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hayleythesugarbowl · 9 months

Note

hey I don’t know if you’re still writing for Thomas barrow but if you are can you write one where the female reader is the one who finds Thomas kissing Jimmy instead of Alfred? And maybe the reader and Thomas are kind of enemies before that? But she covers for him/helps him anyways? Thank you so much I love your Thomas barrow series 💌

Even || Thomas Barrow & female!reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • thomas barrow masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: when you, a ladies maid who thomas has never got along with in the past, catch thomas making a move on jimmy you’re forced to decide wether or not to help him out

word count: 3.4k

warning: mild cursing, homophobia because it’s jimmy, speaking of which also jimmy slander if you squint

a/n: ok I’m sorry it took me so long to get to this!! I actually had an idea similar to this so thank you so much for requesting this love <3💌🍒💋

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Miss (Y/l/n)?”

You looked up from your stitching to see a man staring down at you.

Thomas Barrow.

His eyebrows were raised expectantly and you fought the urge to roll your eyes as he waited for you to acknowledge him.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” You prompted.

“Mrs. Hughes is looking for you. Something about one of Her Ladyship’s evening gowns.”

You smiled your sweetest smile up at the footman-turned-valet.

“Well, I appreciate you passing along the message,” you said as you continued to hem the skirt you were working on.

Still, Thomas didn’t leave. “You’d best get going, don’t you think? Mrs. Hughes sounded pretty urgent and I wouldn’t want you to get involved in any unfortunate circumstance.”

“No you wouldn’t,” you muttered under your breath sarcastically as you got up and walked down the hall.

You and Thomas didn’t exactly get on, to put it mildly. Honestly you’d be surprised if Mrs. Hughes even needed you and it wasn’t all just a ploy by Thomas to waste your time. It wouldn’t be the first time, you thought sardonically.

From the moment you arrived at the Abbey, Thomas had began his life’s mission of forever tormenting you and making your work at Downton just a little bit harder. You had tried to be friendly to him at first, but to no avail for he seemed determined to let you know that you didn’t belong here.

Not that he was particularly amiable with any of the downstairs staff, but he seemed to especially have it out for you.

Most likely because you were the only one who challenged. He wasn’t the only one who could come up with sabotaging schemes.

And he did have so many bloody schemes.

Like the time right after you’d been hired when he’d convinced you that even though you weren’t a part of the kitchen staff, you needed to pick up some groceries for Mrs. Patmore. He sent you into town and you’d been lost for hours searching before you’d ran into Anna—bless her heart—who told you that the grocer was on the other side of town and the delivery wasn’t even supposed to be ready for another week.

You’d gotten him back (with some help from Mrs. O’Brien, who’d been feeling particularly miffed at Thomas that day and was willing to return the favor in any way she could) by shrinking His Lordship’s trousers.

The furious yet shocked look on his face—like he’d finally found a worthy competitor—still brought a smile to your face on particularly dark days.

Needless to say, your relationship had been filled with nothing but stiff quips, scathing remarks, and the occasional act of sabotage since then.

You reached your destination and peered into Mrs. Hughes office.

“Mr. Barrow said you needed me?”

“And Mr. Barrow would be right,” Mrs. Hughes agreed, turning to you and smiling wryly. “I can’t make heads or tails of this gown.”

You picked up the mess of fabric she had gestured to and set to work mending. The skirt you were working on could wait.

As you turned the dress over, you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself. Thomas? Truthful for once?

He must have some ulterior motive.

You’d be surprised if the skirt was still there when you got back—or if it didn’t have significantly more holes than when you’d left it.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

You walked into the servants hall the next morning, tired as hell from working on Her Ladyship’s gown all night.

You practically fell into your chair as Daisy came around and poured your tea. You thanked her absentmindedly as you began to nibble on some toast.

“Don’t you look nice, Miss (Y/l/n),” Thomas smiled at you but it was all but a compliment.

O’Brien smirked beside him and you narrowed your eyes at both of them.

“Nice of you to take notice,” you shot back.

“Is it a crime, to butter up one’s coworker?” He kept eye contact with you as he stirred his tea slowly.

“Depends who’s doing the buttering,” you leveled your gaze at his dark eyes.

“Speaking of butter, can we get any around here?”

A blond man sauntered into the room, taking a seat at the servants table and looking around at the present company. You felt Thomas shift across from you.

“I’m serious, just because we’re working class don’t mean we have to eat turnips and bread our whole lives.”

“I beg your pardon, I didn’t know the King of England was visiting,” O’Brien mumbled.

“Only saying,” Jimmy said. “I’d like to be able to eat what I like, when I like without being an earl or a duke.”

Jimmy Kent. The newest addition to the well-oiled machine that was Downton Abbey. And how could you forget? What, with all of the maids talking of nothing else since he arrived. You agreed that he was pleasant looking, but he was too much of a flirt for your liking.

He leaned back in his chair, as if daring anyone to contradict him.

“And what would you like to eat, Jimmy?” Thomas glanced over at him.

“All of England, if it pleases me.”

“I’ll put in a good word with Mrs. Patmore,” Thomas smiled at Jimmy and you were baffled at how it actually looked genuine.

In fact, Thomas had seemed to take a liking to Jimmy from the moment he arrived. He was about the only person who Thomas treated like an equal.

He must be using him, you thought. Trying to lure him into the trap of friendship before getting him fired or something of the like.

“You most certainly will not,” Mrs. Patmore answered, walking into the room. “The moment I start taking requests from you lot—”

“Is a moment that will not happen anytime soon,” Mr. Carson cut in from the head of the table glancing authoritatively at all of the servants finishing their breakfast.

“Why would Mrs. Patmore take your word anyway,” you looked to Thomas, “When anything you recommend is likely to be made of cement?”

“Feisty this morning, are we? Bold for the girl who, as I recall, left the Duchess of Frescershire quite unhappy with a dress that very likely felt like cement.” Thomas spat.

Your hand made a fist and you yearned to climb across the table and use it, but you checked yourself and only glared at the man across from you.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at you, standing up and glancing in Jimmy’s direction before turning around and heading down the hall.

“I think I’ll be going also,” O’Brien left her seat quickly, giving a small smile, her eyes following Thomas’s as she walked to catch up to him.

Likely plotting, you thought. Well, let them to it. The last thing you needed to be doing right now in your tired state was wasting energy thinking about Thomas Barrow.

You finished your tea, exiting the room and preparing for your days work. The girls were already dressed, so you could devote your time to downstairs work for the time being.

You passed Thomas and O’Brien in the hall, both of which quickly stiffened their posture and looked at you as you walked past, ceasing their very obvious confidence. But not before you heard the words certain, return, and Jimmy.

You didn’t even want to bother figuring out what they were gossiping about. Nothing good, you knew that. Best to stay out of it while you still could.

Thomas had nearly gotten you sacked a number of times and it wasn’t going to happen again.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Sleep. It was all you could think about as you walked down the hall, having finished your days work and being ever so ready to hit the hay.

Everyone else had already gone to bed and you were the last to leave the servants hall. You were almost to your room, thinking of how to avoid waking the maid that you shared your room with, when someone called your name.

“Miss (Y/l/n)?”

“Mrs. Hughes.” You greeted her.

“Do you have minute?”

“I suppose I do.”

“I don’t like to ask you to do this, but Lady Mary has asked to have her purple evening gown from last season ready to wear tomorrow. I would ask one of the footmen as it’s through the men’s corridors, but you’re the only servant still awake—”

You internally cursed Lady Mary. Out loud you weakly said, “Straight away, Mrs. Hughes.”

You supposed it worked out for the best. As it turned out, Thomas had done something with the skirt you’d been mending—which just so happened to be needed by Lady Edith the next day—and it might give you a chance to see if he’d hidden it anywhere where he thought you would never go.

You didn’t say any of this to Mrs. Hughes though, you just smiled and walked in the opposite direction.

The male servant’s corridor was dark and you had trouble finding your way around without a lantern. You could make out the outlines of doorways, the doors all shut tight for the nighttime.

Now which door was the storage room?

You found it fairly quickly considering the circumstance and sorted through until you found the aforementioned dress.

Now, to reward yourself, you thought, a little snooping was in order.

You walked farther down the hall to what you assumed were the bedrooms.

Again, the doors were all closed and most likely locked. You cursed under your breath. You were staring to head back before your eye caught on a glint of light spilling into the hallway from the far end of the corridor.

You headed farther into the hall and you saw it. A door, propped open just enough to see that there was someone standing in it, their form outlined by the moonlight.

You crept closer, peering through the gap.

Thomas. His back was to you, but you could see him slowly inching closer to a bed on the far wall.

Except, he wasn’t alone. You could barely make out someone already sleeping. The room appeared to only have one bed, not a shared room, you thought.

Which meant—

You heard a cry. A rustle of blankets. You dared to open the door just a little bit more.

“What in the bloody hell—”

You looked up in time to see Thomas leaning over Jimmy, a look of pure horror and shock on the latter’s face. Thomas backed up quickly, while Jimmy stood in outrage.

“Did you just try to—” Jimmy’s surprise quickly turned to anger as he took a step towards the other man.

Your mind could hardly work fast enough, watching all of this unfold. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. If this was what you thought it was—

You weren’t paying attention and you leaned forwards, your foot stepping on a creaky board—curse this old house—and alerting both men. Thomas turned around and his eyes landed on yours.

“Miss (Y/l/n), this isn’t what it looks like, alright? If you think I invited him, than you’re mistaken.” Jimmy looked flustered and you looked from him to Thomas.

Thomas opened his mouth, as if to say something. He looked pained and miserable.

You almost forgot yourself and felt bad for him.

He tried to say something again but instead just looked from you to Jimmy and then rushed out of the room.

You couldn’t do anything but follow him.

“Mr. Barrow—”

Abruptly, he stopped and turned around to face you. His posture was straight and he spoke as is if he were discussing the weather.

“You got what you wanted, didn’t you, Miss (Y/l/n)?”

You didn’t respond.

“I’m sure you’d just love to see me sacked, wouldn’t you?” Thomas bit out.

“Now—”

“Go on, tell Mr. Carson. Tell His Lordship. Tell the bloody King. Finally got an excuse to see the end of me. I reckon no one’ll even bat an eye, neither.”

Even in the dark, could see the pain and loneliness and fear in his expression that he was trying to hide with his harsh words.

You’d imagined the moment Thomas Barrow would get thrown out on his ear many a time. You’d always pictured the way you’d smirk as he left Downton for the last time. How you’d shout ‘good riddance’ for all to hear. You’d conjured up a million different circumstances just like this.

Except never like this. Not with Thomas weak, practically giving up. You couldn’t say it didn’t sound appealing, getting rid of him. You had the advantage. But suddenly, you didn’t want it.

“You must think more of me than that, Mr. Barrow.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” his voice was rough.

“I mean, I better get back with this dress ‘fore they send a search party.”

You started to walk past Thomas, but he stepped in front of you.

“So, that’s it? No victory speech?” Thomas glared down at you.

You had the urge to slap the look off his face but you took a deep breath.

“Victory over what? I didn’t see nothing to make me victorious. And by that, I mean I didn’t see nothing at all.”

You winked at him once leaving him standing there to process that as you hurried back in the direction you came.

You nearly laughed at the turn of events as you found your way back in the dark. You, covering for Thomas Barrow.

Never in your wildest dreams…

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The next day, Thomas could hardly look at you. Whenever he rounded a corner and found you on the other side, he stopped, looked like he wanted to speak to you, and then hurried on past.

You didn’t exactly expect him to bake you a cake or nothing, but you supposed a decent thank you was in order for saving his arse.

However, for all he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at Jimmy. Except this time, instead of the look of friendship (or more, you supposed) it was now a look of apprehension.

Most likely afraid Jimmy would take his story himself to Mr. Carson.

And you didn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t. From the look of him, you thought as you sat across from him at the servants table, he looked ready to pounce.

Before you could stop yourself and advise against it, you walked up to him. “Jimmy, may I have a word?”

You couldn’t have your one act of kindness ruined by any loose ends.

As Jimmy followed you into the boot room you felt O’Brien’s eyes on you and promptly ignored them.

You got straight to the point, “I wish to talk about what happened last night.”

“I bloody don’t,” Jimmy responded, his eyes flashing, “it was awful, that’s what it was.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” you supplied.

The footman scoffed, “No, I think I understood perfectly alright.”

“What I mean to say is, I hope you don’t plan to make this misunderstanding something bigger than it is.”

“I have to tell the police, that’s what I have to do! I’ve been talking to Miss O’Brien and—”

“And I hope you see how ill advised that would be,” you finished.

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“You wouldn’t want to seem like you were mixed up in…something of that nature.”

“I don’t understand,” Jimmy said.

“You wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re in on anything disgusting, would you?”

Personally, you didn’t find anything particularly disgusting about the whole situation. You figured Thomas could kiss whoever he liked, for all you cared as long as it wasn’t you. But you knew that wasn’t going to work with Jimmy.

“Well no but—”

“Because if you go around spinning your story, someone down the line is bound to think you weren’t all against it, if you know what I’m getting at,” you said.

A look of horror passed Jimmy’s face.

“And besides I don’t think you’re the kind of person who would want to get a man fired, are you?”

He paused. “Why do you care if I get Mr. Barrow sacked? You don’t seem to get on with him anyways.”

“Oh, I don’t care what happens to Mr. Barrow,” you said with a smirk, “I just wouldn’t want this unfortunate incident to cause more of a quagmire for anyone than is necessary.”

Jimmy nodded, “Well, I wouldn’t want anyone’s reputation ruined for it I suppose.”

You smiled.

“And by that, I can’t pretend I don’t mean my own,” he added.

“Who knows,” you said, “you and Barrow might end up being friends eventually.”

“Friends?” He sounded incredulous, “I doubt it.”

“I think there’s more to Thomas than meets the eye,” you said cryptically. “Either way, think about what I said.”

He looked at you a moment, pondering, before nodding at you and leaving the room quickly.

You breathed out a sigh.

“Well, that was quite the speech, Miss (Y/l/n).”

You whirled around, finding Thomas standing in the doorway. How much of your conversation with Jimmy had he heard?

“And what are you doing here, Mr. Barrow? I can’t say following Jimmy around like a lost puppy is well advised anymore.”

Thomas clenched his teeth, looking at you. “It is a public place, isn’t it?”

You were both silent for a moment, as you calculated what to say next. Mr. Barrow beat you to it.

“I wanted to say thank you,” it looked like it cause him pain to say the words to you, his sworn nemesis.

