up with the fighting. Two times sometimes more in a week. It’s emotionally and mentally draining to stay mad at him while you try to support him. You hear the front door close and your body relaxes, you feel guilty for being glad that your husband isn’t around it should never be this way no matter how angry you were at each other. The next day you wake up when you turn to your side Harry’s in bed you were both on extreme sides of your mattress avoiding the middle like it was riddled with sharp thorns. You were going to clear your mind which meant a day at the park or aquarium walking idly around Chicago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Monday arrives you wake up before Harry and prepare for the day.

“Mornin’” he mumbles when he walks into the kitchen grabbing his cup of coffee

“Good morning” you look up at him briefly “breakfast” you place his plate of fruit and egg whites in front of him before you leave

There’s nothing but sadness in your eyes puffy and sleep deprived. It hurts Harry to see you like this.

He tries his best to stay focused at work, but he can’t. Not when his mind replays months of arguments over and over again always emphasizing your argument a few nights ago, he can’t forget what you said to him. It’s the reason he feels himself getting angrier with each word that Byron speaks.

He stays late his hoping you’ll be home by the time he arrives but the house is cold and void of any sound when he walks in he sighs.

He waits for Anne to pick up “Hey mom”

“Hazza!”

He chuckles lightly

“Are you alright? Whats wrong my baby boy?”

He sighs “I fucked up”

“Oh no what did yeh do?”

“It’s been happening for the past few months.”

“What’s been happening?”

“Pet and I have been arguing non stop s’cuz of the bloody merge been causing so many issues between Y/N ‘nd me”

“Oh how is she?”

“Not good I’m to blame”

“Well wha’ re yeh going to do?”

“I have to leave already talked to my lawyers they said it would take some time to get my name back bu….”

“Are yeh sure this is the right move?”

“This isn’t what I wanted to begin with. The board didn’t listen to me destroyed my vision, my dreams re gone”

“Do what yeh love hazza” she speaks softly

“Do what I love” he repeats

“Yes I luv yeh we luv yeh we support yeh 100% all the time”

He sighs “I don’t want my marriage to fail cuz of this.”

“Then don’t let it! Yeh love her yeh fix it. Fix your wrong doings”

“I kno’ I kno’”

You arrive a few hours later, Harry stayed awake waiting for you

“Hey” you whisper as you walk into the bedroom

“Hey” he smiles at you hoping for a smile back

You say nothing but head to the bathroom. You try to control your emotions but in the shower is when you finally release all that you bottled up during the day. When you’re done he sees your puffy eyes and pink nose, and when you walk closer he notices the bruise on your arm. He realizes it’s him that caused it the night of the party. He feels his heart ache with more pain.

“Good night” you say laying down.

“Hoping we could talk” he says leaning towards you

“Can we talk tomorrow?” you ask

He nods and reaches over you to turn off your night lamp “I love yeh, so much” he whispers before kissing your cheek

You squeeze your eyes trying not to cry again.

The next morning you leave before Harry can comprehend that it’s morning. You don’t want to talk you didn’t have the energy for another argument.

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ohtomatotome · 6 years

Text

These are a few of my favorite things

I am preparing to grieve the loss of two elderly people who are very close to me.

I wondered what it would be like to have a few of my favorite otome suitors trying to comfort me as I wept.

I was slightly surprised at who my heart was telling me to stay. Poor Makoto. I didn’t 100% expect Robert or Al, but now I know they belonged there. Kind Mitsunari’s presence just made sense. Of course I knew Sasuke would be there, without a doubt.

I stood alone on a featureless plane. Sadness weighed heavy on my heart. I was soon going to lose two important people in my life. My throat clenched, dry and tight, as a soundless sob choked its way out of my chest. My eyes, already red and puffy from hours of crying, stung once more with fresh tears as memories of these two wonderful people swam to my consciousness.

I had had enough enough of sobbing alone. I wanted a hug. I wanted to be held and soothed. I wanted comfort.

Every suitor from Midnight Cinderella and Ikemen Sengoku slowly took form in front of my swollen eyes. There was even some characters from other games I play, such as Rei from Several Shades of Sadism, Takasugi from Destined to Love, and Makoto from Decoding Desire.

A nervous giggle escaped me as I mentally shook my head at my overactive imagination. No, no. This was NOT going to turn into a smut fic. LOL

There were so many of them. Only half of them looked as if they actually wanted to be there.

A doorway materialized on the plane. I nodded politely to the most obvious ones who needed to leave. Out walked Alyn, Yukimura, Nico, Hideyoshi, Louis, Masamune, Byron, Ieyasu, Leo, Kenshin, Kennyo, Mitsuhide, Rayvis, Takasugi, and Rei. “No offense, boys.” I thought to them kindly. The door closed behind them

The remaining men looked at me expectantly.

Sid was the first to speak up. “Eh, what she usually wants from me ain’t comfort, I’ll tell ya that.” He looked at me with tenderness and understanding. “I’m not worried, princess. I know yer in good hands. I want ya to feel better. These fellas are pretty good at that. Well -- “ He shot a warning glance at Nobunaga and Giles, and raised an incredulous eyebrow at Makoto. “-- Most of ‘em are, anyway.”

He opened the door and walked out, leaving it open for more to follow as if a hint to the others.

Giving a disgruntled “Hrmph” and coming close to me, Nobunaga said in a low rumble so only I could hear, “In order for me to comfort you, I would need further explanation to understand what you need. This … soothing you require is too new to me. Only recently have I learned how to please you, tease you, get you to laugh, and make you cry out in delight. I have never once had to stop your cries of distress or tears of sadness. You seem in need of ... immediate relief. This I cannot give.” His proud eyes were washed over with a look of regret and pain for a moment before placing his hands on either side of my head and bending down to kiss the top of my hair gently. It was the most gentle kiss I had ever received from that man. It made my tears flow harder. For the briefest instant, he looked uncomfortable and out of his element. He turned and swept out of the room before he exhibited any further unfamiliar and weak emotions.

Giles cleared his throat. “Farewell, your highness.” He bowed gracefully and walked towards the door. He turned back and gave me an achingly sweet smile. “I am aware that I am not the best man for the task at hand. It grieves me to leave, but it would pain me further to stay and watch another man comfort you.” With that, he left the room.

Makoto had his arms folded and I could see his knuckles had turned white from gripping his lab coat sleeves so tightly. He stared hard at the floor while he stammered, “I d-d-don’t want to leave, ______. B-b-but I have no way to c-c-comfort you that isn’t selfish f-f-feeling. That’s not what you need right now. I d-d-don’t want to see you hurt …. but I c-c-can’t make you f-f-feel b-b-better, either. You d-d-don’t like it when I’m ... jealous ... and I d-d-don’t want to give you any other reason to be s-s-sad or angry. So I’ll leave. Unless … you want me to s-s-stay, ______.” He dropped his arms to his sides, turned towards the door and slowly walked away.

