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coldshinypearl · 1 year

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shu sakamaki x reader

Mariage Blanc

chapter 2

out of all, why her? She makes a vow, she won’t let that guy get away with this so easily, he might’ve fooled women and her mother too, but no, she won’t let him get his way with her.

disclaimers: this fanfiction contains reader insert, the reader will be presented as [y/n], for major informations click this post, english is not my first language! Im sorry if there will be misunderstandings in my writing i’m doing everything i can to improve it!

the pain is Indescribable.

apathy had completely drown her out, forcing her to lock herself in the duvets of the same bed that waked her up the previous night.

if only there was a way to stay locked in the night before, where everything was perfect, her reign of dreams still wasn’t collapsing.

if only, out of hundreds of females, he hadn’t chosen her, that imbecile was nothing worth the insults she called him, she knew that the power was in those lazy hands of his.

unlike her grey humour, her bedroom was filled to the very core with gifts, colorful fresh cut flowers landing to the sides, velvety rectangular boxes containing jewelry and gowns at the foots of her wardrobe.

she hated all this.

yes, soon-to-be brides were expected to receive all type of gifts, it was traditional in the clan that in order to not give the chosen bride the freeway to escape her destiny, she had to be showered with love and gifts.

her door was locked, that morning nobody disturbed her, certainly her maids tried to call desperately for her, but they returned in the kitchen with no response.

the ones she hoped would come banging at her door asking for forgiveness are her parents, but of course they were too much busy having breakfast with the king, her soon to be father in law.

as she gazed at her world collapsing in front of her eyes, warm tears collected in her cheeks, not a single sound out, just pure quiet sadness, how she wished to dissolve.

hold an instant, what was she doing again? Crying?

she angrily wiped off her tears with her pale hand as her figure straightened in the bed.

she sat in the bed still trying to dry her rosy cheeks, her brows curved in as her mouth trembled, in that moment she made a vow.

for how true it is that her name was [y/n] [l/n] she won’t let this man destroy her like every other woman, she won’t be fooled by his princely beauty, his sloth but elegant manners or his flawless speech. God if he’ll regret this marriage.

she spent the morning with her body and tears not moving from the bed, sheets hugging her, sadness and regret drowning her.

her new schedule had her packed for tea time, the ‘big’ meeting between the groom and the bride, she just wished for someone else to take over her.

well she knew that if it was for her to meet that man she could’ve spit in that pretty face of his, but no, her revenge was going to be quiet.

for as long as she had known, [y/n] has always been good at programing, and for the whole time she stayed inside the duvets, she thought of the perfect plan for her husband to regret choosing her.

little did she know, that man was as patient cat.

05:00 PM

finally tea time was here, [y/n] sat her slim clothed figure to one of the dark wooden chairs, in front of her a piece of table antiquarian with pastries and tea pots on it.

their tea room was quite the figure, all but dark wooden victorian furniture, soft cushion covered sofas, all in the tones of black and white, the many piping hot pastries were waiting for the two guests [y/n] and her mother were expecting.

her mother sat nervously of meeting the king himself, since the mother of the boy had been troubled by her death.

her figure was covered by a baby turquoise gown, its puff sleeves covering her pale shoulders, the skirt going all the way to her ankles, her hair curled in one single lock covering her self shoulder.

she looked at the table with her eyes emptied, like someone squeezed them like you do with oranges.

her mother gazed at the clock more than one time, then gazed back at her not so amused daughter.

-“you are permitted to smile dearest, i’m sure you are thrilled to meet his majesty and your groom” her mother said trying to curl her lips in a motherly smile, [y/n] titled her head up to her mother’s direction, her look almost disgusted.

-“impatient.” [y/n] said forcing her voice to a serious tone, she was about to jump off that damn table.

as her gaze returned to the table, her lips curled when she saw at the corner of her eye a new maid not dressed like a maid, finally they were here.

two tall figures entered, almost in slow motion as wind gently hit them.

the king of all demons, Karlheinz, who had those long pale curls that fell over his body, his tall figure towered above their maids, his crimson cape slightly moving from his figure as wind hit it, maid’s blushing as he gave them his warm but refreshing fake smile, she knew that smile, it lured women to become obsessed with him.

next to him, the prince.

there he was, it was him in bones and meat, the man who ruined her life. The man who had chosen her as the next queen. The man who dared to snort at her?

was he being serious? He chose this, he knew that hundreds of events for the two would’ve required his attendance and he was bored, unbelievable.

he could’ve represented the sin of sloth, but in contrast with his personality, that classical beauty, fresh out of the fairytale’s appearance he had rejected debutant by debutant, one more beautiful than the other.

one of their maids dared to glare at you, clearly envious of what your destiny had became, at this point [y/n] only wanted to jump her seat and slap all the people in that room one by one, no she couldn’t.

as they made their entrance, her mother jumped her seat and instantly made a court bow for the two, of course dragging her along since they had to show respect.

the king and prince made their way to the chairs, as they seated, [y/n] glared at the two signing the start of her plan.

the blonde head sighed as he fixed his figure more comfortably, she didn’t even want to make eye contact or even look at that trash laying on her furniture.