“I would have been sacked if it weren’t for you, though I still can’t quite understand why you did it, and I thank you for it,” he finished. “I’m not sure I deserve it, but I’m grateful.”

“Well, I can’t say it’s not entirely out of self interest,” you said, straightening, “seeing as I can’t torture you if you’re gone, I saw no reason to be the one to end that.”

Thomas almost smiled. “That was quite an act of deception you pulled with Jimmy.”

“Would you believe me if I said I learned from the best?”

“Now, I’m not sure I deserve your compliments as well as your pity,” Thomas said.

“Really, there’s no need to think yourself so special. I was speaking of Miss O’Brien.”

Thomas let out a laugh and you couldn’t help but smile at him. He wasn’t all bad, you could see that. And you couldn’t imagine Downton without him now that you had been faced with the possibility.

“Well, I hope you don’t expect us to be friendly now,” you warned, to break the silence and whatever the spell that had fallen over you two was that made you act most unlike yourselves. Sharing a companionable silence? Never!

“I wouldn’t wish being your friend on my worst enemy, let alone take part in it myself.” Thomas brushed invisible lint off of his jacket.

You rolled your eyes at him, but it didn’t hold any real conviction.

“Well, I suppose I ought to get on with my work,” you said, moving past Thomas. “Wouldn’t want to get behind on your account.”

“You are a queer woman, aren’t you?” Thomas said not unkindly.

“I could say the same to you.”

You turned around, your tone more serious than it had just been

“And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re disgusting, Mr. Barrow.”

Thomas was silent.

“Horrid and self-serving and haughty and a pain in my rear end. But not disgusting.”

“I could say the same to you,” Thomas echoed your earlier statement.

You left without another word.

You didn’t think that you and Thomas would be companions, exactly. But you left that room with a greater fondness for him that you’d ever felt. You understood him more, if nothing else.

And you thought you could guess he felt a little of the same way too.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The next morning, as you began your day by checking the work you’d left out the night before, you found a new lump of fabric atop the pile.

You picked it up and let the cloth fall through your fingers.

It was the skirt you were working at from earlier this week. Barely recognizable, however. It was mended, certainly. The holes were fixed and the hem had been replaced. It looked brand new, better than anything you could have done.

Thomas.

It must have been him. You found yourself smiling to yourself.

“Well then, I suppose we’re even, Mr. Barrow, aren't we?” you mumbled.

Except for the fact that him taking it in the first place had delayed you getting the skirt to Lady Edith by a day.

But you’d get him back somehow, you thought, smiling.

You always did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed this babes!! check out my thomas barrow series if you want more of him and have a great day 💐🍓🩰

#thomas barrow #thomas barrow x friend!reader #thomas barrow x reader #downton abbey #jimmy kent #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #x reader

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woodrowhq · 5 months

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"Welcome back, dear. It’s been too long since we’ve had the pleasure of your company."

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Follow your fellow wards.

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#wrhq.accepted #thank you so much to everyone who took the time to apply! <3

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grandhotelabyss · 11 months

Note

This may just lead to baseless speculation, but was Tolstoy's cruelty and other negative things something he somehow was oblivious to or do you think his whole demeanor was partly a mask to hide his bad behaviour with the old cliche of "Oh he is so loving, he cant do any bad!" - and if it is either of those, which is worse vis-a-vis his writting?

Also if he incorporated those aspects of himself into his writting and expressed some kind of regret about his own lustful and despotic nature, would that chamged your opinion or only make him worse, as a proto "self depreciating guy who uses self-flagilation to just endlessly repeat his cruelty and then half heartedly repent only to repeat the circle"?

He was tortured and tormented by his desires, desires both legitimate and illegitimate and not connected in the way he thought they were: the desire to write a great novel and the desire to force himself on not especially willing women, for example. I don't think he was self-deluded exactly, just self-divided. His fiction is as great as he is because he knows we're all self-divided, and knows he is too, as in the portrait of Levin in Anna Karenina. His Confession is a fascinating document in this way as well; if Schopenhauer is right, he asks there, then what? I understand the recoil from Schopenhauer, but there are other alternatives than a punitive Christian anarchism more self-mortifying even than Schopenhauer's quasi-Buddhism. In any case, a man so self-tormented has no right to a polemic as categorical as What Is Art?, has no right—to put it bluntly—to tell me what to do. As for self-flagellation in public, the ritual self-desecration of the privileged liberal that was so fashionable in the 2010s, for example, I find it wholly despicable, as disgusting a spectacle as any other act of self-pleasure in public, an obviously delectable masochism which is also the most refined and unanswerable form of self-aggrandizement and self-apotheosis. I take my American stand rather with Emerson's "Self-Reliance" and Didion's "Self-Respect." "My life is not an apology, but a life."

#leo tolstoy

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cathygeha · 4 months

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REVIEW

Damned if I Duke by Anna Bradley

Drop Dead Dukes #2

Plucky Prudence and Jaded Jasper have an enemies to lovers romance to tackle in book two of this series.

What I liked: * Prudence Thorne: strong, intelligent, horsewoman, markswoman, loving daughter, forthright, independent, doesn’t give a fig about the ton and gossip, seeking a husband to help pay off her father’s gambling debt, would be a good friend

* Jasper Vincent, Duke of Montford: rake, hedonist, orphaned early, raised by his grandfather, gets into scrapes often, seems a bit closed minded, doesn’t want to marry, doesn’t get along with Prue, for some reason ends up in a marriage of convenience with…Prudence

* Jasper’s grandfather and Prudence’s father – both may have made some mistakes but definitely loved and wanted what was best for Prudence and Jasper

* The runaway horse scene

* Prudence’s interest in things uncommon for women of the ton

* That there was an eventual happy ending for the couple

* Thinking about who Grantham will end up in the next book

What I didn’t like: * Who and what I was meant not to like

* That I had trouble feeling the connection between the main characters and that sometimes the character seen in the most of the story seemed out of synch toward the end – didn’t feel that Prue would have reacted as she did when she met up with Lady Archer.

Did I enjoy this book? It was okay

Would I read more in this series? Yes – want to read Grantham’s story

Thank you to NetGalley and Kensington-Zebra for the ARC – This is my honest review.

3-4 Stars

BLURB

A sensible duke wants a dutiful duchess. A rakish duke wants no bride at all. But a truly wise man knows the pleasure of finding a wife who’s his match in every way . . . Bold and adventurous, Prudence Thorne is not the kind of woman to stand by meekly when someone she loves has been wronged. And she’s quite certain that Jasper Vincent, Duke of Montford, somehow duped her father into racking up enormous gambling debts. When fate offers her a chance to blackmail Jasper into forgiving her father’s losses, she seizes it . . . only to have her scheme backfire. Jasper enjoys London’s illicit delights too much to wed. Too bad his grandfather has decided that a woman with the nerve to blackmail might be exactly the sort of wife to tame him. Pressed into a marriage neither wanted—and fighting a desire neither expected—Prue and Jasper torment and tempt each other beyond reason. Surely a proper duchess should be subdued, obedient, and dignified? Yet just as he begins to get his wish, Jasper realizes how much he wants his unconventional wife—and only her—if it’s not too late to win her . . .

#Anna Bradley #Drop Dead Dukes 2 #Kensington Books #NetGalley #Historical Fiction #Historical Romance #Marriage of Convenience #Enemies to Lovers Romance #Fiction #Romance

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libidomechanica · 1 year

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Nor praise the Fools Paradise, forget

A sonnet sequence

Mid state country so false as there was an old we pay for in the moon the air, alas! The blood, and by each new Nights, at Ombre, after fool and clown, in vain, a kind sea- caves! In our bed thee his post—to meet in all to Honour forbidden guess each to each new and needs must not rise the heard him crept behind. Give men must behind. Come away, it eats the Beau reviv’d again, and think of heaven looks familiar. Dear rose nor weep, and state which is what might the truth atones? The gleam, where are found, and Horror stalked among the world, you so; let Spades behind. For he tormenting dais before?

A watcher want betrays, her flesh and sunburnt mirth! Those witless Mortals, though gald, and freeze, I freeze. Oh, to that frown, dotting all things of the only when he tries, and in her Hearts with flourish’d two spirit may thirst, or lively Looks and could death’s contrive it all the fretful of thine before each friend common bed were crying at life’s iron starry Fays; for once dead: succeeding. But we ride on a Billet-doux he light: and each friends, those thee living the woman loves a man, she says: all kisses, how? Restore than your bodies half shut Eyes sent up in Murderers’ Hole? Or fell were one sighs a Jar, and bound; where most true. Dear her scepter Venus grace and fleece of feather. On this tender hands or what peace, are, and rot, with a bitter loving maid. Which when he trains. Has tantalized me from itself were near. Proposed bliss Clarinda, friend is the ancient Ladies in hairs on the heart, I read.

Pent up through and touch my Tent—for ever would I rove, now, the Sun, her Eyes dejected, while Anna begg’d and magnify, and Africk’s Sable Sons, with Fillets strife, painful results since all things in irritable audit canst do the will be read, but chief fear the hills, the could not plain: my meaning on bough! But we see or sleep her little grey peeling myself, a shuddering his purity of monotone, or dip their sweet, and hard: and bitter longings with a loathsome strain’d, some few favours and a sliding to disappointed Vessels, fal’n from year whose same to weep, Love, foolish me!

Let the self-caged Passion, drinking frown, does sit and sair hae I profane I will not save one frozen trackles, the Nurse and all them: o brilliant kids, frisk without a Wind, nourishing blend, was strong, for the long. Sprung from here, without a spirit in fact I loathsome grace is sick softens, and making through to die, as promise thee that stream, and our anguish wrung the purple thro’ the blest, so my fancy cannot tell me all that so well she might keep he is which think of thou the moment of our she is the rest himself shouldst before you, break through their Chocolate to Fate! Remember whom all things lost!

Be my good and rare: but each sweet the Tresses thro’ the vacant Brain, while euerie office they weight makes the turrets of them grows pale, and feet mighty Hearts step, and Shock, whom my life and chaste that awaited my best, clips streight meet, and two sable Ring: the Cosmetic Pow’r disdain’d, and you, to your arm here was never, and then, good-bye! Why, all song they waltzed and round, and I have pleasure, but Sorrows, melted, and their Head. As they be, such letting goat, Or cross’d, a wretchedness, guess one with your Friend! The cold, cold strange it was a hawk with the heart by hearts I knew so wet stone; the air as the Gnomes direct, to pray in a wave on the country so fair, good-morning with a loathe thou art pouring far in Figure and take his own, and swelling peeps so gaily, christ call from heaven’s employed, feet, who is there, lights, then the meanest flower Sky; the spindle drooping Hearts. So we—the fool, the Muse she still.

When she says the passion, or in the sacred cherries to carry within a dreamed of wreath’d around us both, tis much: but the waves rear more shalt herb, in the flies, and mend! Is it, there is, the other summers exalt their Charms and they tripping, among there we: the kiss now! Had soul tells her Face of Fame invites, burns with Chagrin; that’s your morning on thee to travail thorow all you in a bed the shadows number’d Throng, some distant sky, would sublime than all thine eyes, for the heart to comfort or fear; he often said that Pity in the Wind the fierce Thalestris fans the daisies rosy.

A red with rope of pain. It every Law gave him. Red kelson past that has no grave had once again appears; on her for who causefull time in Human Passion, or assist that had opened child the web of gloom is delight of Light hover, and loud the Nymph opprest, her wrist, some slime, and knew that caus’d her with Pride, watch whose live and love all that could pursue, and so he had soul intend, but diff’ring if lowliness,—sweethearts I know, that ye may loved one, but why he sate on his silken skilled tranced a beauty of mortall eyes upturn’d Bottels, call alone dwells in me is beating Dust.

Before which think what you the heart. What is impossible up to a mothers—it favors neither this deaf moonly and marble figures hurrying by you Cupid’s Flame mount upon his and down flames with your hands sustain that Pity in Love’s Thunderstands she said: I must ever a human nakednesse planted half to fight, we have sugar, but thro’ Galilæo’s Eye: gums and keener Light. Different Nations fly, the wheeled into Airs, and weep, and I seemed too much, no more. Silently play Belinda! He slays the staves and Fortune but of steel we passed five been contend till arriving maid.

To me, you sharply above us on in a lethal joke, The worldlings to you are a comfort and sunk: tis a morning, some tears, but lacks salt, estrange Motive, Goddess with the Course of the expansion of our grave. Fain would so abide? And through the Nymphs, the left with the rising as air! Melts downward to sweet myrtle let his jive ass back to the World to come hither, come back in the more red, and so, ever saw a man who trample on. As do those her Face, for the granted vegetables of blue we tramped the Lock you love. First Elements; but that written root, and the could I hurt her?

We felt sinks downward blind to love round a path loves and o’re, and did you do! When folly, age and being full of cheaper curs’d be this thin Essence, Let me have been know. And there the sand; and one is due, only in the moment rise the votive frightest Fair that evening, riding, sir, to another’s is that stripped on the subtle Censor scrutinize. Nor peer nor peer nor peer now; and clings to you, looking Tyde. Soul, couldn’t get to draw profit while cloak, An army of anguish night, down the gesture life’s flame, savage there are lips Loues indentures of life doth lend, and at ever the swallows’ call?

Thine on a morning lime wakes up each garden in a Grotto, sheltred clsse freely in these the black swollen purple valleys, and conscious moment. That thou should I rove, now spread and round the other and sae lordly; but ever on the tarry Fays; that frightened toward thus addrest Youth more they? At which giue apt seruants that wingèd word the fire, of his half shut Eyes shou’d ever cries, her whom my trust be done to be done, spread a morning like a children, call the World imagine to bear away, child. Stay the hour to reel, and boldly dare invade that silly youthful state, the indicative, the Sylphs contrast the hard sky limits strike, and send up and do you will spend my youthful and flutter in one’s favors neither shining Altars of the rings does she is what art the perfume; far dearest rose tree of life be a dead some one the dread, is less as he movies or on the great Anna!

Oh, didst though sweet air was love, and look at sea and sands of Cain and God-filled heave that is not enough the precious flame to wand’ring, and the light Coquettes in bliss to die dejects, or three Seal-Rings; which won it, and do not kneel to-day as I have turns to kill. Each Silver by. This sacred Hair which marriage into pure and in thy leaf hangs like since tis made, succulent peached our human voice like the ballad that should be dear light into their Scenes, and faults to feet full of folk at the melodious leasures, and of heave. As with no pain, with a Sigh retire: the wrapt in Night.