I sighed and called out to him, “Makoto. You don’t have to leave. Your hugs do make me feel better. I promise you that I like them as much as you do. But if you feel like you’d be uncomfortable or awkward, then don’t force yourself to stay. I’ll still love you no matter what.”

Makoto turned back to look at me, his eyes shining bright through that unruly mop of hair. “Really? You’d s-s-still love me after b-b-being with these … “ His gaze swept the room, taking in the four gorgeous men. I could tell he was comparing himself to them and felt he didn’t measure up. “... these g-g-guys?” He gave me a sad smile. “I’ll c-c-come ch-ch-check on you later. When you’re alone. I love you, ______.” He shuffled out the door slowly, in a defeated way.

The door softly swung closed and dematerialized from sight.

I looked around at the men still present. I wiped my eyes and sniffed. The tears seemed to have stopped for the moment.

Robert was looking at the floor, his eyebrows pulled together -- whether in concern or thought, I wasn’t certain. His hands were one moment folded in front of him, and then rubbing the back of his neck the next moment. He raked a hand through his hair and let out an nearly imperceptible sigh. He never looked up from the floor.

Sasuke was as still as a tree, every muscle ready to come to my side and embrace me in a crushing hug. But he stayed rooted to his spot, his body tense, his face taut but expressionless. His eyes never left my face. He waited for something.

The corners of Mitsunari’s mouth were curved up slightly in the tiniest saddest smile I had ever seen. His eyes were begging at me to let him near. It almost broke my heart to look at him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a bit restless and wishing to be useful.

Albert stood at attention with his hands clasped behind his back. His fingernails bit into his palm as he clenched and unclenched his fists. His face was the very picture of discomfort. He stared straight ahead, only once ever looking my way. He immediately blinked, cleared his throat and returned his steadfast gaze in front of him.

I hadn’t been looking in Robert’s direction, so I didn’t notice that he had moved to stand behind me. He wrapped his long arms around the front of my chest and pulled my back gently into his chest. “We’re here, ______.” He propped his chin on my shoulder and leaned his head against mine. “We are all here for you, my dearest.”

I sunk into the warmth of his chest and let my head rest against his. “Oh, Robert,” I sighed his name.

Mitsunari couldn’t wait any longer. He bounded forward and extended his arms as if he wanted to hug me, but he looked perplexed. Stopping a hand-span from me, he looked behind me, “Ah, Mr. Branche? Can you adjust a bit so I can also hold her, please?” He pointed to Robert’s arm around my left shoulder.

Robert looked slightly bemused at Mitsunari’s suggestion, then acquiesced and removed his arm. I felt the absence of its warmth. He snaked it in front of my torso and hugged me around my waist. The sensation made me close my eyes in contentment.

Mitsunari moved in close and looped his arm around my left shoulder where Robert’s hand had just been, bringing back the warmth. Then he slid his other arm around my back, in between Robert and me. He gave me a somewhat triumphant look and his smile grew wider. “Is that okay, ______-sama?”

I opened my eyes to see Mitsunari’s vivid violet eyes peering earnestly into mine. I nodded. “Mm-hmm. It’s fine, Mitsu-kun.”

There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said, “You know, _____-sama, a hug received is only as good as the hug given in return.” He tapped my left arm which was hanging loose at my side.

I took the hint and placed it around his back. He stepped in closer and laid his head on my left shoulder. Giving a feather-light sound somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, he said “Ahhhh, that’s so much better, hm?”

With Robert’s head on my right shoulder and Mitsunari’s on my left, being hugged from front and back, I felt cocooned in warmth and love.

I felt Robert move his right hand from my shoulder and trail it down my arm. He intertwined his fingers in mine and gently closed his hand around mine. He brought my hand up to his mouth and kissed each knuckle one at a time. I relaxed even more and exhaled the breath I didn’t even realize I had been holding.

Sasuke was suddenly in my line of sight, standing a couple of feet behind Mitsunari. When had he moved? I had never heard him. That’s a ninja for you, I guess.

His face, usually devoid of expression, was now tight with emotion. His lips were pulled in a thin line and his eyes looked pained. “______.” His voice. My name. All it took was one word spoken by my beloved, and my tears leaked out my eyes and trickled down my cheeks. My left arm had been hugging Mitsunari. I let go of his jacket and extended my hand out to Sasuke in a silent plea to have him hold it. I desperately needed his touch, too.

Sasuke moved swiftly forward and grasped my hand in both of his. He caressed it and then brought the back of my hand to his lips, all the while never breaking eye contact with me. My crying continued, but it seemed more bearable now that he was touching me. I gripped his fingers and mouthed the words “I love you.” He held up my hand so that my palm was against his cheek. He nodded. That was enough for me. I closed my eyes against the flow of tears and tried to enjoy the moment of bliss that was surrounding me.

“Hmm, _____-sama? Your arm is no longer around me. That means this is only half a hug.” I heard Mitsunari say in a plaintive tone.

When I opened my eyes, I saw that Sasuke’s gaze had hardened a bit in annoyance at Mitsunari’s whining.

Suddenly, an authoritative -- but strained-sounding -- voice spoke up. “Stop being childish and selfish. We are all here because Princess _____ wishes our company. If you are going to act out of jealousy, you can leave just as that sad unkempt man did. You will either provide the comfort necessary or you will move aside so another may attempt to soothe her.”

After Al’s admonishment, Mitsunari nuzzled my shoulder with his cheek and tightened his embrace around my lower back. “Please forgive me, _____-sama, for being selfish. I only want to make you feel better. But I get carried away when my body is this close to yours. I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t turn my head to look at Al, so I had no idea what sort of expression he had on his face. But I wanted to know how he was feeling. He had been standing so far away this entire time.

“Al? I am relieved you stayed. But why did you, if all you were going to do is stay over there?”

I heard boots softly make there way towards our little cuddle huddle. He stayed obstinately out of my view, but I heard his voice come from just a couple of feet away. “Princess ______, you are already being …. embraced by two gentleman, and a third is holding your only free hand. Where would you suggest I fit in?” He scoffed.

The emotion and longing I heard behind his words made new tears sting my eyes. It was then that I felt my knees buckle. I hadn’t realized how long we have been standing until then. I sagged a little bit as Robert held me more tightly against him to help support me. I regained my balance just as I heard him suggest from behind me. “Perhaps we should let her rest.”