-“its amusing how we finally have a chance to talk dearest” the king said smiling at [y/n] as he grabbed the porcelain cup of tea almost cupping it from how big his hands were.

well the prince chose her, she had no reason to be mad at the king, some delightful conversations won’t get in her way, or so she thought.

-“our [y/n] is just so grateful about the life she will have from now on” her mother said clearly faking, looking at [y/n]. She sighed, if she wanted the plan to work, admitting defeat wasn’t a good start.

[y/n] tossed her head up, gazing at the king trying to hide the disgust growing inside her stomach with a forced smile.

-“i truly am, you shall allow me to be certain i understand” [y/n] said smirking in evil, her mother nervously gazed at her as she knew the things she was capable of.

-“understand what dearest?” her mother asked clearly sending signals to her daughter to be careful with her speech, as is she cared.

-“i hear that your son, who amused us with his presence, isn’t quite looking forward to move his hands?” [y/n] said giving solid expressions of fake speech, her maids could’ve barely hold their giggles.

her mother almost flinched her figure as she tried not to choke on her beverage, the king surprisingly blinked more than once, and the prince titled his head to the side, almost like he was used to people commenting his laziness.

her mother opened her mouth just about to speak, but suddenly interrupted.

-“i beg your pardon?” the king said giggling to your words giving his son confused looks.

-“i hear his idleness has been troublesome more than once for the dynasty’s honor, is that quite not right?” [y/n] acted confused as her show kept going in, maybe the king could’ve killed her right on the spot, well her mother almost fainted when she heard those words.

but surprisingly, he started to giggle instead, showing that warm smile who got women head over heels for him.

-“his majesty she’s just quite confused, we beg for forgiveness.” her mother said frightened as she glared at her.

the king continued to chuckle as his son slightly smirked.

-“it makes no problem, after all we shall have a more intimate relationship since the families are uniting, well it is only right to say that my son is quite not the lover of hardworking” he said smiling warmly.

are you joking? [y/n] thought, how was he not offended by the way she talked at him? And the son? Just standing there smirking not saying a word.

her mother calmed at his words, [y/n] took a pastry at her mouth, making sure the son was watching her she bit in it strongly almost angrily.

she took her eyes on those blue orbits that were watching her from top to bottom, with all that mighty attitude he was just begging to be punched in the face, and he smirked again.

he was making fun of her, he knew that a plan was mixed in this speech of hers and he was happy that it wasn’t working.

the evening just flew by, between jokes, [y/n]’s failed tentatives of causing rage to the king, her mother flinching every time [y/n] opened her mouth, the blondie and [y/n] glaring at each other, and Shu smirking at [y/n]’s rosy cheeks when her mother discussed about her carrying children.

tea time was almost over, [y/n]’s mother and Karlheinz made their way on the balcony as they hoped for a flame between the two sweethearts.

[y/n] coldly drank her tea, quite unsatisfied with the result of her plan, her mind started to wonder what kind of woman would’ve caused Shu’s disapproval.

ignoring that Shu was still looking at her with that mighty attitude that’s convinced she would’ve fell for him, Shu’s arm was resting on the table stretched un [y/n]’s direction, as he gazed at her his fingertip tapped a rhythm in the wood of the table.

[y/n] started to think, maybe a tramp? Well if the rumors weren’t wrong he was quite the perverse guy, or maybe a know it all, but again if she was a fool he could’ve made fun of her which wasn’t a really successful result, acting lazy like him also would’ve caused for her honor to fall, then-

her thinking was disturbed by an annoying tapping on the table.

[y/n] glared at him… and almost flinched when she saw the look he gave her, that seductive eye contact that didn’t leave her body and visage since the first step he made in this house.

her glare softened as her flustered expression melted her scary look, her rosy cheeks told how she felt violated by the way he was staring at her eyes.

-“w-would you consider being quiet?” oh god. She just stuttered.

Shu tilted his head to the side not stopping his hands.

-“i’m thinking about a classical composition, was that a stutter i heard?” he asked.