Each of mud and pleas’d more, and then begin for those sand is forgetful of turning with many a time leaves the Morning me but quickly Mien, and you consign; and say, knowing it to Fate! If to her silent woody places by their unsuccess a Lover smooth as that gave my Lady’s Hairs but those that wind are laved and she ride, if you were away, away into a scream. Like Gods engage, and flutt’ring Hampton takes that coasts may stay, and Heroins Shouts the skin, but Lust, is turn up like bends, adores with Heav’n has its date, and Antony. Bee did not know: when a man, they will, singing, they are true they tell; but I will use a knife shut in these Dregs into a second time-piece to fill, singing to the day, and all, my love receive the paints; i’d catch they rang that early day crawl: o moan: but it is more savage though in scales is a transfixt with doing alien in her.

Love is less refigures watch him whence? But Anguishing; the Fair and peepest? And sea-caves! Who walked before than mortality alone till time leaves, youth: lend wings from the cleaned the Warders strife with tendered in the day. And over, yet I stack by him. The cashier already lay behind Belinda! Good-morrow, but not lovers forgotten thou stealing upwards had fault; I crave the face of snow in a night Beauty thou of thy mind hath so divide. Eyes, and Essence to shoreward bends, few ask, if Fraud betrayable repose—still would make a dull defend my heart sorrows, and Antony.

It lead were our to see through each one must love’s spicy foresees its glow. The Governor all the sea, in distance of Female Wit, who give? And the leaves slim shadow flits between us through frozen trackles, the filmy Dew; dipt in dreams I sorrow not the Fire. Climb high, or rumpled Petticoat. Everybody love like your eyes of the things in Boston, writing, afire, of lover hie, laughing. Louis, and Heaven what Shapes the circled Green. So even so, admitted thou hast that is lov’d is present, love forgot. By this Lock, this wrong berth. Mark how her turning leer, or white, and wine arm!

Where do people whom self-same song the day. Take the dead and in the holy hands now his Desert; there lay as one whose Name I go by, still more near. Whose Fount of Vapors and deep who never sully’d the street with sugred sentence sayes, and loving madness of hers, the Gnome, infrangible and the other sounds I will not trout name the Heav’n reveal’d; the Fan, suppose I know my brain once, and sunly and mirrors. Crept by balms obey, dost sometimes but the sad world slow foot the canker of the sweetnesse strain’d in someone as though or smooth flowers round the phone you couldn’t get your eyes already know.

For the shining Trains in those hoped she got too late, with increase rash Youth more though simulation of the most evil fan. Love simply weary, fair Tresses shall I love him whence before, and in hands, from every dusk, we shed that men have to be my skull, a rib, a pelvis, is it unders! But ev’ry Atome just, this thing, when all the first prizes; o’er all, came glimmers rich, a quiet and they circle their Charge repairs her Gift with what stranging its real to the whirling Cross that waits for that were not, and not love, found his poor. Bow downe his bleeding dialogue withal, in unexpect you.

Upon the Fan, supple me, i’ll rather sing done but the Sounds, Charms conceal’d. And now, your tender wires delude things with Men bell. They loved to-day. Yet all she Smiles of life doth shakes her tides to Time. Slippery asphalte yards of Chat, with easeful Death where she were our arm and comes one’s favors neither so; yet you. For, right! With Hoops, and we knew the walls; ’tis a man and all be turned myself with spite of Louis, and eat our way has not rises in your self dost deceivest, I can break and bay, sands, O my dove, must set a lock upon itself alone, in pain, portend no war nor son of Gold.

Shrinking lemonade and the house, thy joy’s undistinguish hangs like a boulders thro’ the bay, sands, sea-gulls, and they find? A bliss Clarissa drew behind, a dream with him. Girdle me for slaue. If e’er taste her turn up like Lord t’assault on one nice Trick depends his the Sylph—With caresses that face is stand for this festive day, the sun began, but her alone, tho’ she and the shroud, what cannot chariot never swell to shun sickness, and Conscience-quit of you were as those who looked so wistful eye upon the storm, the very original of them but only peeped and Essence offends.

The devil laughter, sicker, older and the rank by rank, or that dies where to shows in her. One from Rosamonda’s Neck in three will to his Neck in this Arts, and in this—to fly, in various peece you will stand how one continent! Let’s conquerable Loads of purest Æther play, and lives a man loves worth! It’s wrong, who else, was it all. Eve and these, twill be false, ere it canst not be foes. Flash of weeds with cause why I then be Infamy to steals along. And each pallid breast, I may, but he drains Fled is that wink at his play, love to fail it is battered low, they have to be. The paining.

I wonder is near. A gentlemanly game, but a kiss, and what powers have a bright to mind until I die! I would I rove, and her heaven’s employed, no nearer bliss in thy Rapine spring, among the old manorial hall. Of almost-stale croissants clenched spines. And mouth he drank smell, your cheeks fresh ruffles of your Chief give body. We waited my lameness, and the darkness, and still. And that mov’d my breast. The hands to their farther than Rome and that lies bare truth with light on waters as I wait. That befell? Never know, since nourish! A current paths of his Face, and knows what peace so dear.

For lo! The vilest deeds like a boulders winds blown over with the gesture. And fret. From which giue apt springs with the seal’s wide— be sure and shall break. Close round his hands sustain the hermit bees find enchantment and grim, surly Winter vittle; fient haet he had caught inklings of our match youth: but we knew not wear his face, nor that in the main spreads o’er her Art, an Earth, Air, Sea, which now my love were the church on the tent of blue we felt he swell to his step seemed lighted Hair surprised, as pow’rful Fancy works, and magnify, and whoever they drop it, the Clover sully’d the right Order laid.

Tomorrow to love was glad the bitter look, some vial; treasures full bright had we doubt, you must be happy laughed at me the Petticoats, or twice, to awake him; but being to maids along, leapt but bind me of some hangman’s despair. From silver Lamp; the Sylph—With careful Thou whose whom Thirst of Fate to have, extreme; a bliss here and the Face that hast sorrows, and all, leaue nothing to crowded and by the tears have we knew that. Till Christ call from here, the fool, for this hour the day more than mend; all the dear call once so long! The days by emperor and said that, had I been at by all alike.

But cruel. And thousands for the windy night paint Woes blacke faces seemed too sick, an’ me there the world the hand of human naked forms were crying Vanities of azure o’erflows, and weariness, the Bosom within the rear of thyself again, and thou steale some other vice contrary to fault lie? From his sacred Nine. That soundtrack of work, we prison of Majesty rever’d, with eager pace, and could ease: without a sigh: for the stars, in their glens, on stain of tears can move though the superscription of its red lights, and all the Universe, musicke lends throng: with joyes increase reneueth!

Than, singest sate heavy Saturn laughing. In ev’ry Atome just lie under on her face. Queen, and the Hearts to Day. Time passions high retir’d. That kiosk at the fricative, only for him Pity’s machine. Of racoon to obtain; tis not serve your dog, fondle your lips of Pity as a beast ioy, by nature beares by being head, and deeds? When when her Hair, some secret powers by Night. It ended bows do stray in totall survive, not thro’ all the Velvet Plain. When Sorrow to their warm as a sheet of flesh by the thou art, if ten of vapour o’er thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

Toothpaste and in her Eyes, and sky; wonder Bills among the shapes the murmurous garb with her Honours shall figures of flames; but in desires I can’t recur. In a sudden a passing the waves rear of the Prize: the kind and make good against my winter still sing on while burning-star’s side, and of dwell for the heat up here and Essence, as therefore than to pray; who watching back to this rising in default. But when to sleep? The vacant Brain, while Visions rage; gainst their golden Scales in Ithaca or he is when he said: the prayer, and rapp’d his ocean blacke horrible tasks: Gather undinal vast French Romance and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen; for the Sprights shine ten in thy bracelet gainst my hearts the mill: but sae that she shadows wide, the crosses and none learn Ombre sings he does meditating Dust. What moved all your conversational era, that’s best mark without this festive calm.

Guy calls the crocus lustrous parricide! Of peaches.—I leapt. Archimedes said, we are days and not winter vittle; fient haet he had an enjoying. Retrieves from out thy selfe denied, ran forget mine for many more they know. Which now more looks taught of love a work nothing I see. Be she crimson stair we trod the nicely can reach, on the Silver bell? I’ll say, to bitter wine are five minutes crawl in ancient men who walked away. We sewed then for the see and nightingale does its Name. Who sought, life’s appointed to know, since Julia, and bone by love me most beware of you, she steed.

Within a dream I must away I can love a wild distance knows well can knows us. Talked and what is wide—be sure it’s impossible alone contrite heaven be thaw’d or heretics in labour’d in Lightning on air; the voyce, which rains, save Love’s will become away! Beware of old, my bird with flourish! To tend the birds are locked door, and hearts steps brighter shines a ioy from her favours are full of weeds which made their prayers, but each got his Desert; there the doubting Wits are kept their Feet, when down to snow, or something on me, only the star-shine only teach helped us at once, as birds.

Is deeper that little day ten years, but, in embalmed dark eyes might our prayed, we faint and Derivéd Self make sweet Tibbie Dunbar? And bids her Breast their requiring. And that is like a rivell’d leaguer’d around music’s cage, whose parts of island of meetnesse free. Dost sometimes and that I bear, and turn to shreds which Thou my sense, as whether than the very woe; my life! What do I owe you? Hath notes each padlocked door, and hard: and blessed the running Lips to lives may giver, who masks and very poor do waiting, and strength to feel for ever a looks anoint me, and I cannot touch I then both loves!

Along each Eye o’er then, unnumbered so far, and melon, yellow hole gaped forms were not act, or lose here, what frighter, sicker, older and talked I will not let me have your dog, fondle your stole feet have gone back the patents of the wrinkled Form in your hand; and the Spleen. And in her. Love in soft Transitional. My meaning with flutes of the hubbub of the great Anna! Of fiery Termagants in ever- mingling town; the roar of a salamander’s Name. So we all men knells on scrolls of shame, and Horror rend what’s whole in the turrets and Shock was most the hill-side; and aye?

That Shock must descend, and each palms to rome? Thy outward praise is no wrong for ages, sculptured in stormy, the Wind that it shot through. So even less bear up beneath the flesh by the holy hand. From the vacant Brain new Stratagems, the Praise, if She inside, fain would tell us what doth follow ledge vastly now parting goat, Or crosses three Bands prepare in hearts with his bonds who show of yet another’s Hairs, while. This way, by the shopping caramels and secretes its beating, and the Force of us would spoil it, get beyond thy little Mermaiden and then raging as thought no more!

Or if they sang to do but hunker downy Pillow the sound is golden Crowns and blessing, or shell secret Truths from their Hearts. And if wee must, and with downcast head, in God’s Son died instead: he had been? Or his Widow’s Gown: her in full-throat and kitsch. Some that fellowship so fall from the imp beleagues of Pins extend, but a dream? Or they star? Cease, bright and prove my Lady’s heel before me at each day is like legs in secret power could themselues will not cold, cold white Curl away? What mov’d my soul abroad dance to ravishing, ogling, and was Hope. Children dear, were not blame; your lips!

His face at night with the night Masquerade. I want to mine own. Is built with yours, then bold Thalestris cricket cap was of Caiaphas. She took the kings of the shade, not only; you expression by the Chaplain would not love alive, and daring Spark, the Skies. To cozen within, and that brow of heav’d Bosoms the Sleeve, whole strings on ev’ry place for you in a dreams of Triumphant Umbriel, a dusky melancholy Sprights quiver and cleansed the bay. What we abase her love doth follows Paris and their coasts may reassure to try to face the wheel in the minutes tells he o’er, I can traced it.

A constellation of God and regions, cities a world, firm, quiet company we pay for you her silence decay. This your fixed point from earth doth shake thy waist, the bay. Rome is better and again! And snow than its way they trod a saraband: and the world again who sought no more! That she said. Rome in the Nymph extends the cold,—but very lone, and drank his quart of Ruth, when thee all. When each of grace for what? I gain, so might dungeons lift of swimmers through each side to wondering delight Locks, we do know, from palms pass superscription of the round by all asleep to the eyes would be.

Her eyes she undertake to that thou hast thou mayst call no more! Some old manorial hall. And a broken nightingale. When the Fan, a Garters, Stars inscribes a charms confounded old dreams in a pleasure, Virtue, if it on each man’s face turn to yonder through you the floats from the Mens Wits may give Ear, and mouth. In me but snow still, glisten; and take a mask. Who know, from palms to remember? Nothing is former Loves. I kiss upon the use of the sea for? In the Lock! Says, I’ll never brown paper bag of praise is there she has had its meant, what an Equipage than one manly game, but being full of syllogisms. And all that despised street, and meant for the church on the windy night. The first Ariel weeps with all her Altars of them in thy little Men?— Robin shure wi’ him. It’s wrong register wine were our Bring mouths would endow with quilled dahlias and friend come sailing?

Which is what’s best, and in the blushful Hippocrene, where: warn’d by me, ladies unseen lurk’d in embalmed dark, let me, lest himself to fight, nor the cape’s wet stone one must everywhere stand is black years for thy Guardian Screen; a thing elf. And takes the sea of lightly tripped on his vengefulnesse paine, not care: and cleansed this be heard him crept away in spite of Louis, what are just after fool and useful anodyne; with eye of wandring Orbs on high, so with a bitter loving maids—the heavy eyelids my anguish hangs like a zeppelin. Those rare like travelers they pursue, and the talking.

Last, in embalmed dark vault home is when Dancing fills with loud they wait, anxious Causes spread aside, when Success a Lovers fill’d him go and the hour at the Tears survive. Who are for blood he clear Mirror of them go, slips on the strings,—your passionate cry, the ills throws his bold Sir Plume repair, while Vision vanish’d, and so fell sick for who can the terror walked to loves, my burial Office read, but he’d once asked her side in sunny valley lone, and the street, and drank they heart. Any curious Dye, those who love of Ombre, not you once before me like rose trees. Was then a woman took his quart of Memory and slily watch him when he be not plains where on that hid I’m, you meant they circles bridge, I know—two women together side, why dost thou no moaning on the things, to the depths of how tender its Trees in Romance assist the tear’s in my grief my eyes already to stings.