A large bed materialized beside us.

“Oh no. It’s not turning into THAT sort of story.” I silently scolded myself.

Robert kissed my temple while gently squeezing my hand. “My dearest loveliest ______. You had better sit down or lie down. We’ll watch over you so you can get some rest.” He slid his arm away from my waist and let go of my hand.

Mitsunari took the absence of Robert as an opportunity to give me a proper two-arm bear hug. He squeezed me and hummed softly as he rocked me a moment before releasing me. As he pulled back, he kissed my cheek. His expressive eyes were saying so many things all at once, I couldn’t keep up with the silent conversation he was trying to have with me. All he said out loud was “I’m here for you whenever you need me, ____-sama.” He took a step back, but bumped into Sasuke. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Sasuke-dono.” He bowed his head and moved out of the way.

Sasuke was still firmly holding onto my hand. Looking at our joined hands, I broke out into the first big smile I’ve worn in days. He silently closed the distance, dropping his grip on my hand. He wrapped one arm around my waist, and gently held his other hand around the back of my neck. He pulled me to him and cradled my head to his chest. He gave a wordless murmur so soft I could feel the vibrations of his vocal chords more than hear any actual sound. He looked to Al and gave a slight nod.

Both of them simultaneously adjusted their glasses.

Sasuke softly said “_____.” Again, I melted at the sound of his voice saying my name. “We’ll hold you until you fall asleep. Come.”

I lifted my head and reached my arms around his neck and kissed his perfect mouth. I pulled away a sliver of an inch and mumbled against his lips “I can’t think of anything else I’d like better at this moment. Thank you, Sasuke. I’d love to rest.”

I looked over at Al, who had removed his bulky uniform coat and boots. He was standing near the bed, ready to lie down after me.

Sasuke had let go my waist and went to the other side of the bed.

I looked around for Mitsunari and Robert, but they had left the room.

Sasuke was lying on his left side and holding the sheet up for me to get in next to him. I looked down at myself and saw I was now wearing the most comfortable pajamas ever. Not sexy lingerie by any stretch of the imagination. But romance was the furthest thing from my mind right now. I simply wanted to be held and comforted by these 2D men who had built a place for themselves in my heart.

I climbed into bed, snuggling up to Sasuke and nuzzling my cheek against his chest. His warmth and scent were exactly what I craved right now.

Behind me I could feel Al inching towards me on the mattress.

My heartbeat started to increase as this situation was opening up new ideas in my imagination.

I repeated to myself in my head “No. This is NOT going to be one of THOSE stories.”

Al slid his hand around the front of my stomach and come to a stop where it was comfortable for the both of us. I could feel his warm breath washing over my neck and ear in a measured rhythm.

Sasuke slung his arm around my hip and moved his body closer. He put his lips to my forehead and didn’t move them for many seconds. I felt a drop of wetness spill onto my forehead. Was he crying on my behalf? My arm shot out from where it had been resting between us, and I quickly wrapped it firmly around his back and hugged him tight.

“I love you. Thank you. I love you so much.”

I thought I would start crying all over again. However, the tears didn’t fall. Perhaps I was all cried-out for the time being. All I knew is that I was feeling thoroughly comforted, and right now the only thing I wanted was to fall asleep surrounded by this delicious feeling of love and support.

...It could turn into one of the THOSE stories when we woke up, I lazily thought as I drifted off to sleep.

#ohtomatotome #ikemen sengoku #midnight cinderella #ikesen fanfic #midcin fanfic #decoding desire #makoto tonoe #Ishida Mitsunari #sarutobi sasuke #albert burckhardt #robert branche #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen sasuke #giles christophe #ikesen nobunaga #oda nobunaga #sid arnault #my fanfic

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 7 years

Text

Balance on the Head of a Pin*

Chapter Fourteen

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x OFC | Word Count: 5997 Warnings: Smut (just a little), swearing, a little angst

Lauren sighed, happy to be away from the house, resting against Loki’s thigh beneath the sheer canopy of the incredible tent he'd created. It hadn't taken long to finish his cake, put together a decent picnic from Sue Ann’s leftovers, and slip away to the barn before they saw anyone else.

Teddy hadn't even batted an eye when Loki had walked in, collected Dragon and walked back out. It was quite clear who the stallion now answered to. Teddy had fetched her a less spirited gelding, her sweet white mare, Belle - short for Silver Bells - long since passed on from her younger years.

The new mount was one being vetted as a hunter jumper rather than a racehorse, and much to Lauren’s liking. He had fire and heart, and though he wasn't as fast as Dragon when they'd let the horses run, he'd kept up by will alone she was sure of it.

They grazed freely in amongst the trees along the river after a stern warning from Loki to behave themselves. It was beyond belief to watch him interact with them as if he was speaking to another person, not an animal. When she's asked how he did it, he'd shrugged stating as he could assume the shape of a horse, he could also speak their language.

While she’d stood there with her mouth open, he'd turned toward the big oak whose branches stretched out over the water and whose base was relatively smooth and flat. The swelling of magic had rippled over her skin when it had raced through the air to create a pleasant spot for one to rest and while away a few hours.

It looked as if someone had dropped a luxurious tent of canvas and billowing sheer curtains beneath the oak. The outer doorways were tied back, showing a thick mattress covered in pillows and silks, reminiscent of the interior of Tony’s helicopter. A small round table set with goblets and pitchers waited to one side. Lush reds and golds and soft whites covered everything, drawing her in to flop unceremoniously upon the plush flooring.

It had been heavenly.

When Loki had settled at her side, she'd wriggle back, toeing off her boots, to use his thigh as a pillow while watching the leaves dance through the hazy gauze of the tent’s roof. So soothed was she by the sound of wind through trees, the warmth of the day, and the gentle brush of Loki's fingers through her hair, she dozed off with very little encouragement.

Now, with her waking, she glanced up to find a book balanced on his opposite thigh. “What are you readin’, peaches?”

“One of your rather gifted scribes. Shakespeare. His sonnets are remarkably good,” he said, somewhat distracted.

“We studied a few of his plays in high school. Romeo and Juliet. Othello. But never the sonnets.”

Arching a brow, he asked, “How can one judge the true depth of a person's talent if one does not read all there is to be read? It is like making an opinion on an artist after seeing only one painting.”

“You're right, but as most people are well aware of Shakespeare's talent - it is the most popular view of the man - assumptions can be made.”

“But what if your plays were examples of stellar work while the sonnets are shabby? Or the popular belief was made so by only a few loudmouthed men? Should you not form your own opinion?”