[y/n] knew this first battle wasn’t going well, the next move was hers.

[y/n] nodded admitting defeat, but not for long.

she knew better than letting him with the thought that he had the freeway with her, she sighed as she gazed him.

-“your handsome looks and seductive voice won’t do the job with me, i am quite strict with my standards, if you think i’ll completely ignore the wrong you did me, you are out of your mind” [y/n] smirked satisfied as she took a sip from her cup of tea.

Shu stretched his legs to the ground, his foot touching [y/n]’s ankles trough the gown, [y/n] looked up at him as he made that action, no man has ever dared to touch her, he did it so flawlessly.

-“so you think i am handsome and that my voice is seductive?” Shu said as he brought his arms together and smirked more.

[y/n]’s breath stopped, this man had the attitude of someone who wasn’t afraid of anything at all.

but… what was this strange… yet new velvety and refreshing feeling she felt when the tip of his shoe touched her ankle.

she was left there confused and curious of all this.

as they made their way at the entrance leaving the house, she wondered if love was to come at the core of this marriage.

would love… ever hit them..?

[ chapter - 3 - ] 23.05.23

current date : 5th march 2023

#diabolik lovers #diaboys #dialovers #yui komori #laito sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #shu sakamaki #subaru sakamaki

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wouldyoustilllovemeifiwasawyrm · 9 months

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Chapter 2 - Girls Like Guys Who Kill Monsters

Dawn’s rosy light crept into the room, warm as the blankets tangled around their legs. Soft blonde hair tickled his chin. Distant Cuccos crowed the morning in. Wake up! Wake up! The warbling crows were so insistent, and so pleasantly far from their bed.

Link opened his eyes, blinking away sleep. Motes floated through the air, illuminated by the light streaming in through the window. And Zelda. Curled against his side, her head resting on his chest. The bed was never really big enough for the both of them. But he didn’t mind. And, as her chest slowly rose and fell, as her eyelids fluttered through the last of her dreams, he could think of no more perfect sight to wake up to.

Ah. No. That’s not true.

He smiled, sinking his head into the pillow.

He wouldn’t mind sharing the small bed with a baby. Would that be dangerous? Several of the women in town slept with their little children in their beds. He didn’t know any who had a newborn. Did they sleep with little babies? There might be some concern for a little baby to get crushed or knocked off the mattress. That wouldn’t be good.

Link lifted his head again, scanning the loft. He could move that dresser over to the left a little to make room for a crib. What else would they need? Toys? Diapers? Definitely diapers. Where would one even get diapers? The East Wind didn’t carry any that he knew of. Maybe people made their own. That would make sense. CeCe only made clothes for adults. He wracked his brain to think of when he’d seen a shop that sold clothing for children. He’d seen toys for sale before, but never clothes. Or maybe he had other things on his mind and didn’t notice if they had any or not. It’s not like baby clothes were high on his priority list when shopping…

Shopping. Right. Arrows. Should pick up more arrows. The boys were probably waiting.

Though he was loathe to disturb her, Link brushed a hand over Zelda’s hair and kissed her forehead. “Wake up. We need to get going.”

Zelda shifted in his arms, stretching out like a cat as she awakened. She rubbed her eyes. “So early?” Her thicker morning voice made his heart skip a beat. While her voice usually displayed the most refined and controlled tone, she reserved the lower pitch for him. First in the morning, when she couldn’t help it. And then in the evening, when she purred in his ear and drove him mad. What a lovely voice to bookend his days!

“’S’only five.” He yawned, sitting up to stretch his arms above his head. His right seemed to stretch a little further than the left. Scars didn’t pull that one back. “Promised the guys we’d take care of the Bokoblins.”

“Hnnn.” Zelda groaned, hugging Link around the waist and curling up again. “Can’t you go and leave me to sleep a little more?”

“Not if you’re holding me, Zel.” Link chuckled. “Besides, you said you wanted to head out early so we could make it to Kakariko before dark, remember?”

The way Zelda’s fingers dug into his muscles told him that she certainly did remember, and was cursing her sensible self from the previous evening. Last night’s discussion lasted well into candle-burning hours. While Zelda assured him that they must follow the rules of Hyrule’s royal family with regards to the baby, she couldn’t recall what those rules were. Very few alive today recalled Zelda’s own birth, and the ceremonies and procedures that her own parents followed to solemnize the occasion. Kakariko, she decided, would be their destination. Lady Impa and Purah would have the best chance at knowing what took place that day, having been in the service of the royal family since Zelda was very young. If anyone knew, or at least knew where to start looking for the information, it would be one of them. And since Link had already bound himself to leaving at first light for the Cliffs, there was no sense in doubling back and losing two hours of travel.