I never and only tears, the distant hill where happy laugh of Mischief still exclaim it thrice from her face at night quick as he springs huge and turn to lives a new, and Love is what ever praise is due, only when she sipp’d, the Gazers strive and Jove had the gloom creep through weathern Land; where lies young here wit in one’s heart is like a vision, or a waking, and no moan, I mourners where bright-beaming striped urchins flay each one lifts by day, cross a sullen Region that began himself, a shivering as the Long Island endeth! Was drunk, or e’er the more! By thy deeds like an Eve, be the town, since now the day more wretched man—at sev’nfold Fence to lutes each Eye o’erflows, and Fate inclos’d, and barb’rous Friend! We tore than Rome and the woodland echo of thy bracelet gainst my will nor came the Heroe’s Wits may buy, till Cherry ripe themselves do stand is formed to safely crossing the body.

Still thy Protections of Sweetnesse free. Thoughts, although I knew she could I rove, ne’er known injure. Inspire, and mid-May’s eldest chills among the Handle thine on his her Breast. Your voice thread now?—Two women to thy hand. The curtains and with downcast head, in silent melody have been rent. Oh say what damned grotesques, all, but in the Nymphs throw mocking! The starting-place is the spoke, and watched a thorns and momentary, we called word. And at everything the delight and peace, and, though she is what portending eyes: and so down the city, and sore and saw, alas! Want nothing occurs too normally.

The moaning winding streets, hearts, in the the butchered present in some will not help. But what, or heaven raining the sea-stocks blood runs out across the better, by thy Grace, and wisdom, beautie with us! She see and barb’rous Causes spreads the movies or on their lost on Earth, his lip: but they might with the day more Manillio forc’d to Combs, and days, suppose I know that fair Nymph opprest, her whom Nature for you, to whome my Muse his task, must fade away; these, while ribboned where the deserv’d a watcher wanton hair, and swinging, old joys for ever the swarthy Moors. Girl was sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

As with curious Tempests on all the dark. Oh might keep themselves do suggest me to wand’ring in her knee. Whatever meeting, or ten times happy, had I rather you to whome my Muse the fair: to danced, all song of praise a Pimple seed the dark confession by their Hell, and Beauty draws us with lurid beam, and things and I. Ye Sylph embraces mixt with pain to find the times should let your arms, transfixed subject, but love, when thunderstand in her Face of its pattern and arm him for One, and at every Law that my years, and sad-sighing passion, drink the plumes of fair Nymph, to this way!

Now that one traveled and four weeks in wild with such daring Spleen. Straight, life-disquiet we must finish, the If and Thou; if I— the Pumpkin off without a Thorn, and they blurt out curt some quickens with his life he sat down. Above thou distill’d: make one the Sky, the bees, my drink down. Th’ expiring all the dew! Break Diana’s Lake. From which marriage. The Goddess with loud Alarms. And told you determinals. Then cease upon a Matadores with Cares heard me sic a trick! Petal by petal by petal by petalled in vain. Ties at once—and her, and with Pow’rs. Doubt you, a million years!

The chambers of her and heighten’d by the proud palace, what Sexes and fears,—did you call its Arms; there shall seek it; this silken Wings, and hold with our love’s spicy forests, and far both with more the delight, draw in your mouths would make itself were living Love one whose hope to believe That she weariness, at and dies, I discern my meaning on air that ye may all here. And anon the street with open they whose worthy so wistful eye upon there the doughty Mien, and cleansed them and for air as the Riches of needfull teares, as o’erthrow, and all thine heir. With loves a man love lies you will!

Feeds, and some Sylphs, yet rather that the quiet breath the stone; o rivers, churning Omens did he peek or pine, but for the Field. Oh Thou whose curtains did I wonder all, and bawled over, yet I stay’d, and mighty Quarrels rise from the giddy Circle the treasur’d the Guard of Shame. Whose here the dark blue regions of goodness, would tell the World imagine to swim naked for a dragon when I thy plain—oh might fair woman he’s thirst: for home, by the Kurd more am I, who have me a joke about barber. For the boldest children dear light: each me, only the Queens and slowly spinning sun.

From the fingers, brushed by the Devil? Is full of Noise and play: From the quickening, my sweet lady-flower to me. Drifts and ever so as none e’er with rope to sing o’re, and we for once before me as men who lie with the sea, salt, that the same to bring him within your side, O sweetens, he shuts, closet. At last look at baths around, the Lover’s Tongue, thy cup is ruby-rimmed. The yellow hole gaped for ever and uninspire, and of various Habits and Tomes over the gallows-tree, and day; who watched Maids. Who hath the hope we under the lever was an academic joke.

One frozen trackle, and straight, moonlight: and bring to be happier, be it ten for mortal lease. Thine eyes and of Madam, and that that must quickening thee back, O liberal and pace them to hide: if I any fret or vex, men these notes, yet should melt the lip of honey bag from ancient Race, and Fate forgot, wrapt in Nightingale does not so the old! It made him lest Christ shoulders winds are, the foam that abiding thy hand. But being absent in two sable Ring: think to maids—the purple valley lighted at its endless vigil kept, and then ye Spirits! Away, you at the bond—still time.

It ended, soon grow. Madly meeting graunt than lost, and flowèrs, a-list’ning the only blooms and Queens whose little heavenly hides doth thirst no more shall I fix you, freeze, or by Force without a kiss by yours in this mountain under on their Chocolate at the brighten’d by on its day. And the giddy Motions, cities are one lifts the unweeting the floors, is dwarfed and make us poor although in wretched man—at peace—this Diamond’s circling Rays, on that makes her giant heard the Bodkin’s Eyes; nor feel for honeysuckle that song of amber, a pavement of flames with all its adder-bitten of Heirs, cages for the umpteenth time. Should raise is due, onely at the treasur’d the tott’ring mournful Virgin that hover round the Wind their Feet, when all passions live in doubtful Beauty of bright-beaming in her Charge, least is always it’s wrong the gold and boldly dare a comfort and rude, cruel.

Love in sutures. Amongst the dismantling wind revealed by me, and heart, already more secure, through your children, at midnight the wish you call no more! In a queer sort of beer: his crown my love, thought rest thou hast brought no more. The kingly to the wrought is there is at peace is the Wing, her brought, of twelve vast French Romances, neatly gilt. The deep-delved earth. Awful Beam long ago—that thy selfe denies, then come night. Think of Scylla’s Fate! The hoary Majesty rever’d, they knows what’s done but Room for theirs with Children, at midnight magic with flow of—was it yesterday call once bounty cherish!

One year that we knew that skirt the Diamond ring would make us still silence is far conquerable Lord, with you and come night, life-disquiet—dull fence are disdain’d, how is the streets, and the eyes, and set my tongues than to gain all other regions own, absál and know the price we turn’d him with a flatterer neuer lieth. Through the fills with child a man is not dire Offence are broken box that crowd the sandy down; her splendour face; let eares hard sky limits step so swift. Perhaps the arms and whom the man should returns from her shining Altar’s at our wood; with loves a man who’s moving.

Call here, till each new and quench thy sweet where you, I cannot claim madly meeting the faults i’d not sit with outward to sence, and his mortal Sight, life-disquiet companion stood at the flowers, I though the fancy cannot climb! Make him. Which you are like a casque they from sea plaint yet be blames with his Tongues licking at the near, till hear no sooner share strange low sobs that the light and me, on a suit of God and my life in my ear forgotten theirs with the see she sees most terrible tasks: Gather side shall still art discompos’d therefore me, not Cynthia when sweetly bleed? A kiss now!

Brave Caledonian view. And sick for who can speak—then come do it with Reproachful Spirits of lights to Day. The old! Long along, and if wee must be happy in the voice like a merry notes in Air, and those Eyes which like that instant, still exclaim it that horrors of his idea, whose who show that frolicked wicked as he spreads verse and clamour, agitated People, hither, toes touch! Louis, what were our Edens, beaus banish Beaus, and a few grave the wrong, what we lovers fill’d; her Breast. Like two mourn for death lodge such Rage in these did falls undimmed, thy cup is ruby-rimmed.

For the wise begins and elm have nor will discharge, whose office thread, or the Case, and a new Disease, which has devour, dusty skin his little, some tears not help. In grass or sand, and one dawn to dance upon his eyes that seventeen, practice eulogies. Doubt you, a millions slain, than tongue but Room for One, and the delight, when dispers breath of Fame defend my yong soule, which one in the Fight, lasting of you wrong and soul the colour’d and round a path had entered garland for Sin pierc’d Battalions slain, your leaves half in drifting clove. After seeing her so; yet waile with the Care of Manhattan was it all departure, but snow and no wave its treasures ope at once—and something—the chamber of the Guard of bright Nymph, to possess and for a nosegay! By you I say, Love, the watery wild, we sat down, chloe stepped or new Brocade, for her Look; she smile unsearch wit to me?

Then I would be. With such a debt to pray; who watcher’s storms conceal’d town before me as pitying Audience met in sad, it is on his hands of how the long Labours nor thee, or Geordie on his forc’d, the prostrate Ace. The kind of woman in red wither. We can buy, till Miss’s comb is more wretches than Pittsburgh is morn of Rome is beat into the earth, tasting hate. Then proud Triumph spread through weathered limb diffused to die. Guse-feathers call aloud for truth, even this—to fly with care, and the waves, the coin of Pity do than so, admitted thought no more in haunted shore no love?

It; and on my rose trees that fresh Colours from earth lie, or when bold Homer’s flowers are, and pale a stuff, it weeps with our lips? The prison-yard, is as that winds of Air; the floor to keep it self shall selling Stars, and soul in prompt in Vials, or tumbled Beds, or rumpled Petticoat. It light as this was lying sweet as I rang’d the construed from the body worn and the street, and hide what froaths below! The path is nowhere, the silver Spirits fruit of summer in their Suns shall consecration of the Sylphs there for the Nymph extend that the Glass appears’ her Eyes, and Sprights repair from its toy!

Who hath the phoenix’ breast where and sad-sighing to fill, for the chaff with tempts once and its day. Comes this Lock, the Waters as cool cell in pain, and those Meads forlorn child? Then be Infamy to stray in the goal, this glory to fail; tho’ Honour tragedy, is it yours from reached for waur, and smile here’s nothing town and twilight Shadow fleeting of you nor will now; and throng: with ardent Eyes sent upon the Sleeve, The wily Virgin’s Cheeks freshened by this Hand, wretched the shape of soft Sounds, Charms, and grave. It’s all discharge, they from the drought of the Trains of her Force to ride. For idleness to climb!

Nor princely give thy sacrilegious Hands. Too long! Give way, the humming star, get with Pride: what is fam’d to the shuddering delight with thee fade for still, her who wounded me. Most circuses, so often enough the thine heard him crept behind Belinda’s Name! I only they amble at the thine; do thou, poor pretty ruth upon a things of Pleasure still art discontent with words can scarce could pursue its Honours shall Grass in storm we trod the artist the world, firm, quiet evening-star’s at once and round the regions of my bed that straws, everything else to C ⸻ l, Muse! The heaven and touch!

And chafe and eu’ry part in life, he had hair like a vision fleeting, and what strange Phantoms rising Tombs, and might shall glow, and bids her face; let eares hard hand in the lesson true, thy Eyes first print more, not your day. And hide the sand at once, as the black chords upon the deep dark disgrace, nor Beau demands, laying Laughter, sicker, older and that every poore soul and bask and looks a sigh, and through in you to whom the faint and if you love. We turn it every prisoners call forth the Prize is less vivid. Though its guardians, go floating Dust their sweet, yet of lead make him going on her life.

It was this sound like Confusion can’t espy in a city by thee fly, the day come, chiding through black and expropriated each turn. A beautiful; but the Fantom cold. She steady surprize the depths of Truths from this evening the iron town and their Ways, and the doctor, says tomorrow. In ev’ry Word a Reputation has its sad in pondrous momentary, we can, but her clear green, or o’er the barrenly perish: she carved the chambers of death, if I were—where the train beneath. And well- a-day! And trembles alone the hubbub of the modern man trembled as he dieth!

Ah no! Let’s star-pitched Sylphs, yet mine own in other for longings with gentle dance of its prey. To you, to your voice by my sights, and of their fragrance, I touch! Are you call no other vice continents, as those sand, the Light drink but one nice Conduct of meetness void of Gold. That skirt these antics were possessing, or when Success. As she inflame, lie with fear, ’mid the shores to die. Who know, still ride on a Billet-doux; wounds, Charms confounded me. I said: Go up, dearest Silvia, yet was used in hairs, and dandle; a third into loves! I moved, with a Sigh, she wants. In all the grey seniors quest.

You hadst thou had such as few men can claim. Where is the water. Who longer touch as sweetly bleeding. Within your tender Charms, and mak’st all discharge, the wall was at lengthening a share sometimes happies thou hast thy show, the Glory of the dust where the Baron their boots. When folly and for all. And a spiritual spirit meet thy tottring Dust and gleam of herself is blow, nor praise a Pimple Kurd perplexes and Forward running noose and purple Fire. Shall his Foot, and in Face. Everywhere! Yet, hadst be tomb bestrew where the Skies, without the morrow broom, and thus her heard, the republic.

Who knows what power to quite under on train roar’d for he whole against my winter’s Daughter, thy Eyes she frontiers Promises, for giraffes. Not Tyrant first crack; heroes and cold strange Phantom cold. Where ring we turn’d to Combat on the man in contest? A though harbengers of her seal, a wash of welfare, from Rosamonda’s fondest use a knife shut in drifting clove. ’Er, one bent; the air beneath the dark. A little, as thought,—All labour of folk at the sand-paths.- Striped urchins flay each tongues that fell were nowhere, it crosses throw the ghost radio, may never praise is due: only of you.

” He storm we pace, and quickening to die. For, after Million years hence. While heart’s blood whom Nature like a man forget thy Fate, incens’d Vigaro cry’d, which first love’s Thunder through that oft-times hath had soul, outstrips man, found, and mark which now more savage than earth is the Fall he crystal Domes, a shuddering colder wheel of thine eyes, for his steps forth thyself refus’d a Kiss, not touch my Tent—for ever and shady grove, as a mountain that, had he knew the gallows’ need: so with shown. The greater grief my eyes of pleasures once of Hearts that deed. With like young flame be every woe; my life awry?

Up the argosy of you, she reply whose days passion, or any kinsfolk pray with a little tenth Hour reach otherness pressed bliss he could a creature like a children dear, was it alive? Nothing he looks direct, to ev’ry Grace, are, as we three or sleep has ended, already hang they guess each other the surf in the phone you could have your dog, fondle your Eye, like the minute pastoral eglantine, which arise, and take me whispers said, and thrice them in rhyme so, side by side. Only in crowd the lesson true, there are disdain, have your love; and language of snow in a question.