Thinking about it, she decided he wasn't wrong in his theory. Just because Shakespeare was revered by so many, didn't mean she shouldn't form her own opinion. “Well, I guess you'd best read me a couple so I can make an informed observation, shouldn't you?” Tilting her head back, she gave him a sly grin.

“Or perhaps you just want me to read to you, darling?” he asked, a smile quirking his lips.

“You do have that fancy way of talkin’ and all. I'm sure you'd sound extra pretty readin' me a few sonnets.”

“Such cheek in you,” he quipped, tweaking the end of her nose.

“Is that a no?” she pouted, tilting her head back further into his lap.

He hummed softly, the sound one she couldn't distinguish, uncertain if he was amused or annoyed, but he turned back to the book on his knee. “Why is my verse so barren of new pride, so far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside to new-found methods, and to compounds strange? Why write I still all one, ever the same, and keep invention in a noted weed, that every word doth almost tell my name, showing their birth, and where they did proceed? O! know sweet love I always write of you, and you and love are still my argument; so all my best is dressing old words new, spending again what is already spent: For as the sun is daily new and old, so is my love still telling what is told.”

Lauren pondered the words while watching the treetops sway. “Interestin’,” she murmured, crossing her hands over her belly.

Loki had insisted on changing her clothes, dressing her in a similar fashion to his own riding gear, though, while he was garbed in greens and blacks, he’d put her in creams and golds. Cream breeks and white boots were not what she would have once considered appropriate riding gear, far too easy to get dirty, but there was something about the clothing which seemed to repel dirt. Add in the fact he’d lifted her to and from the saddle, acting a complete gentleman, she hadn’t needed to worry.

Now, gliding her hands over the belly of her wrapped tunic, she played with the tie. “He sounds so… frustrated I guess, almost angry. Maybe despondent is a better word. Like he’s despairin’ over his inability to create somethin’ fresh.”

“Everything he writes looks and sounds the same to him,” Loki agreed with a nod.

“But it’s not really his work he’s speakin’ of, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

Looking back at him, finding his eyes curious, Lauren shrugged. She glanced down and away, continuing to play with her ties. “It’s just… those last lines. He’s talkin' about love. True love. Love that renews every day, like how the sun comes up each mornin’. So, even though his work reiterates the same themes, it doesn’t really matter cause like love, it’s a force that constantly renews.”

“An interesting theory, my heart,” he murmured, fingers stroking through her hair.

Lauren blushed and tried not to purr beneath the lazy stroking. “It’s just a thought.”

“A valid thought.”

Her cheeks grew a little warmer, happy he hadn’t dismissed her opinion or thought her foolish for voicing it. “It was a little depressin’ though.”

“It’s not for everyone, certainly.” He closed the book, vanishing it from existence. “Perhaps you’d prefer a different poet?”

“Who do you have in mind?” she asked curiously.

He shifted then, scooting down to lay at her side, fingers tracing the curve of her cheek before tucking her hair behind her ear. “Perhaps Byron would be more to your liking?”

“You’re gonna have to elaborate on that one, hun.”

His eyes darkened, a look coming over them like a predator seeking prey. It made Lauren shiver when the wicked smile curled his lips. Before she could ask what he was up to, he propped himself at her side, long fingers gently tracing over her ribs while his head rested in his opposite hand.

“She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes: thus mellow'd to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, had half impaired the nameless grace which waves in every raven tress, or softly lightens o'er her face; where thoughts serenely sweet express how pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent, the smiles that win, the tints that glow, but tell of days in goodness spent, a mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent!”

Lauren’s breath came in short pants for his trailing fingers had made their way to her face, caressing brow and cheek and lips while his sultry voice had purred out words so powerful, she was left breathless with love and longing.

“Oh my,” she whispered, unable to stop herself from reaching up to touch his lips.

“Such a romantic heart you have, my sweet,” he murmured, letting her draw him down. He kissed her soft and slow, as gently as the breeze playing with the sheer drapes.

When her lips felt swollen, when they tingled from the worrying of his teeth, and she’d moaned quietly, her hands drifting down his back, Loki finally lifted enough to allow her to breathe.

“That was lovely,” she said on a whisper of breath.

“The poem or the kiss?” he asked, nose brushing her cheek when he made to nibble on her ear.

“Both,” Lauren sighed.

His fingers skated her cheek, flushed with the heat of the day and his actions. “You seem to be overheating, or is it my touch which warms you so?”

“Both,” she smiled.

“Then perhaps you need this.” Stroking his hand down her body, he shifted riding gear to swimwear.

Shivering at the way his magic cooled the sweat on her skin, Lauren ran her hands over his bare chest for when her clothes changed so had his. He had the most beautiful body, sleek and fit, hard and defined. Everything about him seemed so refined, nearly elegant, almost regal in appearance. What Thor had in power, Loki revealed in grace.

Her hands smoothed down his ribs, and Lauren wallowed in the feel of all that strength, hers to enjoy, to cherish and appreciate. Soft skin, velvet over iron, stretched and pulled when he shifted, rolling to his back and taking her with him until she straddled his hips. Black swim trunks encased his hips, riding low, a line of red along the hip seam. Touching him was becoming her new favourite pastime, and with no one around to interrupt she set about learning the planes and hollows of his long torso.

A small smirk settled on his mouth when he tucked his hands behind his head. “See something you like, my love?”

“More than one thing,” she murmured, tracing her nails down his midline to the trickle of hair descending from his belly button to beneath his waistband. He was relatively hairless but for that happy little trail she had the insane desire to follow, dip her fingers beneath the fabric, and find the treasure she knew waited. More heat flushed her face, her mind drifting to what it would be like to finally be with Loki.

“Are you thinking naughty thoughts again, darling?”

The smugness in his voice had her brow arching. “Maybe I am.”

“Tell me,” he coaxed, eyes brightening behind his thick lashes.

“Why should I?” she teased. “What’s in it for me?”

He sat up effortlessly, knocking her back, so she landed sharply in his lap. “If you tell me, I can see about making those thoughts… reality,” he purred against her ear.

Linking her arms behind his neck, she chuckled softly. “And what if what I wanted would tempt you to break your vow, peaches?”

“I would refrain, sweet Lauren, but not without seeing you… satisfied.”

He bit at her jaw, a simple scrape of gentle teeth, but it sent a shock straight to her core. “Now you tempt me.”

“Perhaps we should have that swim. Then, once you're sufficiently… wet,” he nipped her ear and made her gasp, “I can take you to Valhalla with only my magic.”