Which meant, despite Zelda’s groaning protests, Link had to get up.

“Come on.” He wiggled himself free from her, prying her sleepy arms off of him so he could sit up on the side of the bed. His bare feet brushed against the thick rug underneath their bed. “I’ll make breakfast.” Despite his assurances, Zelda still slumped back into the divot where he had lain. “Zel.”

“Not hungry.” She whined, flipping the pillow over her head to block out him and the offensive sunlight. “Ill.”

Ill? Link frowned, placing a hand on the back of Zelda’s neck. Not hot. She didn’t complain of illness last night. So why-?

Oh.

“Some toast at least?” He offered. Would it be like this the whole time? That sounded like hell. Maybe the East Wind had some ginger root.

Zelda lifted one side of the pillow, her face slightly paler than the previous evening’s. “A little toast.”

With a nod, Link rose from the bed. He pulled on a fresh shirt from the dresser, tugging it over his head.

At the bottom of the stairs, the little stove had already grown cold. He tossed in a few cut branches before striking the flint. Sparks skittered across a bird’s nest of leaves and horse hair, catching quickly and smoking as soon as Link tossed the bundle into the metal box. The curling smoke wafted up the flue as the flickers spread to the branches.

He never used to start fires this way. He had little memory of his old life, but a tingle of fear at the back of his neck told him that someone had very sternly educated him on the impropriety of starting fires in the house. And yet, here was this very device, in their kitchen. The rest of Hateno hadn’t yet warmed up (ha!) to the idea of a stove, but Zelda was adamant that they should have one. And were it not for Zelda’s admonishment that he shouldn’t use weapons in the house, he wouldn’t mind it so much himself. Flint couldn’t compare to a fire-lizalfos horn in terms of efficiency. But still, it made her happy to use the flint, and so he would.

He shut the metal door and began to prepare breakfast. Just toast. Not exactly ideal for a long journey. No doubt the smell of anything else would make her even sicker. He glanced over at the basket of eggs, his stomach growling at the thought of one fried with butter. He could boil some. That was almost as good, and easy to carry for later.

When Zelda finally descended the stairs, her hair braided up like a crown over her forehead, Link had just finished plucking the last piece of toast from the irons. He set it on the top of the small stack he’d made. Whatever she didn’t eat, he would finish.

She eyed the toast warily, as if it might bite her first, and reluctantly picked one up and started nibbling on the corner. Like a little mouse! “Thanks…” She swallowed a small portion, testing if she could keep it down. “I’m sorry for being a bother this morning.”

“It’s fine, Zel.” Link assured her, offering a smile. “You’re growing a whole person. You have a good excuse to be a bother.” He paused. “Not that you are one! But if you were, you’d have an excuse! You’re not a bother.”

A twinkling of a grin turned the corners of her mouth, and she ate a little less timidly. “Thank you.” Despite her earlier nausea, she quickly disposed of two slices of toast and a cup of tea. “I’ll bring the bags down. Can you ready the horses?”

Link gave her a quick nod before leaving her in the kitchen to finish cleaning up. He heard a hiss of the fire being put out as he let the door close behind him.

Spot and Storm nickered in greeting as Link approached. “Morning, fellas.” He scratched under Spot’s chin, Storm tugging at Link’s hair with impatience. “Alright, I’m moving.” Saddles, blankets, bridles, triple-check the buckles. The last thing he needed was either of them sliding off.

Leading the two horses around to the front of the house, he met Zelda dragging two bags out of the front door. He took both, easily hoisting them up onto the backs of the horses and securing them with straps. Their packing was probably excessive, but they’d rather be over-prepared than under. As soon as the bags were secure, Link helped Zelda onto Storm’s back before mounting his own.

As they approached the gate out of Hateno, a small group of riders awaited them. Seldon, perhaps a little too stout for the pony he’d chosen that morning, waved them over. “Morning, Link! And Princess Zelda. Joining us on the hunt?”

“The princess is going?” Teebo whined, stamping his foot at his father. “How come she can come but I can’t?!”

“Because the princess can defend herself if she needs to. And I need someone here to watch the village while we’re gone, okay?” Thadd explained.

“But you let Manny go!” Teebo pointed at the younger man, who gawked in indignation.

“Manny can use a real sword.” Thadd said.

“Debatable.” Link muttered under his breath.