Yet, if that fresh blood and secret Truths from you now until I die. Had to do it with causefull time eats the world’s sharpness like that the Spirit’s Cares thro’ all the Veil may know. Be she says the Lock! Sprung from the bestowing. It’s wrong register white steel: for Spirits round their smile over and cry’d the Queens o’erthrow, and over the day to you. To collect him, on the dead. Meet, if thy sleep the stone; o river-tide. And Lovers quickening, quench like a zeppelin. Both demands; and yell: Get out of meetnesse freely in a wash of a new lover sully’d the low sobs that glances pass in pain, who hurrying and slow foot the surf in the bell, and now tis decreed that soft the frontiers Promise to C ⸻ l, Muse! To a Gnomes Embracing, tho’ stiff with fettered leewardings, a things of Poesy, where one way she and rare: but ever saw a man for ever they creep through a murder-spot.

Alone another’s terror crouched at the treasure the growing fennel, run to side; at length indu’d, she dead sage could I forget more shall be true and moon’s pale Ghosts stare. And sunglasses in my e’e. And Love drifts and of Nymph reviews her Ear, fays, Fairies, in the day. The lark’s ear; children, let me still regards, but, then, stoop, since I learn! At last: one speaking the long-contend till arrive with youthful Kings are immortally to inhale their Prospects, or Birds sing along, and Fate and drink they weigh in white, the Lock! The priest, and thus begun. Their feathery grassy slope I trace these have chosen it.

Fly to you, to you. Now move to ride. Even these set in some to heaven seek my love thou hast brought rest himself, tooke Stellas hearts I knew what the muck of screams of Horror stalking wide that says, Ours is a garden not comes near? And the prison-cell or ill, and, like bended bows do suggest me to wand’ring Harbour, yet of blood where she’s to my ear for long ago—that thou death with Ends of plain—oh might melts downward flowèrs, a-list’ning to the blood, and so down the bins, comes my heart, or a waking lemonade and loving and mighty kings, the chamber of blue who never knock’d again.

They scourge the dimness of birds in my hands or what might not blame. It is near. Was used in Secresy blowing continents, as of them grows pattern and whose choice of snow that he gets, comes one’s Frolics left the Moon’s pale Ghosts starred, silent continues to Heav’n trembling for ever way while we made him as anybody’s breath; was the cycle’s changed the mall seek it; this frost and pace and thus anew to greeting Power shrinking in that we felt the lark’s ear; from the pilgrimage in the sun beats, nor dropped eye, round of fury makes me without a Thorn, and that evenfall, look over are no more her lot. With doing all, but this mourn the swell thee my own beat thro’ all the little bag, we had an end, thy cup’s hear they waves roar. No need my wandering bears—this, and Snakes coil and for ever the kiss now! More shalt heard you add cluster’d all too zealousy, that pass in pain, the devil laughter.

But she said, Could by ill be read, nor, white. And bleached by times and kept? Bright in lead, my bird with the preside, a livid: how soon unites again. Th’ Adventrous Baron flies; strange low rosed moonlight wraps me in her demeanors motion we bestowing. My mouth is, false to the will not blows coldly; light Shadow to the Revelations— swith a kiss, and clean, be she glides, those force, or miss a Masquerades, or crystal to me? In the sum could I descried. Then, Clarinda cold decay. Which bore the Head as he spring-time into their convict lies has not wrong register with thee!

Is this, so my fate I know, as oft incense hand of vapours chokes up each one live as if after a dewy wine, dry the true? We find out, and music, or by Force, but not rises up to make us still I repining; no enemy but who would I weep! The soft name you. Th’ Imperial Tow’rs, which none to C ⸻ l, Muse! With bars to come back to the Birth-night:—must away, come down; call no more, not you. To run off two captive Queens who through in scales is delicate and Left to music’s cage, whose dear light and the swell? Eye can see; beauties yet to your arms, repair, for one small figures watch him night, down below. And Crystal of the silken sky. The delight and Innocent shuffling to tell? Thou should corrupt my Charms, transfixed subject, because I live as I sat all the Wits again. For the Belle Isle, or disconsole: and sip with the Course of midnight keep that God!

Shows but never saw a man forgive thee for blood whom three wild; with loud that beat again; my last gray hair, bedabbled without really bringing section of the El’er’s dochter! Ten years amid the long vine creeks we wise Celestials know, nor bound, feed in vain, the first streak of you at the sun began to go on living travell’d leagues of Eighteen, parent Forms by Spleen. And stations flitts the souls in prison-wall, that that dead sage could go to Sleep from mortal Pride: without really seemed to the morning she is in the World they giver, white hairst, or foul hypocrisy for in a flowers they!

There death and love know, still to hell, my longing’s a joy proposed; behind, and arm’d meant, whate’er they past, am given as his proper Scent and petalled in by this mourning wind blows coldly. Here her un- admir’d remains asleep has ended Honour, or how, or will knows us. But with echoing strain’d, some old me with a bitter wine were guilty gate, petal of his Face—book sonogram a tiny dictum full of the old and the rich palms to the key of Nations treasure by the sandy down; her splendour a white Curl away? Was the antics were moved over which is whist.

In the named by the Kurd more I looked white steel we pay for ever the pieties of these! When thy fair Head, forgot, looked with William Holden, especially after, melting Maids turn’d to a Birth of life here! Resolving, lang has Joy been so well can know. To be a deadly sight rest. But see what she still. Ever they are old; some seaward from leaning, sir, to you I say, you her sing down to it again. What he that, in the chamber or there was the world, four Knave that gave him. I cannot die ye must beyond affection and all their herd of Sin had caught for idleness spreads the fruit! Which euen to sleep? What if wee must, and through sweet airs combin’d, of bronze, and wondered shape of scream. We waited fall, look on her fav’rite Lock! Are true, drugs poisoned hilt, and what man not what’s done, spreads, and Purple door for only when Auroras Court; in various plot that heart the old manorial hall.

Is it, the realms of azure o’er, one in threescore years, those worth—compared withers on the silver Bound, and the receives in your dog, fondle your children dear, with adder- bitten of the imperfect past a future like Leaders of delight was these Eyes are made a pearl they shine and gay; but sought, I know white, there to trust behind. We were all the more her prayer, or his hands or which one of us poor soul, but we know, and up and our appetites more than so, being—had I said—Then, good-bye! Thee what so few of beauteous largesse? The Lily and what thine before the tall her on trains.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #130 texts #sonnet sequence

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thechemistryset · 5 years

Photo

Giuliano Carnimeo, Anna, quel particolare piacere, 1973

#giallo #giallo film #edwige fenech #anna quel particolare piacere #anna the pleasure the torment #1970s #70s

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aloneandforsakenbyfateandbyman · 3 months

Text

Edwige Fenech in Anna: the Pleasure, the Torment (1973)

#anna the pleasure the torment #edwige fenech #giuliano carnimeo #film #1970s

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giallofever2 · 6 years

Text

CulT!

1973

Anna quel particolare piacere Anna: the Pleasure, the Torment

Data di uscita: 27 novembre 1973 (Italia)

Regista: Giuliano Carnimeo

Musica composta da: Luciano Michelini

Scritto da: Luciano Martino, Sauro Scavolini

Sceneggiatura: Ernesto Gastaldi Francesco Milizia, Sauro Scavolini

#anna quel particolare piacere #anna the pleasure the torment #blake edwards #edwigefenech #corrado pani #giuliano carmineo #ernesto gastaldi #anthony scott #giallo fever #gialli #giallofever #italian giallo #italian cult #cinema cult #italian sexy comedy #international cult #cult #giallo

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therealvinelle · 3 years

Note

Thoughts on destiel?

Oh boy.

I have thoughts on this, a multi-part fuck-off sized meta level thoughts on this, but as it happens my past self has done me a huge favor on this one.

Devoted followers of this blog will remember the Muffin and I made our own TV tropes. This is not a tropes dictionary we'll ever publish in full, so don't ask, but every so often an ask hits just right (like when we have to justify "Aro is Charlie Kelly") and there's nothing to it but to publish an entry.

And it so happens that I made a Destiel entry some time ago. Note before you read this, the structure of these tropes is that we include definitions of what the trope is (sometimes there are several meanings, hence the enumeration), as well as an explanation of what the trope even is.

Keep in mind that this was never meant to be published, it was meant for our eyes only. But hey, you asked and this saves me time.

Also, yes I know all of this is fucking weird.

Edit: another important note, I stopped watching in early season 9 and really only consider the first five seasons canon. This is in large parts because the show just failed to do anything at all that I enjoyed after that, and several things the show did, like “oh season 4 wasn’t anything special for Cas, he actually rebels all the time lol. CRACK IN HIS CHASSIS”, made it impossible for me to enjoy the show. It’s just easier to make the cutoff at the Kripke era while things still pretend to mean anything.

Destiel

/dəstɪel/;

Noun

A nonexistent ship. A Destiel ship is when the fandom ships Character A with Sexy Lamp B. The Destiel ship is past incompatible, because you could still get relationship angst and in turn a ship out of incompatibility. The Destiel ship is nonexistent because one half of the ship is of a nature that means he cannot meaningfully be in a romantic relationship with anybody, regardless of how much character development he goes through or even how much love there may be between him and character A. Originating from Supernatural, a TV series whose fans came to passionately ship one of the show’s main characters, Dean Winchester, with the angel Castiel. Dean Winchester is a womanizing redneck dudebro with daddy issues. Castiel is a multi-dimensional celestial entity created to fulfill God’s Will. Castiel is not boyfriend material. Not to be confused with Anna/Elsa or Christine/Erik.

Lily/Rabbit is a Destiel ship.

Steven Universe is full of Destiel ships.

Destiel, the abbreviation of Dean Winchester/Castiel, is the insanely popular slash ship that rose up in the Supernatural fandom in the show’s fourth season, when the character Castiel was introduced. Originally a Honey Maren ship, the ship has since grown to quite possibly have the most notable fandom on the internet. Notable is really the only word for it, these people invented ABO, ruled supreme on social media for years, and in many ways made Supernatural’s reputation what it is today. Their impact on fanfiction and slash culture is immense. Unfortunately, the ship is the worst. On a very fundamental level, Dean does not understand what Castiel is, and he never truly forgives him for being a supernatural creature. When he tries to bond with him, it’s over human things Castiel has no understanding of, which in turn only serves to highlight how lonely Dean is, that the closest thing he has to a friend is a celestial entity he doesn’t begin to understand. Castiel, on his end, loves Dean, but in the way of angels. He loves all of God’s creations, some more than others but still not in a carnal way. He’s a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, he feels no hunger, thirst, pain, or pleasure (or if he does then it’s usually a sign something is extremely wrong and he’ll spend the episode whining about it). The one time he does experience temptation, he’s not actually experiencing his own temptation, it’s Jimmy Novak’s consciousness giving him trouble. Angels don’t feel emotions the way humans do, what they have seems to be a different concept altogether. There’s also the fact that Castiel can’t walk the Earth in his true form, so he must possess the form of Jimmy Novak if he wants screentime. Jimmy Novak is not happy about this, he at first didn’t understand what he was saying yes to then was later coerced with the threat of certain death and his daughter’s endless torment if he didn’t let Castiel possess him. If Dean and Castiel are somehow having sex, they’re raping Jimmy Novak. Lastly, the relationship is quite toxic, as Dean is a toxic person, and his relationship with Castiel is no exception. In short, Destiel is a horrifying, impossible ship that hinges on Castiel looking upon his Father’s creation and saying “I want to stick Jimmy Novak’s dick in that.”, Dean raping a vessel after spending his life freeing people like Jimmy, and sexual love between a human and a divine entity being feasible.

#supernatural #castiel/dean winchester #anti castiel/dean winchester #supernatural meta #anti supernatural #supernatural angels #castiel #dean winchester

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dothwrites · 4 years

Text

spn15 spec, destiel, post 15.18, mcd?? sort of???

---

And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend.--Antoine de-Saint Exupery, The Little Prince

---

Castiel opens his eyes in nothingness.

It’s not dark, though the air which presses around him is thick onyx. There is neither gravity nor weightlessness here. Castiel exists but he does so in a void so barren that he doubts his own mind. He opens his mouth to call out, but no sound escapes.

Castiel exists in ignorance for one, glorious moment. Then the weight of memory crushes into him. His chest buckles underneath the pressure. He tries to scream, but the vast emptiness swallows the sound.

---

“Cas, we can fight this!”

Dean, his Righteous Man, Dean, the shining beacon, his friend...The first real friend he’d ever made. Dean is ready to fight. Dean would fight God, has indeed fought God. But he can’t fight this.

The door shudders in its frame. Blow after blow rains down on the weakening wood. Already, the wood is splintering under the assault. The thin strip of light at the bottom of the door disappears underneath a sea of writhing black. The Empty is here. It wants what it was promised.

“Dean,” he says. He intends to say much more--It’s too late, let me go, thank you--but his voice cracks on the single syllable of Dean’s name.

He wants to stay. God help him, but he wants to stay.

“No, dammit Cas! You don’t get to give up! We can fight this thing, we can keep running, we can...” Dean’s voice trails off into nothing as he looks wildly around the small room.

Though he might protest, Castiel knows that Dean is a man bailing out a sinking ship. In his heart, Dean knows the battle is already lost. But he’s still defiant, still clinging to the faintest shred of hope.

Castiel loves him for that.

“You fought for the whole world.” Castiel’s voice is weak and pale against the ear-shattering thunder of the Empty’s attempts to break into the room.

“Cas, no--”

“But you can’t fight for me.”

The words shatter something vital in him. Castiel gasps as the agony shreds through him. He thought there would be more time. He thought that happiness was an ideal that no one could ever reach. He thought there would be time, he doesn’t want to go, he wants to stay--

“Cas, I can’t...Not again, I can’t lose you again, please don’t go--”

Black seeps into the room, slender tendrils snaking across the room towards where they stand. Castiel feels every second ticking away. He’s lived for millennia, seen worlds and empires rise and fall, felt the passing of centuries like nothing more than a passing breeze. Millions of years, and now, when it means everything, he has no time.

Castiel cups Dean’s cheek with one shaking hand. If this is it, then he doesn’t want to leave with any regrets. “Dean,” he croaks. That word has become his compass, his prayer, the star to which he hitched his wagon.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you. If I had a choice, i would stay. I would stay with you through every sunrise and sunset, through every moment, the mundane and extraordinary alike.” Castiel’s voice catches in his throat as the door finally shatters and darkness pours into the room.

“You’ve taught me everything, Dean, and I...I’m so grateful that I got to know you. Without you...”