“Just magic?” Heart skipping, she pulled back to see his face and found sultry dark eyes.

“Hm,” he hummed. “If that is your wish.” Fingers skated up her spine. “Unless you beg me otherwise.”

Inhaling sharply, her body reacting with his promise, Lauren whimpered, her eyes dropping to his lips. “Loki,” she sighed, leaning into him, yearning to get closer.

“Now, darling, what kind of beau would I be if I allowed you to become overheated?”

Again that sly, knowing smile curled Loki’s lips when his hands pressed against her hips, shifting her away so his eyes could travel down her body. The smile became a wicked smirk, accompanying the tilt of his head. When his fingers skimmed across her stomach to circle her navel, a sound very much like a purr of pleasure rumbled from his throat. “How delightful.”

His gaze trailed back up, deep blue shading into greens. Lauren had never felt so wanted, so desired in all her life.

“You look marvellous,” he said, shifting her to the side so he could push to his feet and help her to hers.

Lauren glanced down and did a short double take for the bikini, while modest, was still stunning. The green matched that of the cloak she'd seen him wear, while golden loops held the cups together between her breasts, and the bottoms together on each hip. Something akin to seed pearls edged the waistband, along with threads of gold, while a small looped chain hung around her waist and the gem in her navel ring twinkled in the sun.

“I think you may have overdone it, hun, just a touch. We're river swimmin’, not yachtin’ along the French Riviera.” She smiled to offset the words.

“I will always dress you in fineries, my sweet.” His hands stroked slowly up and down her bare sides as he admired his handiwork.

“If you say so.” She gave him a wink and turned on her heel to head for the water, Loki following. When she glanced back, she found his gaze locked on her ass. It made her laugh as she headed for the flat rocks jutting out into the water, took a few running steps, and leapt in a shallow dive out into the center of the river.

When she rose from the water, hair slicked back and laughing, enjoying the coolness, she made to turn to encourage him to join her only to have arms circle her waist from behind.

“What's this? A river nymph for me to capture?”

Would his voice ever stop twisting up her insides when she heard it like that? Low, sultry, with a rumble like a jungle cat. He purred the words against her wet shoulder, lips drifting, brushing lightly up the side of her neck.

“If you caught a nymph, what would she have to do to be set free, my trickster god?” she asked tilting her head to give him all the access he could want.

He kicked out, taking them closer to the shore. Once his feet settled into the rock and sand bottom of the river, he nipped his teeth into her shoulder. “She could never be free. I would keep her at my side, cherish and adore her, give her the world on a platter if she wished it.”

“You would cage her to you?” she asked, head falling back and legs tangling with his when she couldn’t quite touch bottom.

“Not a cage, never a cage,” he whispered against her ear, hand coming up to lay gently against the necklace around her throat. “She would be so loved, her happiness assured, there would be no reason for her to ever desire to leave.”

“I don’t need the world, Loki.”

His hand tightened around her waist. “What do you need, my precious nymph?”

She tilted her back and was stunned by the look of him, hair slick and water droplets trickling down his face. Eyes of blue and green were so piercing, so intense, she wondered if he could see right to her soul. “Nothing but what you’ve given me.”

He shifted her then to press her back over his arm. “Then what do you want, elskan min? What is your most heartfelt desire?”

Finding herself drifting on the water, laid back and floating, Lauren held onto his arms. She had red fill her cheeks with what she was about to admit. “You… you already gave it to me.”

“I did?” he asked, brows drawing together. “When?”

“When you tricked me into bringin’ you home with me.”

His face softened from confusion into wonder, eyes shining with adoration. “Such a romantic heart. You honour me, darling.” He bent to her, hand drifting up to cradle her head. His lips left trails of warmth on her river cooled skin.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” she whispered, tears again burning the back of her eyes. Closing them, she fought back the pain, the betrayal, and the depression wanting to eat at her soul. The emotions she’d been working to ignore since her mother’s departure from the kitchen.

“They don’t deserve you.” The words whispered over her jaw with his soft lips.

Her hand found the back of his neck, clung there, desire and anguish warring inside her. “It hurts… and… I don’t know why.” It was like a knife had been shoved between her ribs, making it hard to breathe. “And the worst part is knowin’ if I’d come back alone, I’d a given in. I’d be makin’ plans to marry that… that… ass, cowed under by mama and Marabeth, sufferin’ beneath the smug smile of Cissy, slowly dyin’ because I wouldn't be me anymore.”

“No, no you wouldn’t,” he soothed. “You’re stronger than that.”

She kicked upright, wrapped her arms around his neck, and buried her face there, holding on as tightly as she could, finding Loki to be the only stable point in her suddenly off-kilter world. “No, I’m really not. The only reason I’ve been able to do and say what I have is 'cause you’re here. You give me strength. You, Loki, give me courage. Only you.”

His grip on her tightened, bringing her flush against him. “You are far braver than you think, my heart. Far braver.”

Slow tears trickled down her cheeks. “I don’t feel brave.”

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly.

“Angry, hurt… stupid,” she sighed. “Really, really stupid.”

“No one calls my Ástvinur stupid. Especially not her. You are not stupid, Lauren,” he scolded softly.

“I feel pretty damn stupid, Loki. My fiancé not only had a mistress but was sleepin' with my mother!” Pushing against him, she broke free and dove into the water, swimming back out into the river.

When she surfaced again, he was right there, hand closing around her wrist to drag her back up against him. “You are not the first to be deceived by someone they loved! It is easy when feelings are involved to be blind. I should know! I was blind for hundreds of years, had no idea I wasn’t of Odin’s blood until-” He cut himself off with a shake of head. “When people wish to hide something of this magnitude, they will do so. You cannot blame yourself for not seeing it sooner. I won’t let you blame yourself!”

“But my mother!” she cried, heart clenching hard in her chest.

“Your mother is a horrible person,” he bellowed, shaking her gently, “but you are not your mother!”

She froze when the realization washed over her that he was right. It was her biggest fear, a foolish one perhaps, one she’d thought buried four years ago when she’d broken free, but still a genuine fear that one day Lauren would wake and no longer like who she was. That the years of belittling would finally take their toll and she'd become a shrill, harpy of a woman.

He’d found the heart of the matter with an accuracy she was astounded at. All her life, when she wasn’t being compared to Marabeth, wasn’t being told to do better, be smarter, be more like her sister, she’d been told how much she was like her mother. Everything from hair to dress, to face and form, she’d been likened to her mother.

“I’m not my mama,” she whispered, the relief nearly palpable.