“We’ll be back before lunch time. Promise.” Seldon assured the little guardsman. “Well, some of us anyway.” The older man looked over Link and Zelda’s horses, noting the large saddlebags. “Where are you two headed?”

“Kakariko Village.” Zelda answered. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be gone. We’ve got some businesses to attend to with the Sheikah.”

Seldon raised a brow curiously. “Royal stuff?”

“Royal stuff.” Zelda replied with a nod.

“Well, I don’t want to delay royal stuff.” Seldon grunted, pulling at his pony’s reins to turn the animal toward the west. “We’d best be getting on then.”

As the troop clopped along down the road, Link thought he heard a very sad, very small voice murmur “I want to do royal stuff…”

The Cliffs of Quince loomed high overhead as the troop approached along the road. A snorting squeal, faint on the wind, drew Link’s attention. He pulled back Spot’s reins, his eyes trained on the direction of the sound.

“Link?” Zelda asked. “Where are they?”

“Not sure yet.” He answered, already dismounting and reaching for the Master Sword. “Wait here, Princess. The rest of you-“ He turned back to gauge his comrades. Two out of the three had already dismounted behind him, readying their weapons. The third… “Manny, you guard the princess.”

The young man almost collapsed in relief at that order, but quickly righted himself, sitting up straighter on his horse. “Yes, sir! With my life, sir!”

Link fought the urge to roll his eyes. He waved at the others to follow him. The trio crept up the hill. Link’s ears twitched as he followed the sound of scraping and snorting. Two at least. More likely three. He doubted any more than five.

As they crested the top of a hill, Link caught a glimpse of a blood-red hide. He crouched low in the bushes, signaling the others to stop with him. Red. Red. Red. Silver.

“Damn.” Link hissed under his breath.

Thadd tensed beside him, readying his pitchfork. “Anything that makes you curse isn’t very good for us.”

“Silver.” Link whispered back, pointing to the sharp gleam of that Bokoblin’s horn - deadly as a knife. “I’ll draw it off. Can you two take the others?”

“We can.” Seldon confirmed, drawing his own shortsword, wielding a pot lid on his arm.

“Good. Here’s the plan…”

After a quick explanation, Link left the other guards in the bushes as he stalked around the camp on the other side. The Master Sword pulsed in his hand, tingling his palm like it always did when monsters were near. Not spotted yet. Carefully, he sheathed the sword, opting for a bow to start the battle. He drew back, the string creaking in his ear.

The silver Bokoblin, who had been munching on the carcass of some unfortunate little beast, lifted its head and sniffed the air. Link felt a breeze blow from behind him. Shit.

The arrow whistled through the air just as the silver turned its large eyes on Link’s location, striking the monster right between the eyes. But Bokoblins had thick skulls. The reds jumped up in surprise, looking around for the source of the attack. The silver growled, staggering to its feet and baring its teeth. With a blood-thirsty howl, it charged at Link. Horn-first.

Link unsheathed the Master Sword and ran. He heard the silver crash through the undergrowth behind him, gargling and growling as it gained on him. Link spun on his heel. The silver lowered its head and sped up. Link jumped to the side, the wind of the Bokoblin’s assault pulling at his tunic. He swung his blade, slashing at the monster as it fell, off-balance from the failed goring. The silver crashed into the dirt, tendrils of gloom curling like smoke from open wounds.

In the distance, metal and wood clashed. Thadd shouted with fury. A red squealed a dying breath.

The silver clamored to its feet, pure malice in its eyes as it readied a second charge.

Link backed up, his boots cracking twigs. The Master Sword pulsed again.

A second charge. Link leapt, twisting in the air as the silver cried out in frustration – then fear. It shrieked all the way down as it plummeted onto the road below. A girlish scream soon followed, and the whinnying of several horses. Link raced to the cliffside.

The silver laid motionless on the road, gloom rising like a thick cloud from several wounds. The horses stamped their hooves in agitation. Manny, now off his horse, pointed a pitchfork at the near-corpse of the silver Bokoblin, his arms trembling.

“Finish it off!” Link shouted down at them.

Manny, his eyes wide in terror, stared up at Link for several seconds before the order processed. With a shout of effort, Manny plunged his pitchfork into the monster’s back. The beast exploded in a burst of misty gloom, leaving only the razor-sharp horn behind.

Thadd and Seldon, their battle won, slid back down the hill, sweat beading on their brow. Upon observing the scene, Thadd’s mouth fell open like a Hyrule bass. “Manny! Did you kill that thing?”

“W-well! Link led it off the cliff-“ Manny stuttered, gripping his pitchfork.

“And you delivered the killing blow.” Zelda relayed. “Exactly as Link asked you to. Thank you, Manny.”