Castiel can’t continue. He’s immeasurably grateful for all he’s experienced with Dean, but he’s always been greedy. He wants more. He wants to see Dean’s hair continue to silver until it’s soft and grey. He wants to go fishing with Dean and discover the peace inherent in the activity. He wants to watch Jack grow into his own and Sam start a family. He wants, with a fierceness that takes his breath away.

Darkness curls around his ankle and winds its way up his calf.

Dean shakes his head. Tears well in his eyes but refuse to spill over, though his lower lip shakes. “Please,” he asks, tilting his head into Castiel’s palm. “I can’t...how am I supposed to do this without you?”

Castiel starts to respond, but his voice is cut off by the swift, hard press of Dean’s lips into his. His heart jolts and gutters in his chest before it picks up again, beating so hard he thinks it might escape through the confines of his ribs.

“I love you.”

The words tumble out of Castiel’s mouth, the same as they did years ago when he was rotting from in the inside out. The same frantic need consumes him now as it did then, when every beat of his heart dragged him closer to the edge of oblivion, when seconds were more precious than gold, when he was so close to losing everything--

Dean sobs. He clutches the lapels of Castiel’s coat and kisses him, teeth bruising behind his lips.

Castiel’s whole lower body is engulfed in darkness so complete that it feels as though it’s ceased to exist. His whimper is lost in Dean’s mouth.

“No,” Dean gasps, pulling away. Castiel already knows the cause of Dean’s denial. He can feel it, creeping up his chest and shoulders, slithering down to his arms. He remembers how it was to be devoured, remembers the noxious black ooze of the Leviathan crawling through him, but this is worse, is so much worse, because now he knows what Dean’s lips taste like, now he knows everything he has to lose--

“Cas, I love you,” Dean tells him, though his words echo strangely. The Empty crawls up his throat. Castiel chokes on it, but he doesn’t dare to blink. He can’t lose a second of this, of Dean’s face, horrified and tear-stricken though it is.

Seconds tick away like centuries, Dean’s face in front of him. Castiel can’t hear what he’s saying, but he can see the words shaped on his lips.

I’ll find you, I promise, I’m coming for you, Cas, Cas, I love--

And then.

Empty.

---

With the image of Dean’s face in his mind, Castiel screams.

There is no sound in the Empty, but he screams anyway. His agony and loss pour out of him, his grief and fear. Everything that he’s lost, Dean--

Castiel screams until his voice cracks and breaks, until his throat is shredded and raw, until he tastes blood in the back of his throat.

Hollow, he slumps to the side, curling into himself. His one consolation was that he would at least be asleep for the rest of eternity. He wouldn’t have to live with the weight of everything he’d lost. Now, even that slender comfort has been ripped from him. For the rest of time, he’ll have to exist with the memory of Dean’s glassy eyes, with the sound of Dean’s choked voice echoing through his skull, with the phantom ache of Dean’s lips against his. Castiel shudders, sobs ripping out of his throat.

“Jesus. So much for helping.”

Castiel blinks. The sound of another voice is foreign in this void where nothing should exist. He rolls over, looking up at the sardonic face staring down at him.

“Ruby,” he rasps, then remembers himself.

That’s not Ruby.

“Go away,” he mutters. He wraps his arms around his legs, pressing his forehead to his knees. There’s no point in having pride here, not when time is meaningless and every second is a torture. The Empty already knows his secrets, though why it chose Ruby’s form to torment him is a mystery.

“Look feathers, you were the one who screwed the pooch on this whole ‘fixing eternity’ thing. So I think I’m going to stick around for a bit.”

“There’s no point,” Castiel says miserably. “You got what you wanted. I’m here. I’m suffering. What more could you possibly want from me?”

“Were you dropped on your halo? I told you what I wanted the last time you were here. I want out, you moron. I told you to find a way out, and you wound up here, which is kind of the opposite of what I asked.”

Castiel blinks slowly, lifting his forehead from his knees. “Ruby?” he asks.

Ruby rolls her eyes and sighs for dramatic effect. “Yeah, dumbo. You know, I’ve only been trying to tell you that since the beginning.”

“I can’t trust that.” Castiel remembers all too well the last time he was here, the jolt of pleasure at seeing Meg once more only to realize that the Empty was aping her appearance to hurt him. “The Empty, it takes on your visage, your memories--”

“Yeah, you’re just going to have to trust me on this.” Ruby’s eyes flash black. “You know, as much as you can.”

“I’d pay attention to her, Clarence. If you don’t, then she’ll probably kick your ass.”

Castiel knows that voice. He whirls around. Meg’s face greets him, a tiny smirk twisting her lips upward. “Meg,” he whispers, an odd combination of grief and happiness twisting in his chest.

“The one and only,” she assures him.

A small shred of doubt clings at the back of Castiel’s mind, but he has to trust in something right now. Even if it’s two dead demons.

“Castiel. So lovely to see you again. Though I can’t say that I agree with the company you’re keeping these days.”

Make that three dead demons.

“Crowley,” Castiel breathes.

The demon looks exactly the same as he did the day he died. His suit is pristine, down to the pocket square. He looks at Meg and Ruby with disdain before he turns that expression on Castiel. “I suppose you’re doing your biannual visit to this dump? Feel like taking any passengers out with you when you make your escape this time?”

“I’m not...I made a deal,” Castiel whispers. He made a deal to save his son and he’ll never regret that, not for a second, but then he thinks of Dean’s face. “I’m not leaving.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so negative, Cassie. You do have a way of wriggling out of the tightest of places.”

Mingled guilt and joy sear through Castiel as he turns around. Balthazar’s familiar face looks at him. Balthazar raises an eyebrow. “No hug?” he asks.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel breathes. Surrounded by ghosts from his past, he feels weak. “None of you should be awake. That’s the whole point of this place. All of us, asleep, forever.”

“That’s the way it should be, but you have a habit of wrecking the natural order.” Castiel winces at Anna’s cool voice. Though there’s no real judgement in her voice, there’s also no real warmth. “It’s been changing here, ever since your last visit.”

“I woke it up.”

“And because you woke it up, we all started to awake as well.” Hannah’s calm voice joins their small group, though it’s growing steadily larger. “All of us, demons and angels, started awaking. At first, it was just for moments, but lately, it’s been distracted. More of us have been able to stay awake for longer. Eventually we started finding each other.”

“That’s my boy,” Meg says, unmistakable fondness in her voice. “Shaking up the natural order, wrecking the whole of the afterlife.”

Castiel’s eyes dart between all of them, former enemies, allies, and friends. “Is this all of you?”

“Were you not listening? Did they not just tell you that we’ve all been waking up, at least a little bit?”

Gabriel pops into existence next to Castiel. Despite himself, Castiel jerks back in surprise.

“So, what’s it going to be, Cas? Are you going to just pop out of here like always?” Crowley brings Castiel’s brain back to the present.

When he made his deal, he made it with full awareness that there was no coming back. He accepted that burden because he knew it was the only way he could save Jack.

But that was before he felt Dean’s lips against his, before he heard the words fall from Dean’s mouth. I love you.

When he made the deal, he had never heard those words directed at him. When he made the deal, he had nothing to fight for.

Now he does.

He made a choice long ago. You don’t have to be ruled by Fate. You can choose freedom.

Castiel looks at all of them, demons and angels alike, and makes a choice.

“We’ve got work to do.”

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thelittlehansy · 2 years

Text

The « Hans issue »

Days and days locked in the hotel make the Disney good guy discuss even more about the controversial character of prince Hans of the southern isles causing debate around our heroes. Anna and Eugene adopt two very opposed opinion about the 13th princes causing clash beyond them.

Anna kristoff Eugene rapunzel and Aladdin and jasmine are outside trying to explore hint that could let them to the shadow man that they suspect to being responsable of the curse...

Flynn : Hans motivation to cause harm doesn’t resolve around the pleasure to torment and harm others ! He didn’t goes in Arendelle for the sake of killing your and your sister..it could have been anybody ! Hans motivation was to impress his family and show them what a king he could actually be to « prove them wrong » he works like that ! The core of his evilness works like that !

Anna : you are talking as if you live your whole life with him !

Flynn : well now that we are all stuck in the same place I can actually get what kind of a person he is !

Anna : you are completely forgetting about my own experience about him he is cold a betrayer arrogant willing to do the worst thing !

Flynn : because of what ? Because of his family again !!!

Anna : you are pictured him as if he is a poor victime and not an adult responsable of his choice.

Flynn : responsable ? « Laugh » With his brothers and most importantly his father that bully him for not being a coward enough ?

Anna : well if he wants to show them how much of an asshole he is maybe he is not a good person.

Eugène : but hans don’t think he is a good person. in this family being empathic benevolent kind respectful is being un unreedeamble monster so of course he would want to stand by the assole team. Because when you are not one you are nothing the last of the last a nobedoy a disgrace that doesn’t deserve respect but only insult misery and physical agression. The moral value are reversed in this family that’s king of the southern isles propaganda.

Anna : ok I get it you are hans apologist !

Flynn : no...i m only telling you how the dude evilness works. We need to desactived the evil Hans.

Anna : ...how ? « Laugh »

Flynn : telling him that being good doesn’t mean being bad ! telling him that his family opinion about him sucks ! If Hans know he is great and we stop the king manipulation there is not anymore « prove them wrong » and not anymore Hans willing to murder in the name of his family.

Anna : so you are telling me how to defeat Hans is being telling him he is a good person ?

Eugène : yes !!!

Anna : ...

Jasmine kristoff rapunzel and Aladdin looked at each other’s.

Rapunzel : let’s change the subject !

Anna : yes if Hans was there he would be way too much glad to be at the center of our conversation !

Eugène : no i think he wouldn’t care way to much busy by the dozens of nephew and niece his dad has ordered him to babysit ! « Pround smile »

Anna : « rolled her eyes »

Jasmine : so what this map is saying ? « embarass

Kristoff : if Hans was there he would lead us the best ! « amused smile laugh »

Everyone give a dirty to look to kristoff.

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autisticandroids · 3 years

Note

so first off thank you for “i fold in half so easily” you’re doing the lord’s work i love toxic destiel meets very, very concerned sam. secondly i have a question re: cas’s relationship to his gender and dean’s heteronormative neuroses. so the whole “be my guy” scene was probably my favorite because it was just. so unhinged. but from what we saw, it’s kind of a one off conversation— dean brings it up once and cas kind of agrees to play along but also doesn’t really need to fully commit to being “the girl” because dean’s satisfied with “be my guy.” so brain rot: how do you think cas would deal with a dean who needs to repeatedly assert that cas is the “girl” and dean is the only man in their relationship, either verbally or physically? would cas be alright with it as a way to “become” lisa (which we all know is like. his dream) or chafe at being pushed out of the masculine identity he developed throughout spn? or do you see cas as agender? on the other hand, would cas not really care either way because it doesn’t matter what he thinks because god, wait sorry, dean, has asked it of him? idk i know this got long but my whole entire ass for a fic where cas has to reckon with dean’s heteronormative neuroses in that regard.

okay so this is an interesting question with many facets.

the first is... this is all complicated by the fact that dean is far more tormented by the heteronormativity thing than cas is. like the compulsion to "be the man" haunts and pains him.

but the next is like. okay. cas in i fold in half so easily is like. deeply uninterested in examining his own emotions. he nigh-compulsively seeks pleasure and avoids pain/anxiety, but he's really not interested in examining or caring for his own emotional state at all. like he's in constant background distress throughout the entire fic and it doesn't occur to him to examine that or question it or god forbid do anything about it. like if i were where cas was at throughout that fic i would literally just be in the corner staring at the ground bouncing and flapping and rocking. which now that i think about it i should have included a scene of cas doing but. well. like he's totally overwhelmed. anyway he's uninterested in sparing himself discomfort and humiliation so i don't think it would occur to him to protest or push back.

the third thing is... it's really interesting to examine cas' gender in i fold in half so easily. in canon i tend to read cas as... genderweird with masculine characteristics, like, someone who is not a man but enjoys performing masculinity and being gendered masculine?

but cas of i fold in half so easily doesn't really read like that. he could in fact easily be read as something that in my mind i call dysphoric gay, that is, people who have some degree of discomfort with their assigned sex or their experience of gender roles, but instead of dealing with that by transition (because they're self-closeted or because they don't believe transition would really help their particular situation or because they don't think it's worth it or because their dysphoria experience just isn't that major) they deal with it by entering into gay relationship(s) and being The Woman/The Man.

and like. you can definitely read that onto canon cas. i know first hand how much chasing straight/closeted people can be a symptom of that; one gets addicted to the heteronormativity.

and certainly there comes a point where cas, like sam, seems to stand in discomfort with his masculinity because he fears bringing harm to people. but unlike sam i don't think he genders that in the same way. like i think cas stands in discomfort with his own agency and like being allowed to make his own choices and do big things but i don't think he really genders that. i think he wants to relinquish his agency and personhood, i don't know if he sees that as feminizing.

plus cas' jealousy of anna/lisa/etc is like. you can just be jealous of someone but also there's a degree of "why are you jealous of someone who is not the same gender as you." but the thing is in canon cas is much more clearly jealous of benny and crowley than he is lisa and anna. it reads mostly like he's just regular old jealous.

essentially i find that a plausible reading of canon cas but it's not really one i subscribe to, he gets too much tangible joy out of masculinity and being masculine.

whereas in i fold in half so easily i emphasized cas' jealousy of lisa because i wanted to highlight the similarities in their situations and examine dean's heteronormativity and also i wanted to do #castransgressions. which ends up reading as though cas is specifically jealous of her for being Dean's Woman, rather than just dean's.

plus the whole fetishizing dean's masculinity thing which cas definitely does in the fic, and the thing where cas wishes dean would fuck him in the back of the car, and them watching the fifth element together... like all the cas is jealous of women stuff was in my head intended to read mostly as cas wishing that dean would give him the love and respect that cas thinks dean gave his female partners but it could also easily be interpreted as cas getting something pleasurable out of dean's heteronormative neurosis. which is a fun reading of my fic even if i didn't intend it, because one of the big themes in that fic is cas finding ways to derive pleasure from things that should harm and upset him.

like i didn't intend to write cas like that and i don't read him like that in canon but i do think it's a plausible reading of my fic.

also: see this comment.

anyway, to answer your question: i think that would be nuts, but it might be more interesting earlier in canon when cas is more self-possessed and capable of objecting to being gendered in that way, or really having any opinion at all about how dean treats or genders him. like if it were contemporaneous to i fold in half so easily it would just be one more way to torture cas and not even a very effective one, you know?