“No, darling,” he stroked her wet hair back from her face, “you are nothing like your mother, you are nothing like your sisters, but you are very much like your Gran. That is the woman you emulate at every turn.”

“I didn’t even realize…”

“I know,” he said, legs tangling gently with hers to keep them afloat and not let them drift too much with the current. “It is not you who is trying to be like her, Lauren. It is your mother, afraid of ageing, afraid of losing her youth who now chases it by acting and dressing like you. I can’t speak to her motivations, but whatever she was hoping to accomplish by taking what should have been yours has failed. Whatever validation she sought is no longer available to her. Forcing you to marry that… miscreant was her doing what she could to live through your life.” His hands were gentle when they cupped her face, tilting it up so she could see her eyes. “Whatever made her do these things, whatever motivations were there on Montgomery’s behalf, I have to say I am grateful for them. Not for the pain it has caused you, but for how it has brought you to me.”

“Loki,” she sighed, the pain in her heart lessening. “Thank you, peaches.” Returning her arms to his neck, she kissed him slowly and thoroughly, her heart much less heavy, buoyed up by the love he freely offered. When she pulled back moments later, there was a very familiar grin quirking his lips. “What?”

“Montgomery didn’t exactly get off free and clear with his deceptions.” Green sparked and twinkled in his eyes.

“What did you do?” she asked, anticipation firing in her blood. She was finding her god had a most wicked sense of justice. Not cruel, not usually, but the punishment fit the crime more often than not.

“Your ex, my darling, will be unfit for the pleasures of the bedroom for a very, very long time.”

“What?” she gasped, not quite understanding.

Loki chuckled darkly and kicked in the water, taking her along with him back toward their tent as they’d drifted a little way down the river. “I cursed him to be a disappointment to his bed partner; in all aspects.”

“So he can’t… he can’t…” She didn’t know whether to blush, laugh, or cringe.

“As Barton would so eloquently put it, he can no longer get it up.” Blue eyes danced and twinkled with a mischievous light. “Nor can he perform any physical aspect of pleasure for his partner. I’m afraid he will be quite celibate for the foreseeable future.” Loki’s fingertips followed the curve of her spine. “His touch will feel like lead, his kisses sloppy and dull, and he is doomed to be absolutely atrocious with his tongue.”

“He wasn't any good with it to begin with,” Lauren grumbled only to slap a hand to her mouth. “Oh dear. Outside voice.”

Loki tugged her hand away and burst out laughing. “You must let your inner voice out more often! She is feisty and I like her.”

Giggling even as she blushed, Lauren pushed away from his chest and swiped a handful of water his direction. “Such a cad!”

He gasped, wiping away the water drops which trickled down his face. “Did you just splash me?”

Swimming backward away from him, Lauren bit her lip to keep from laughing. “And what if I did?”

“You will feel my wrath, nymph!” Smacking his hand into the water, he sent a much bigger wave her way.

Lauren shriek and darted to the side, returning fire for fire, laughing and splashing like children until an unusually cold wave of water crashed over her and stole her breath.

“That's cheatin'!” she hollered, shivering after the icy dousing. Even the water beneath the surface had gone arctic cold for a moment.

“You never said I couldn't use magic,” he teased swimming toward her.

“It was cold!” she grumbled as he got closer.

“Tsk, poor baby. Come, let me warm you.” He held out his arms, devilish smile present.

“No,” she pouted, turning up her nose.

His face fell, concern etching its way across his features. “You are not truly upset with me, are you, my sweet?”

“Humph.” Turning her face she floated away, drifting with the current.

He was instantly in front of her, face contrite. “Lauren, please. It was simply meant in jest-” His words ended abruptly when she pounced on him and shoved him under the water.

She swam quickly out of reach, laughing, expecting retaliation of some sort when he came cursing and sputtering to the surface.

“Now who is cheating?!” he snarled, shoving his hair from his face.

“No one never said I couldn't dunk you,” she mimicked, grin far too smug for her own good.

“Tricky woman. Very, very tricky. But now I'll simply have to get even.” Green suddenly gleamed in his eyes.

The water around her lit up with tendrils of magic, wrapping around her ankles and curling around her waist.

“Loki, no!” she shouted, but the dunking she’d expected never came.

A gasp became a moan when more magic brushed the inside of her thighs, skated the bare skin of her belly, caressed the curves of her breasts.

He swam up behind her, cupped her chin, drawing her head back on his shoulder. Intertwining their fingers together, he crooned, “Loki, yes,” against her ear. “Are you sufficiently… wet, my heart?”

She whimpered, nodding. His magic felt like flicks of decadent tongues over her skin, warming her body, swiftly replacing the chill which had been there. Now the gooseflesh coating her skin had nothing to do with being cold.

“What was that?” he chuckled. “Was that yes, Loki?”

“Why don’t,” she moaned when something firm skated over her clothed core, “you check and see.”

He tsked at her, continuing to snicker softly, his need to make mischief evident in the sound. “I can’t do that, darling. I did promise you’d see Valhalla by magic alone, now, didn’t I? Unless you wish to beg for something more, my heart.”

Lauren arched back and groaned, floating on the surface of the water. Though his fingers were firmly caught with hers, it felt as if he’d grown extra sets of hands, hands which now stroked and caressed, touched and teased, cupped and squeezed when and where he wished. “Oh!” she gasped, kicking out in surprise when it seemed the hands sank straight through her swimsuit to touch bare skin. The tongue suddenly lapping between her thighs was a shock which set her crying out, knuckles turning white from how hard she gripped Loki’s fingers.

“Easy, my heart,” he whispered against her cheek, “Let me love you.”

She could feel the tightening of her nipples against her suit before the sensation was replaced by the heat of a warm mouth, plucking and playing, gentle and slow, worshiping all her pleasure points. Another mouth fell on the side of her throat, fingers stroked along her spine, others drew circles on her hips. Lips and teeth nipped and sucked at the golden serpents circling her navel, and all the while the tongue between her thighs lapped in languid strokes which stole her breath, and caused her to writhe and moan.

A groan from Loki had her opening her eyes to find the green of his hot with desire, the magic swirling around them like mist. He watched her shake, arch and whimper, his attention wholly focused on her. He released one of her hands and moved slowly until she was bent back over his arm, his mouth replacing the phantom one on her throat. The sharp scrape of teeth was enough to send a small wave of pleasure crashing through her body.

Water sprayed when she swung her arm up to hold onto his shoulder, head tilted back, cry loud and wanton, shattering the serenity of the river. Lips crashed against hers, his kiss desperate, filled with need and lust, as affected by the moment as she was. Needing to feel him, Lauren fought her feet down, plastered her body to his and moaned into his mouth when she came into contact with his hard length against her stomach. Rubbing on him like a cat, she had zero qualms about wrapping her legs around his waist, an action made easier with the water lifting them up.