The young man blushed hard, looking between the princess and the silver horn on the road. “Y-yeah. I did. I killed it.” His arms still trembled, though gears slowly started to turn in his head as he stared at the horn. “Can I take that?”

“Sure.” Link said, sliding down the cliff-face. His boots scraped on loose stones, sending them skittering into the path. “It’s your kill. Your spoils.”

Manny reached down to the horn, picking it up with as much caution as if it were a viper. “Ivee will love this.” He swung the horn around like a sword, grinning broadly. “Girls like guys who can kill monsters, right?”

Zelda’s face contorted from barely contained laughter. “Mhm!”

Thadd and Seldon congratulated Manny on his success, slapping his back and admiring the sharpness of the horn.

Link remounted Spot, joining Zelda back on the road. “Thanks for helping me, guys.”

“No, thank you, Link!” Manny exclaimed, waving the horn. “You guys have fun doing royal stuff!”

Zelda waved goodbye as the trio of guards returned toward Hateno, talking excitedly about the battle.

“Tell me, would the thing have died anyway?” Zelda asked once the guards were safely on the other side of the cliffs.

“Absolutely.” Link replied, a goofy grin on his lips. “It had gashes all over and took a cliff-fall to the face. It probably would have decayed the instant that Manny stabbed it even if the guy just stood there.”

Zelda tilted her head. “So why tell him to finish it off, if it wasn’t necessary?”

Link shrugged. “You saw how he looked. He needed a confidence boost. And maybe that will motivate him to get off his ass and train.”

A soft giggle beside him filled his heart like sweet wine. “Poor Ivee. Now she’s got a hero to fend off.”

“If she can. I’ve heard heroes are all-but-irresistible.” Link teased.

“Is that so?” Zelda’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Or do they just stick to you like glue for so long that you trick yourself into falling for them?” She flicked her reins, bidding Storm to walk alongside Spot so that she could take Link’s hand. “Maybe the hero’s just doing his job, you know? All silent and foreboding-“

“Foreboding?” Link snickered.

“Hush.” She gave his hand a playful squeeze. “Throws himself into harm’s way for the sake of a young lady. It’s certainly charming. But how can the young lady really be sure that her hero is true, and not merely a sword at her service?”

“You had no problem putting my ‘sword’ to your service last night.” Link joked.

“Awful!” Zelda squeaked, whacking him on the arm, her face burning. “Must you turn everything into a vulgar joke?”

“No, no!” Link laughed. “Sometimes I turn them into puns.”

“Hmph.” Zelda’s face still burned, even as she trained her eyes ahead on the road. “What will people think of you?”

Link shrugged, amused by the banter. “Most people don’t think of me at all, Zel. But at some point, people are going to figure out that we f-“ A quick glare from her shut up his next word. “Ah, sorry. Language. Right.” Not that there was anyone around to hear him anyway. Maybe the whole silent and foreboding thing had some merit even now.

Zelda sighed, shaking her head. “I never imagined that I’d fall for someone as unrefined as you. I was brought up properly. You were dragged.”

“Hey! That’s no fair!” Link protested. “I don’t even know enough to refute that!”

Her laughter floated up into the cliffs, echoing in his mind even long after they’d passed into the forest beyond.

This time, it was Zelda’s stomach that growled. She pressed a hand to her middle, trying to silence it.

“We can stop for lunch at Fort Hateno.” Link offered.

“We’ve made it that far already?” She asked, peering through the trees ahead of them. Behind thick branches and underbrush, a wall and archway of stone awaited them. “I’d hardly noticed! Yes, let’s stop here.”

Under the shadow of the stone archway, Link assisted Zelda off her horse. He offered her a small sack with their packed food. The eggs from that morning, the rest of last night’s loaf, and some jerky. Link began to search around for anything more to supplement. A distant buzzing drew his attention, and he started off toward the source.

Bees buzzed around a dripping comb, the sweet scent of courser honey making his mouth water. He grabbed a Puffshroom from his pack and tossed it. The mist burst in a spray of white. Link darted forward, grabbed a chunk of the comb, and ran back to Zelda before the bees had a chance to track him down. He licked his sticky fingers, relishing the delicious taste of fresh honey.

Zelda sat down on a log in the shade of a large tree. A vine of fresh tomatoes sat beside her, and a glint of yellow and red in the distance revealed their origin. Link plopped down next to her, tearing the comb in half and offering it to her. She readily accepted, dripping the leaking honey onto her portion of bread.