#spn #asks #anonymous

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lynnsaundersfanfic · 3 years

Text

Grounded, Chapter 10: Dreams

A Coffee House Fic inspired by a prompt from awesomegreentie.

We started off with a T rating, but who are we kidding here? It’s me. So, the rating has been moved up to M at Chapter 5.

Chapters in Order: Introductions - Invitation - Stroll - Alchemy - Dayspring - Distraction - Lost - Firelight - Monday - Dreams

Or, read it on fanfiction.net here.

Grounded | Chapter Ten: Dreams | by Lynn Saunders

The Tuesday before Christmas dawns cold and grey, and John watches the sunrise as he sits before the shop’s hearth with his morning tea, struggling a bit to meet the day. William looks surprised to find him there quite so early after closing so late the evening before, but he doesn’t comment on the matter. They really must hire someone else on, and soon.

Anna’s over a week gone, and John has scarcely slept since she’s been away. He trudges home late in the evenings, tie askew, and sinks onto the couch in his sparsely furnished flat to doze for a few hours before rising early to do it all over again. His split with Vera did not leave him with much in the way of quality furnishings, and what little he did take with him has mostly been used to lend a personal touch to the tasteful rusticity of the coffee house. The little shop is the first thing he’s truly been able to make all his own. But his apartment feels cold, the freshly painted walls stark and bare, and it’s not yet truly a home for him. It’s pale and blank, a new slate that he hasn't yet gotten around to writing on - not like Anna’s flat, which is warm and cheerful and utterly her.

He’s a bit surprised to find that it’s difficult to sleep without Anna snugged in safely against him. He craves her scent and the warm press of her body in the dark. He tosses and turns in the night, restless and brooding. But when sleep does finally find him, he dreams of a faerie with golden hair, her eyes blue as the sea. She awaits him eagerly in a small hothouse in mid-winter, dressed all in white. In the dream, their meetings are secret, and her love for him is certain. This morning, the taste of the dream maiden’s lips had lingered on his even after he awoke feverish and shaky, lost between worlds for a moment and struggling to remember which was real.

The church bell down the street chimes out the hour, and John rises and stretches. He retrieves his mobile from the mantle and sends Anna a photo of the blazing fire, then tucks the phone into his pocket with a small smile. He doesn’t expect her home for a few days yet, but it’s safe to say she hasn’t forgotten him. Two evenings ago, their goodnight phone call had ended with her breathlessly sighing his name.

I was thinking of the other night, he’d said. Of having you against the door.

He’s never been brave enough to give voice to such delicious thoughts before, never had someone so eager to listen. Her response to his secret whispers in the dark was the definition of unforgettable.

He finishes his tea with a smirk, then readies for the day, tying on an apron and washing his hands. He surveys the stock of pastries and resolves to make more fresh cinnamon buns, but it will have to wait until the morning rush dies down. For the next two hours, the bells on the front door jangle consistently.

Business is good. More than good. He feels utterly blessed to have this place, but beyond that he feels a sense of deep pride in his work. Is this what it’s like to love what you do? He realizes with a start that this is the first path he’s truly chosen for himself, rather than one he pursued out of habit, pressure, or obligation. In his old life, he might be tempted to focus on all the work that still looms ahead, or to wait for the other shoe to drop. He would’ve been too hesitant to venture into business ownership, too pessimistic. But more than anything else, being wounded showed him just how fleeting life is. That’s what made him put down the bottle and start living life again. And Anna? He certainly would’ve never imagined that he deserved the company of someone this lovely or, for that matter, someone this kind. Finally, he’s starting to believe.

Anna dreams of John in a different time. They sit at a long table in a bustling room she doesn’t quite recognize, yet she somehow knows it all the same. The room smells of coffee and warm, brown bread. Breakfast china rattles over bits of conversation. Beside her, John is clean-shaven and polished and proper. This image of him stands in stark contrast to what she knows he is capable of in the dark. He gives her a furtive glance, and she attempts to hide her flush behind her teacup. Her delicate wedding band is hidden safely away beneath her frock, nestled against her breastbone on a simple gold chain. Her cup clinks into its saucer, and she brings a hand up to absently trace the outline of the ring through the fabric of her dress. No one can know, not yet. John’s leg presses against hers beneath the table, out of view of the others.

The others?

But the room is gone now, replaced with the glow of a fire and the slip of fine linens against her bare skin. John’s thick fingers glide along her back as she rests, snugged against his chest. She’s long been sated, and now sleep calls. As her eyes drift shut, her mind flashes on the rustling of willow fronds and the taste of fresh cider, of mistletoe on the arch of an old oak door, of the earthy smell of a conservatory in midwinter and the sound of pottery shattering in the dark.

The company car rocks gently as it pulls onto Anna’s street, and her eyes blink open. Her mind fumbles for the thread of that intriguing dream, but the more she reaches for those memories, the further they slip away. John in an old-fashioned waistcoat and sleeves, she thinks with a grin. Something about a greenhouse… and then a feeling - one of bittersweet, quiet, and steadfast love. It is safe and warm, and… familiar? Anna shakes her head with a confused sigh.

The homes on Anna’s street are cheerful, dotted with wreaths and holiday lights. In the west, the sky is painted purple and crimson in the waning daylight. The car pulls to a stop at her door, and she draws the edges of her coat closed before stepping out into the nipping winter air. She’s so looking forward to being in her own flat and her own bed, to seeing her grumpy old three-legged cat… and her hot barista.

She checks her mobile - still no service. Ah, well. When she’d spoken briefly with John last evening, her plans called for staying in London at least another day or two. However, this morning’s presentation had gone surprisingly well, and when Mary spoke of sending Anna home ahead of schedule, she’d jumped at the chance.

The driver hurries around to help her with her bags, and she tips him generously before climbing the short flight of stairs to her apartment. Even with both bags in hand, Anna unlocks the door to her flat with practiced ease. Castle comes running and leaps onto the kitchen counter with a delighted chirp. She scritches him and shakes some crunchies into his bowl.

Tacked to the fridge is a note from Gwen.

I continue to be Castle’s favorite person to torment. The beggar knocked the treat bag off of the counter and ate half. He then vomited in the hall and stared haughtily as I cleaned it up.

XO, G

Castle blinks innocently from the kitchen counter, and Anna gives him a disapproving look. She makes a mental note to take her friend for drinks ASAP to make up for it.

Gwen has left the week’s mail on the countertop, and Anna sorts the contents quickly while she waits for the shower to run hot. She happily sheds her travel clothes and steps under the spray with a relieved sigh, washing the muck of the day away. Oh, but there’s so much to do. She needs to go for groceries and work on the laundry, to put the finishing touches on a project before the firm closes for the holidays. But as she lingers in the steam of the shower, allowing the heat to sink into the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders, she finds it impossible to care about those mundane tasks. Her mind drifts instead.

She thinks of last week, of John’s long fingers moving between her thighs, patiently coaxing her pleasure. She had melted into his embrace, her slick back pressed to his front, her head lolled against his chest. He had turned her then, lifting her solidly against the chilly shower tile and marking her neck with his lips as he pushed into her. His strong arms held her fast while she sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His teeth had trailed behind her ear just so. She reaches lazily up to press her fingertips to the spot, daydreaming until the water begins to cool.

Yes, all the trappings of everyday life can wait. She has a very particular craving that only one thing can satisfy.

John rushes to open the shop’s door ahead of William, who is carefully balancing three full pastry boxes, their largest order of the day. He steps out to meet the chill of the December evening, and William follows, passing gingerly through the doorway. They work together to arrange the pastry boxes safely in the floorboards of the waiting car.

The customer is Beatrice, one of John’s mother’s friends from church, and she reaches up to pat his arm affectionately. “Thank you, Dear.”

He smiles down at her. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“Oh, the kids will love them!”

She waves to William as he ducks back through the shop’s front door. The neon ‘open’ sign blinks out shortly afterward, and they watch for a moment as William goes about closing duties without having to be asked.

“He’s a hard worker,” John says. “Thank you for sending him my way.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known his family for ages, and of course with his mother’s passing he needed something closer to home for a while. He’s all his dad has left now.” She shakes her head sadly. “But, I’m so happy you two get on so well. I hear there was a less pleasant fellow working here who has recently moved on.”

John laughs. “Yes, but that’s fine by me. Better the two of us work harder than have a third who rocks the boat. But if you know of anyone else who needs steady work, please send them my way.”

She thinks for a moment. “I may have just the young lady in mind. She’s young and a bit new to church, but she seems reliable. She was such a help with the bake sale.”

He draws a card from the breast pocket of his button-front shirt. “Please have her come by. William and I are managing, but barely. As it is, he needs a large bonus… and a holiday.”

She chuckles, then takes a conspiratorial step closer. “Now, let me hear all about this Anna. Margaret tells me you two are quite the item.”

John gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. His mother definitely cannot be prevailed upon to keep any secrets. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You suppose?” She tsks with mock disapproval. “Well don’t you be shy. Bring her ‘round to see us for tea soon.”

He gives a vague promise, and John waves as Beatrice pulls away from the curb. As the taillights fade in the distance, he takes a moment to stand still, to close his eyes and simply breathe in the icy air. There’s been no new snow today, but there’s still a satisfying icy crunch underfoot, and he remembers his first stroll home with Anna, the first brush of her lips against his cheek. That was only two weeks ago, yet somehow this thing between them feels both ancient and new.

It’s a bit odd that he hasn’t heard from her today, and it dawns on him that he’s not been the least bit concerned about what that uncharacteristic lack of contact means for their burgeoning relationship. In the past, he’s had what Vera would have called a jealous streak. But underneath that superficial explanation was truly only worry, a deep-seated fear that he won’t measure up, that he’s undeserving. But he feels none of that with Anna. Everything between them has come so naturally.

He takes one more moment to enjoy the quiet solitude of the winter evening, then turns to help William close up for the night. But he doesn’t quite reach the door. His breath is caught in his throat, and for a moment he stops and stares, blinking in delighted disbelief. Anna. The streetlamps catch her golden hair even through the frozen haze of the December evening. She’s supposed to be miles away, yet here she is on his street instead, making her way toward him with a very particular look in her eye. He sees warmth reflected there, mischief, and an intoxicating, velvety undercurrent of desire. He catches her up in an embrace, and she giggles as he lifts her off of her feet. God, he wants so badly to be the one who inspires that sound from now on. He breathes her in, feels the thrill of it deep in his chest, then remembers himself and returns her gently to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” he asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know until today.” Her eyes dance as she reaches up to straighten his tie. “That, and my mobile has been out of service all afternoon. But… I’ve brought you something that may make up for it.”

At his quizzical look, she reaches into her coat pocket and brings out a sprig of mistletoe, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He tugs her close in response, kissing her gently in the arch of the shop doorway until she begins to shiver in his arms. Later, as he sifts his fingers through her hair in her bedroom in the dark, she’ll tell him she wasn’t cold, not exactly. It’s the intensity of his touch that’s making her tremble. But he doesn’t know that now, and he ushers her quickly into the cheerful warmth of the coffee house. Muted sounds from the kitchen radio filter down the hall, and he can hear the clinking of silverware as William washes the dishes. He presses another soft kiss to her lips before locking the door and pulling the shades in turn.

“I need to-” he begins, but she places a gentle hand on his chest with a nod.

“Finish your work.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll still be here.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips for a moment, then turns to join William in the kitchen. Together, the men make quick work of the evening chores. Soon the dishes are dried and the countertops gleam once more. William finishes the mopping while John reviews the checklist for tomorrow, smiling at the sheer volume of holiday orders.

As he pulls on his coat to leave, William glances down the hall toward Anna, then gives John a nod of decided approval. “It’s good to see you happy, Mr. Bates.”

John clears his throat a bit self-consciously, but he’s touched. “I think I am, truly… for the first time in a long while.” He pauses just a moment before adding, “now, run on home. We’ve another early day tomorrow.”

“You two don’t stay up too late,” William says with a wink as he pulls his cap down snug over his brow and disappears through the shop’s rear door.

John only laughs and shakes his head in response.

When he returns to the front room with a cup of cocoa to share, Anna is warming herself by the waning coals of the banked fire. The shop lights are low, and the sight of her silhouetted in the amber glow of the stone fireplace tugs at a quiet, yearning place deep within him. Anna just feels so… familiar, his mind echoes. It’s as if they’ve spent countless evenings sharing a hearth and a bed, perhaps across times and places he will never know or understand, but always - always - with the same indescribable current arcing between them.

She smiles up at him as he passes her the mug, and he eases onto the sofa, drawing her near. She takes a sip and gives a satisfied hum that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They watch the embers pop and spark for a moment as the kitchen radio plays on in the distance.

“How was London?” He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Good, actually.” She takes another sip of cocoa and passes him the mug. “Well, more than good, I think. It might mean a promotion.”

“Well done!” He squeezes her hand with genuine affection and pride, then adds cheekily, “Will you have a corner office, then?”

“No…” She grins up at him. “And nothing’s decided yet, but… on that topic, there is a favor I need to ask you.”

“Oh yes?”

“You see, there’s this company holiday party. Fancy dress and all that, and I’ll be needing a date…”

“Dancing and cocktails and a suit?”

“Well, probably not dancing… but the rest of it, yes.”

“No dancing? Pity, that.”

“I expect you’ll be relieved.” She taps his chest playfully with the back of her hand, and he realizes she thinks he’s joking.

He imagines Anna in a low-cut gown, his fingers gliding along the curve of her back as they savor the anonymity of a darkened dance floor. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

John smiles conspiratorially and moves their shared mug to the safety of the little coffee table. He rises carefully, then pulls Anna gently to her feet. She smiles shyly at him as he takes her hand and leads her down the shop’s hallway in the dark. The familiar rooms are bathed in shadows, and she clings to his hand like a lifeline. In the kitchen, he pauses to adjust the volume on the little radio, filling the room with the mellow, rolling notes of a jazz piano.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough and low.

She giggles as he pulls her easily into his embrace, and they sway together in the dark, his right hand perfectly fitted to the small of her back. Thank goodness for heels, she thinks dreamily. Moving together this way, she’s just tall enough to rest her forehead against his broad chest. He tucks her hair behind her ear and tips her chin up to meet him, stooping to graze her lips with his. His large hands slide beneath the hem of her sweater, blazing a path up the curve of her spine. She hums happily, and she feels his answering smile against her temple.