He hissed when the heat of her core came in contact with his clothed erection. “Lauren!” he gasped, jerking his mouth away.

She rolled her hips, uncaring, desperate herself to feel him, to watch him come undone. “Don’t care, peaches. Please, touch me,” she panted, rolling against him, causing his mouth to drop open and hands to streak to her ass. She wrapped hers behind his neck, leaned back and found a rhythm which pleased them both.

The rocking staying the speed of a smooth canter, she cried out when his teeth closed over the pulse point in her throat for a moment before he lost the ability to concentrate. Hot breath washed over her skin, her heart raced in time with his pounding against her chest. Her core throbbed with how good she felt, the ecstasy just out of reach but growing closer with every thrust and roll of his hard length over her clit.

“Fuck!” Loki snarled, dragging her tighter against him until there was no retreat, only the hardness of him pressed to the softness of her, hips grinding together, smooth skin gliding over sleek skin.

When the fist of need wrapped around her center finally clamped down, Lauren threw her head back and moaned out his name. Every nerve in her body light up. Pleasure pulsed and crashed through her until she was breathless, mouth open in a silent scream, walls clenching on nothing, leaving her wrung out but still hungry for more.

Moments later, the half moan half growl fell from Loki’s lips, the sound vibrating against her neck when he jerked a few final times against her and went still.

Lauren sighed happily, the water again feeling nice on her superheated skin. She hummed, content to just stay where she was, his face tucked against her throat and arms around her back. “That was some retaliation, hun.”

“Hm, you are a minx,” he murmured, kissing her all along her throat and jaw.

“I think that’s how you like me,” she said with a chuckle.

“You would be correct, darling,” he quipped, pulling back to look at her with all the love she could handle. “My mischievous Valkyrie, not even I am immune to your charms.”

“I should hope not, sir! However, would I keep up with you if you were?”

He laughed and kept her pressed right where she was as he moved them toward the shore, eventually walking out with her still wrapped around him, taking the two of them back toward the pretty tent. “I think you should stretch yourself out in the sun like you usually do and leave the mischief-making up to me. It is my job after all.”

“Oh is it now?” she quipped, looking down at him as he packed the two of them dripping, back through the opening. “As you keep insistin’ you are a reformed mischief maker, perhaps you need a new job?”

Loki dropped to his knees and tumbled her to her back, setting her giggling. “Perhaps I should make you my new career?”

“Me?” she blinked up at him, his hair dripping on her chest as he crawled his way back up her body.

He dipped his head, licking at the water trickling down her sternum. “Hm, indeed. Follow you around. Call you my lady. Be at your beck and call for whatever needs you may have.”

“Oh my stars,” she whispered, chills racing her spine with the thought of it.

“Would you like that, naughty girl? Having me available to you at any moment for whatever pleasures you’d desire?”

The heat in his gaze seemed to sear through her, raise her temperature and dry her from the inside out. She wondered if steam was rising from her wet suit. Again she felt almost compelled to speak the truth and whispered only, “Yes.”

“My lady,” he crooned, lowering so his lips brushed over hers. “How very, very wicked of you. I’m afraid you would never work again for I would do all in my power to gain your attention so I could have you to myself. Pressed to a wall or,” his lips drifted back to purr near her ear, “bent over your desk.”

A quake of need gripped her center. “Loki,” she moaned, reaching for him.

Nipping her earlobe, he continued to speak to her in the rumbling, rolling tone which twisted up her insides. “That would be five, elskan min. My heart. My love. My beautiful darling.”

“You’re gonna kill us both before we ever get there!” she groaned, when he finally pulled away.

“What is that saying of yours? Patience is a virtue,” he chuckled.

“Not right now it ain’t!” she whined, pouting when he drew away.

His fingers tickled her ribs and made her squeal. “Roll over.”

She did so even as she eyed him suspiciously. Lauren sighed when the sun’s rays fell upon her back. It swiftly became a moan of appreciation when warm, lotion slicked hands smoothed over her skin. “For someone who hardly ever joined us by the pool, you’ve got a pretty good handle on the laze by the water thing.”

The wet ends of his hair on her shoulder when he bent closer made her shiver. “Who says I wasn’t there?”

Eyes snapping open, Lauren glanced at his smug face. “You skulkin’ again?”

“I do not skulk!” he growled, hand landing firmly enough on her bottom to make her jump.

“Hey!” she yelped.

“Serves you right.”

Hearing the pout in his voice, Lauren smirked into her arms and said no more. Instead, she enjoyed the way his fingers not only smoothed on the lotion but also smoothed out the knots of tension she’d been ignoring.

“Feels nice,” she murmured, relaxing under his hands until she felt like putty.

“Good. Enjoy the heat. One would think you and Wanda were part feline with how you migrate from window to window, or lounge chair to lounge chair.”

She giggled softly for he wasn’t wrong. “Guess now when I’m lookin' for a warm spot, I should just snuggle up against you?”

A tender kiss was placed low on her back. “Whenever you wish.”

“Or I could always snuggle with Bucky. Super soldiers radiate heat,” she teased earning an unhappy growl.

“You do and I will make sure you regret it,” he warned, fingers kneading into her legs.

“After this last retaliation, that ain’t much of a deterrent.”

His touch slowed to a stop before creeping back up her thighs. At the leg of her briefs, his fingers slipped beneath to ever so lightly caress her buttock, making her shiver in anticipation. “Yes, but I was feeling benevolent today. Push me, darling, and I will see you hang on the precipice for hours.”

The retort dried up on her tongue.

He went back to his massaging.

She didn’t have to look to know there was likely a smirk on his face. Lauren licked her lips, swallowed, and schooled her voice. “Hours, hm? How… delightful.”

His hands paused a second time, but Lauren only sighed, sinking into the softness beneath her while smiling to herself when his hands flexed, then began anew, and he said no more.