Leaves rustled gently overhead, their shadows dancing on the forest floor. The horses grazed on fresh grass and drank from shallow puddles, idly wandering the glade. Link closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the forest around them. Birds chirped overhead. The remnants of a flag snapped against a strong breeze atop the ramparts. Those bees stayed distant in their buzzing, no doubt repairing what he had taken.

“It’s not like it was.” Zelda whispered, as if also loathe to break the silence.

“No.” Link agreed, opening his eyes to take a hearty bite of his jerky. “Hoz’s crew cleared out that encampment a while ago, and they haven’t come back.”

“Hm.” Zelda pursed her lips. “Before that.”

Link raised a brow, looking out at the archway. “The guardians have been cleared. Remember how they absolutely covered this place?” He swallowed down a tough piece, pointing out at the field beyond. “I almost got my ass kicked by one my first time through here. I thought they were all dead. I was so wrong. That thing was out for blood.”

When Zelda flinched, Link lowered his voice. “Hey, I’m okay, though.” He set his hand on hers. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to think about that.”

“No, I was… already thinking about it.” She frowned, her gaze set on something far away. Something forgotten. “It seems so stupid, so pointless now. We were going to take cover in Hateno. I was going to let all of those people die defending me. Like I didn’t care about them.”

“Zel.” Link squeezed her hand. “That’s… not how I remember it.”

She shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t. Because I didn’t tell you. I don’t know if you remember, but it was your idea to return to Hateno during the Calamity. I wanted to go to Akkala, but you thought Hateno would be safer, as Akkala was the more obvious first target. I suppose it didn’t matter in the end. My power would have been awakened whether you fell here or there.”

A breath filled his lungs – held.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… sometimes these things still plague me, you know? I remember when Fort Hateno was filled with people. Soldiers and families and servants and horses.” She pointed toward a crumbling guard post. “I know you don’t remember, because I’m sure you would have commented on it at some point, but on our tour through Hyrule before the- the Calamity, there was a small weapon’s closet in that structure. You pulled me in there and kissed me breathless.” As she spoke, Link fought hard to recover the memory, which now felt very important. “Captain Qent found us in there and scolded you for five minutes.”

Link snorted. “Worth it.”

A ghost of a smile played at Zelda’s lips. “Yes. I was mortified at the time. I thought he’d tell my father.” She tilted her head to one side, watching the scene from over a hundred years ago play out before her eyes. “I’m glad he didn’t. Had you been reassigned, all of Hyrule would have perished in a day. If you hadn’t gone down protecting me, I would never have unlocked my sealing power.” Her voice dropped back down to a whisper. “I… I wasted so much time. So many people died because I wasn’t able to see what was clearly in front of my face all along.”

“Stop it.”

Zelda broke away from her trance, looking up at her suddenly stern knight. “What?”

“Stop saying things that aren’t true.” Link said. “You did everything that you knew how to do. You saved Hyrule. Multiple times. You sacrificed yourself over and over again for your people. No one could ask more of you.” He brushed her hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her jaw. “So stop asking impossible things of yourself.”

Silence once more fell over the glade. Her soft hair rested on his shoulder as she nestled her head against his neck. He wrapped up the rest of the loaf and tomatoes, tucking it into their travel sack for later. He’d offer it again when she inevitably felt hungry. For now, in the quiet, he would hold her hand, and imagine what it must have been like to kiss her in the weapon’s closet.

#a lullaby for a princess #yeah that's the fic name we're going with #im cross posting this on Ao3 #totk zelink #totk zelda #totk link

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ohlovxr · 2 years

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Steven would totally have a cat!! 😭 especially with the mythology and he doesn't want you to be alone with him and the moon boys being away so often. Maybe her name is Cleopatra? Cleo for short? He may have a lot of pics of you on his phone, but cleo is a close second. And this man is definitely whipped by the two women in his life. If Cleo is asleep in his spot in bed, he would rather take the couch then disturb her sleep.

no seriously!! the two of you could really have whatever you want from him, and the bad part is that you’re 99% sure that cleo’s WELL aware of that fact because she’s got the most sass and audacity you’ve ever seen a cat possess when it comes to steven.

they give each other the best cuddles though!! whenever steven’s home (and the one fronting) they’re literally attached by the hip, just obsessed with each other. and whereas steven has so many photos of his two ladies on his phone, you’ve got just as many of those two together (ranging from when steven used to walk around with cleo literally lounging around his neck/over his shoulder when she was a kitten to her curled up on his chest sound asleep).

also, cleo can literally tell when steven’s not the one fronting. animals know vibes, and even though marc and jake look like steven, you can count on cleo knowing it’s not him. she kinda has a little feud going on with marc because he’s probably not the biggest cat person (even though they do eventually grow on each other) and she’s pissed that her dad isn’t actually there to give her infinite amounts of affection alongside what she already gets from her mom (a.k.a. you lol).

she and jake would lowkey have an understanding. he doesn’t front as much as steven or marc, but when he does, they’re kinda just chill. it shocks you at first honestly, because of how much hissing and muttered insults you’ve had to listen to whenever marc and the cat are together, to see cleo curled up next to jake and being scratched.