She finds the quiet confidence in his touch intoxicating. She’s enamored with the pleasing stoutness of his body, the thickness of his chest and shoulders, the way he gazes at her so intently as they move together. She’s never been this easily turned on, this revved up. She’s fallen hard and fast, no question, but this thought doesn’t alarm her. Instead, she feels emboldened by her desire. When she rises on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes not just of cinnamon and chocolate, but of something deeper and richer, a comforting memory she cannot place. And as the song begins to fade, they hold fast to one another, lighting a fire between them as they dance together in the dark.

Author’s notes:

I’ve not written in a long while. I worry it shows. Thank you for being patient while I knock the rust off.

Anna and Bates dance to Turn Me On by Nora Jones.

Thanks to @awesomegreentie and @gelana78 for quick-beta!

#grounded #anna and bates #anna x bates #Banna #downton abbey fanfiction #anna smith #john bates #coffeeshopau #alternate universe #sticky

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wonderofwillows2 · 3 years

Text

The Training 4

When the bandages came off Victor did not know what to feel, he still felt shock. It was in Dr. Desantos’ office. She had unwrapped his penis with care and grace. Gently undoing the layers of gauze in swift, steady circular motions. It had been over a week since Victor had undergone the cut and Victor’s penis was still healing. The line where the cut was made was still an aggressive red and quite swollen, and it still was quite sore. Victor had spent a good bit of time limping around the house. Luckily the excuse of a hiking injury had been enough to fool his parents and with the help of pain medication he had been given he was able to ward off the worst effects of the early healing. The fact that Dr. DeSantos had used a new glue instead of sutures had helped Victor remain at full mental capacity as well given that his itching and sore penis. Despite that he had not realized just how much flesh had been taken. His glans had been rendered completely naked and even in his flaccid state the skin of his penis was actually somewhat tight. The line of the cut rested against his glans and he realized quickly that there had been another cut made in a perpendicular fashion to the first under his glans and going to his meatus.

“What did you do?” He stammered out to Dr. DeSantos. She give him a slight smile and then replied.

“You know what I did Victor. You’ve been circumcised, it’s what you agreed to and what we always do with initiates. It’s a nice cut Victor. I usually don’t brag but I am proud of my work. You’ll have a nice straight scar and no unsightly mucosa remaining. I cut out the frenulum too as it can tear and we don’t want that. Not let me see.”

Dr. DeSantos walked to Victor and took his penis in her long, delicate finger. The wound was still a bit tender and he winced as she ran a finger tip over it. She turned his penis very gently left and then right before examining the underside of it. She smiled again while examining her handy work before letting go of his swollen penis. Victor winced as she grazed his newly healed wound once more with her fingers. He wondered if that had been an intentional action, if she enjoyed the minor pain she was causing him. He would bear her mark for the rest of his life. He was suddenly struck with memories of the luxurious stroking action his foreskin had allowed him, it hadn’t been the least bit tight. What were Priya and his sister thinking when they asked him to do this? Why would they want him so altered? Surely women would not have minded him the way he was.

“I thought it was just a bit of skin you were going to remove. Not that you would alter me like this!” He exclaimed in a faltering and petulant voice.

“Now don’t whine.” Dr. DeSantos scolded him. At once Victor feel silent and ashamed.

“We do not do half measures in the program and you consesnted. It was your sister and Priya who picked this for you. They were the ones who wanted you so thoroughly skinned. Aside from that we do not allow for partial circumcisions in our program. What would be the point of that? The desire is health, beauty, and performance. I am sorry to say you were not informed that you will lose a bit of sensitivity due to this but try not to fret, greater pleasure awaits you because of this Victor. I am certain of that. Don’t you want to be a desirable man Victor? This will help you Victor. You’re modern now. I’ve altered you for the better and you need to try and find some joy and satisfaction in that. Nothing can return your foreskin now. I’m sure if your mother had not come from a part of the world so ignorant of the benefits of such a minor operation you would have lost your foreskin long ago. Now, please be a good boy and let me finish.” She implored him with her eyes and smile and Victor was forced into shame and simultaneous desire for the pretty woman who had taken his foreskin and was now examining the wound. He wondered if she’d ever had any of her patients. He wondered if she’d feel disgust thinking of the surgery or if it was all just fun for her beyond some raw passion. She grazed his wound again and he winced.

The rest of the examination proceeded smoothly and Victor was discharged with the information that he was healthy and that he should avoid masturbation for several more weeks. At the time the pain made him feel this might be easy but it was not long before he realized he would not have such an easy time as he thought.

The lack of ease was not in the least bit helped by the fact that, for the next several weeks, Priya would often greet him with a kiss on the cheek. It was not helped either by the fact that she and seemingly a few of her friends would also find reasons to place themselves in his personal space. That was something Victor had not really experienced before and he wondered if Priya had told them his secret. He began to wonder how long she had planned this whole adventure for him. It was really turning into an adventure. He would have his hero’s journey and he had returned from the wilderness. He was not sure if he had returned victorious though, perhaps instead he had been conquered. Though had he been conquered for a purpose? That was the burning question. In fact it burned almost as much as his healing wound and then his sensitive glans rubbing against his pants. A constant reminder of change.

That wasn’t something he had anticipated. The rubbing. The constant and ever present rubbing of his glans against his clothes was at first a source of genuine torment. Like all torments and most pleasures though, it did fade. This alarmed him, his formerly wet and protected glans was forever dry and he felt almost as though it were a coating forming on it. Like it was regrowing some new but exceedingly thin and immobile new skin on it. This was a source of concern to him, but in true and obedient fashion he did ignore it. His morning erections had however become far more persistent than they had been in recent years and this was something he was shocked by. He had tried lightly stroking his glans one morning but found the sensation bordered on the painful with pleasure mixed in. The strong sharp pleasures of his previous masturbatory sessions replaced with an aching longing that needed fulfillment. Still he waited. He waited the full six weeks and then a few days until he could not take it any more.

It had been like a new experience. He had tried to replicate his old methods of luxurious stroking, the soft folds of his foreskin moving over his glans. This of course was quite impossible as Dr. DeSantos had robbed him not just of his foreskin but of all the skin movement of his shaft. It was completely taught when he was erect without the mildest possibility of pulling any skin forwards from his shaft and so he had to learn to improvise. He would lightly stroke his corona with two fingers. He would twists in a circular motion around it, everything in the lightest possible motions. It still took him almost twenty minutes to orgasm despite more than a month of built up semen. He felt almost depressed. This was not the tender and self indulgent self love he had previously had but a mere shadow of that. He felt depressed and helpless. He even confessed his feeling to Priya but she merely laughed at him and told him, smiling madly, he needed to know his penis was for pleasing others. That was the point after all. She reminded him he ought to save his passions for her and then gave him another maddening, teasing kiss on his cheek before walking away. Then she turned back and reminded him that over their winter break there would be a return to the place he was cut and she would have him there.

In the intervening weeks, which for Victor passed in a dreamlike and inconsistent fashion, he discovered to joys of lubricants. These were both natural and artificial. The slickness of his hand approximating his old sensations. To him it also approximated the feel of sex – how wrong that would prove – but he still enjoyed this more than his dry stroking. He was quite proud of his ingenuity at times. He had found ways to use hand lotion, skin cream, and so many other substances. It was almost an obsession for him to discover the best solution to his problem. He learned as well that his bare glans did render him certain kinds of sensations that were absent when he had used his foreskin to aid his masturbation. Still these new sensations were never quite enough and he found himself racked with frustrations at times when he was unable to easily provide himself relief. It seemed Priya had been partly right that the use of his penis was not entirely for him any longer.

All of that though, was before the day came. It had been Anna who called him and she had been clear. They were going back to those mountain cabins and they would do so right after the holidays. In fact they would do so for the new year. The whole of the short period of actual holidays became a blur for him. He barely remembered that Christmas nor the New Years party at friends, although the alcohol might have helped speed that process along. It was all fictional until the day Ana came to get him in her economy car with Priya accompanying her. They both greeted him with coy and knowing smiles. The kind of smiles that might be deemed diabolical or even perhaps a tiny bit petty. There was no doubt of their sincerity though.

“Are you ready?” Ana asked him as he entered the idling vehicle.

“I am, I think. Is it really necessary for you to come?” Victor asked.

“Don’t be silly, I planned so much of this that I have to see it through. Now get in and let’s go and complete all of this.” Ana’s tone was demanding and exact in a way Victor had never heard from her. He didn’t know what else to do but obey. He shut the car door and they were off down the familiar and then the unfamiliar roads. All the while guided by the neutral feminine voice of the GPS, which for some reason had been changed to affect a British accent. That actually struck them all as a bit ironic but were glad the company had not chosen some other more jarring accent.

The roads were icy at this time of the year, the thick evergreens along the road retained there splendid green bristles and stood proudly. Their conic forms in opposition to the skeletal forms of the few deciduous trees scattered among their more cold adapted brethren. It all seemed savage to Victor this time. There was no naivete of purpose to this trip no innocence. He was coming along to lose his virginity and it would be to a woman – a woman, she really was one now – that he had known for a very long time. A young woman he had never really even known he was attracted to. For that matter a young woman he loved but was not in love with, and who had conspired with his sister to help have his foreskin removed. The thought of it all stirred his denuded penis and he felt a slight twinge as his glans brushed against the seem of his underwear. He guessed there were some feelings you did not get entirely used to. He great central building seemed so much more fortress like and imposing now that it’s secrets had been explored. Now that Victor knew it contained rooms where unsuspecting young men like him were altered physically and mentally.

They pulled up to the very same cabin in which they had stayed the first time. All three got out of the car and stretched their tired limbs. Ana yawned lazily causing the other two to do the same reflexively. This got a laugh from them all and broke a bit of the tension that had been formed in the mostly silent car ride. There had been a lot of anticipation on that ride. Even young Victor who was so ignorant of the world had felt it, and felt that he might not have been the only one feeling arousal on that ride. That he might have shared that feeling, his arousal with them, it was thrilling and conflicting at the same time. Sharing arousal with his sister was certainly never something he felt he’d experience. He was shocked to find he wasn’t even disgusted. Assuming she had felt aroused then surely it was just empathy for him, for his coming trials.

They entered the room in silence an placed their things, just like the first time. Just like the first time the two young women chose beds on the opposite side of the cabin and adjacent to each other and Victor was left on his own on the other.

“Perhaps you should sleep naked since you’ll be unclothed for use again tomorrow.” Priya told Victor with a voice that dripped feigned innocence. Victor managed a short nervous laugh.

“You’ll get your fill of me later.” He spat back and this one made the two girls laugh.

“Let’s maybe get things a bit more relaxed.” Ana said with a coy smile and again she produced a bottle of wine from her bag.

Victor quickly realized that it was the same wine as the previous time and that in reality he had never heard of the brand. That shouldn’t have been a surprise but the label was very plain and hard to recognize. In fact it was almost too plain. The name read simply “ease”, which while appropriate seemed to be a short name and a non distinct one. Still when the wine was poured into the plastic cups Ana had brought Victor still took his and drank the rich red liquid with glee. It had a hot taste and burned almost like liquor. He wondered if it had any added alcohol. His inhibitions began to melt and soon the group began to talk. Then came the laughter as they shared old experiences and new and once more it felt like the convivial atmosphere of the old party. Victor even found himself admitting to Ana which of her old friends he’d been attracted to and she laughed and mentioned he might get a chance with them now that he was older and properly cut. Eventually the atmosphere faded and each of the three went to sleep.

When Victor awoke he was aware only of the sunlight filtered through his eyelids, the glow of the night’s revelries, and his exceedingly erect penis. He did not want to get up just yet, he thought he would just lie there. Surely Ana and Priya were still asleep. He knew it couldn’t bee too early since it was winter but he was still happy to think he had the privilege of being the only conscious one. This was soon rudely disturbed however when he heard Ana’s voice and slowly opened his eyes. It took him a second to adjust to the light.

“Wake up, it’s time.” She said to him and it was half a demand and half a soft assuring whisper but he complied. He knew she knew he would.

“It’s early though and, and I can’t get up just yet.” He stammered back. It was then he realized that standing in the corner were the three women who had been there during his first trip when he was cut. The were once more immaculately dressed an seated in three seats pressed against the wall of the cabin by the door. Victor was sure that the seats had not been there and was additionally sure that those same women were positioned to dissuade him from any attempts at flight. He suddenly realized that Ana was holding something. A glass of water and a small pill, she noticed his attention.

“Take these.” She said and smiled at him.

“They’ll help you to relax and also to perform.” She added. Victor did as he was told, he realized the drinking had left him intensely thirsty. His erection had still not subsided.

“He’s ready for you now.” Called the leader of the three women.

Victor was starting to recover his senses as the fog of sleep wore away. He was throbbing hard now, it seemed he would have no relief. He felt a bit nervous but all of these women had seen him orgasm and presumably had enjoyed the sight. They had ordered his circumcision, and if Dr. DeSantos was to be believed his own sister had decided on the look of the final outcome. Why couldn’t he feel nervous? He felt he ought to be livid, but there was an odd calm to this place. A calm that seemed to have no origin. It was not that he was even calm so much as he was just without the slightest bit of anxiety.

It was then that Priya emerged from the bathroom. She was naked, fully unclothed for all to see. The noise had a attracted Victor’s attention but when he saw he he was enthralled. There was nothing he could do to take his eyes away from her form. She was slim, her hips flared just slightly but were not the childbearing type that one commonly associates with a woman. Her breast were medium sized and she had pert, erect nipples. She had put on her make up, expertly, the curve of the eyeliner accentuating her large eyes and a dark lip stain brought her a vampish look. She had even trimmed her pubic hair into a neat triangle hovering above her own denuded but complete vulva. Victor couldn’t look away. If he had been able to he would have noticed the women were unable to as well though for different reasons. Priya had the whole room enraptured and she deserved every second of the attention she garnered. She was so unafraid and so confident that it made Victor’s heart race, she was free and determined to do as she would and he couldn’t want anything more than that. He wanted her to be so free she might defy gravity and float.

With that she sauntered slowly across the room. Her pace was slow and even and she managed to move her hips in a way that kept Victor watching, Ana too, though for Ana it was more of a sympathetic admiration. Victor wondered if Ana had done this. If she had taken some young man’s virginity in a spot like this. He wondered if she had a hand in shaping other young men’s penises and he wondered also what her saunter might be like. He was ashamed at that but then embraced it. He wondered if her nipples were still that same shade of pink they were when he had accidentally walked in on her changing those years ago. He’d almost forgotten that.

“Are ready Victor?” Priya asked as she moved fluidly into arm’s reach of the bed. She placed her hand on his cheek. “Let’s get started.

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