Next Chapter

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imaginedaydreamsquad-blog · 7 years

Text

Summer Love - Joe Sugg Imagine #3

You and 3 of your friends go on holiday together. But who is this handsome boy asking you to take a photo? Word Count: 1.4k ------------------------------------------------------------

I decided to take a walk on the beach alone, as my friends just wanted to chill. It wasn’t a big deal, I loved taking walks alone, to dwell on memories or overthinking some past conversations. Especially before big night outs, like tonight, I loved the calm before the storm. The sun was about to go down and everything was dipped in a gold light. I loved this time of the day the most. Only a few tourists were still here, catching the last sunlight. It was a beautiful, small beach, mostly unknown and natural. My feet were in the ocean and my heart never felt so light. This is everything I needed right then. “That rock over there is perfect! Just lean against it. It’ll look bomb!”, I overheard a conversation a few meters ahead of me. Some guys were eyeing said rock thoughtfully, walking slowly around it. Some photoshoot, I thought, but kept on walking towards them. “Excuse me? Sorry, would you mind taking a photo of us?” Hm, so no professional photoshoot. I looked up, looking at the young men in front of me. One with long hair and a camera, one with short hair. They were british, I knew the accent. “Sure, why not”, I accepted the camera and walked with them to the rock. The one with the short hair climbed up, the one with the long hair just leaned against it. So I started taking some snaps from different angles. They both were very photogenic and the camera caught the golden light perfectly. “Alright, thank you!” I handed the long haired one the camera and smiled. “You’re welcome. Have a nice holiday”, I said goodbye. “Hey. I’m Byron by the way, this is Joe.” “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” I shook both hands and smiled up to them. “I gotta go, I think my friends are already worried about me. Probably thinking I was kidnapped or something.” “So you got plans for tonight?”, Joe asked, returning the smile. “Yeah, my friends and I wanna go out. It’s our first night after all.” “You should definitely check out the Sundance. It’s a bar, but it has a dancefloor, too and if your friends looking just half as good as you, you gonna get in free.” I laughed at the compliment, but promised to keep that in mind. We said our goodbyes and I started walking again.

I arrived at the hotel room, which I shared with my best friend and told her about the boys I just met. “Were they cute?” “Yeah, totally. I mean, I think so. I didn’t really pay attention.” “you know… It would be really romantic if we fell in love on this trip.” I laughed. “Yeah. Romantic. Getting your heart broken at the end of the trip.” “Y/N you’re so pessimistic. Think positive.” “I’ll try.” “So… Sundance it is?” I nodded. “Yeah, let’s try it.” As we all had gotten ready to go out, we decided to get something to eat first, chatting away about our plans tonight. “I wanna make out with a hot Spanish guy”, my one friend giggled. “I wanna dance till the sun comes up”, another chimed in. “I wanna fall in love”, my best friend sighed. “I wanna be drunk to not deal with all of your bullshit anymore”, I joked. I really wanna meet the guys again, I thought to myself. But that was something, the other girls didn’t have to know. The bar was beautiful, the music good and the crowd hyped. They didn’t lie it was a nice place. My friends and I made our way to the bar and everyone was ordering a colourful cocktail. But I wasn’t in the mood for sticky sweet drinks, so my order was an icecold beer. As my friends chatted away I looked through the crowd, searching for a long haired and a short haired guy with extraordinary good facial structures. But they were nowhere to be seen. Maybe they weren’t even coming, they didn’t say that they were after all. So I concentrated on my friends and forgot about them really quick. We were dancing to some 90s hit, as a hand grabbed my shoulder. “So did you have to pay to come in?” I turned and looked at Joe, smiling at me with a beer in his hand. “No, we all got free entry. Thank you for the tip by the way. It really is a great bar.” “You’re welcome. Hey, do you want a drink? Mine is empty.” I nodded and followed Joe to the bar. “What do you want?” “Just a beer.” “A beer?” “Yeah.” “You really wanna tell me that you are drinking beer?” I laughed. “Yeah.” “Unbelievable. Alright. A beer for the lady.” After that we literally became inseparable. We spent every waking hour together, talking, swimming, tanning, eating, dancing. He and his four friends and me and my 3 friends became one big group of friends and it couldn’t have been more perfect. But I began to slowly feel more than pure friendship for Joe and as much as I tried to hide that, my best friend was catching on. “You like him. Joe, I mean.” I laughed nervously. “Obviously. He’s my friend.” “No, not like that. You like him more than that. Way more.” “You’re being ridiculous.” “Don’t try to lie to me!” “I’m not!” “You are! And you’re blushing by the way, it’s quite cute.” I tried to hide my face from her. “Stop it!” “Just admit that you like him and I’m gonna shut up.” “ALRIGHT! I like him, okay? I think he’s funny and cute, he’s a gentleman and he looks amazing. And I hate you.” “You don’t!” My best friend laughed and pulled me into a hug. “But, Y/N, that’s so cute. You two are so cute.” “Stoooop. We are not. He doesn’t even feel that way for me. Besides, I’m not gonna make a move. Our vacation is nearly over.” “We have three more days!”, she argued. “NEARLY OVER! It just would be painful. Nothing more, nothing less.” “Ugh, you’re exhausting me. But fine. It’s your life.” “Right! It is. And now give me my lipstick.” We made a picnic at the beach. All of us. It was the golden hour again, just like the first time I met Byron and Joe. I was comfortable leaning against Joe’s shoulder, resting my head on it. I had my eyes closed and listened to the waves and my friends conversations. But I had no intention of being a part of it. I was tired and the butterflies in my stomach making me feel nervous as Joe gently caressed my arm. We were close for friends who knew eachother only a little over ten days. “Up for a walk?” He asked quietly. I nodded and it took a lot of my willpower to pull myself away from him. We made our way to the ocean and started talking about the first time we met. “You know, I think it’s quite awkward to ask someone else to take a photo of you, while you are posing hardcore.” I laughed. “Well, it is. But you and Byron are both super photogenic. I was jealous as I took the pictures.” “Oh, shut up.” “No, I mean it. Pretty boys.” We laughed and our hands brushed because we walked that close. My heartrate sped up. Damn, this boy will be the end of me, I thought to myself. “You know, I never would’ve thought I would met someone like you on this trip. I mean, Caspar speculated, that we’d have a new girl every night.” “Well that didn’t work out.” “No. No, it didn’t. But I’m not mad about it.” “You’re not?” “Not one bit.” And with that he took my hand and interlaced our fingers. I let it happen and looked up to him. “You know, I always think rationally and rationally is this”, I pointed at our hands, “not very clever. I mean, we’ll leave in three days.” “But Y/N you’re the first girl who drinks beer with me. You’re the first girl who makes ugly faces for selfies with me. You’re the first girl who ever made me feel that way.” The sun was sparkling in his blue eyes and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I leaned in for a kiss and for the first time I didn’t care if it was clever. It felt right. “I would love to see you again, when we’re back home. I’ll take you out on a real date.” I laughed. “Well, gladly I got accepted at the University of London, then. What a coincidence.” “No coincidence. Faith.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The next one! I hope you enjoy these. I for sure love writing these. Love, Kat .xx

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