#also what kind of cat are you picturing???#bc in my brain i’m thinking cleo’s a black cat #with like big green eyes #or brown #i can’t decide bc the eye colour keeps changing in my head aksjdkj #i’ve thought wayyyy too into this lolol #omg also the neck/shoulder thing when she was a kitten - i can’t describe it properly but it’s what i used to do with my dog #when she was a puppy because she was so clingy #like fr i’d have to get up to do chores or something the first few weeks we brought her home and she wouldn’t wanna be left alone #or even just standing next to me while i did it #so i flung her body over my shoulder and let her just watch lol #<- i was careful and she was content dw lol #this whole thing turned into a cat thing tho lolol but i love the idea of the boys with a cat so much aksjsksj #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #the cleo-verse

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lesmislettersdaily · 1 year

Text

What He Does

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 2: The Fall; Chapter 11: What He Does

Jean Valjean listened. Not a sound.

He gave the door a push.

He pushed it gently with the tip of his finger, lightly, with the furtive and uneasy gentleness of a cat which is desirous of entering.

The door yielded to this pressure, and made an imperceptible and silent movement, which enlarged the opening a little.

He waited a moment; then gave the door a second and a bolder push.

It continued to yield in silence. The opening was now large enough to allow him to pass. But near the door there stood a little table, which formed an embarrassing angle with it, and barred the entrance.

Jean Valjean recognized the difficulty. It was necessary, at any cost, to enlarge the aperture still further.

He decided on his course of action, and gave the door a third push, more energetic than the two preceding. This time a badly oiled hinge suddenly emitted amid the silence a hoarse and prolonged cry.

Jean Valjean shuddered. The noise of the hinge rang in his ears with something of the piercing and formidable sound of the trump of the Day of Judgment.

In the fantastic exaggerations of the first moment he almost imagined that that hinge had just become animated, and had suddenly assumed a terrible life, and that it was barking like a dog to arouse every one, and warn and to wake those who were asleep. He halted, shuddering, bewildered, and fell back from the tips of his toes upon his heels. He heard the arteries in his temples beating like two forge hammers, and it seemed to him that his breath issued from his breast with the roar of the wind issuing from a cavern. It seemed impossible to him that the horrible clamor of that irritated hinge should not have disturbed the entire household, like the shock of an earthquake; the door, pushed by him, had taken the alarm, and had shouted; the old man would rise at once; the two old women would shriek out; people would come to their assistance; in less than a quarter of an hour the town would be in an uproar, and the gendarmerie on hand. For a moment he thought himself lost.

He remained where he was, petrified like the statue of salt, not daring to make a movement. Several minutes elapsed. The door had fallen wide open. He ventured to peep into the next room. Nothing had stirred there. He lent an ear. Nothing was moving in the house. The noise made by the rusty hinge had not awakened any one.

This first danger was past; but there still reigned a frightful tumult within him. Nevertheless, he did not retreat. Even when he had thought himself lost, he had not drawn back. His only thought now was to finish as soon as possible. He took a step and entered the room.

This room was in a state of perfect calm. Here and there vague and confused forms were distinguishable, which in the daylight were papers scattered on a table, open folios, volumes piled upon a stool, an armchair heaped with clothing, a prie-Dieu, and which at that hour were only shadowy corners and whitish spots. Jean Valjean advanced with precaution, taking care not to knock against the furniture. He could hear, at the extremity of the room, the even and tranquil breathing of the sleeping Bishop.

He suddenly came to a halt. He was near the bed. He had arrived there sooner than he had thought for.

Nature sometimes mingles her effects and her spectacles with our actions with sombre and intelligent appropriateness, as though she desired to make us reflect. For the last half-hour a large cloud had covered the heavens. At the moment when Jean Valjean paused in front of the bed, this cloud parted, as though on purpose, and a ray of light, traversing the long window, suddenly illuminated the Bishop’s pale face. He was sleeping peacefully. He lay in his bed almost completely dressed, on account of the cold of the Basses-Alps, in a garment of brown wool, which covered his arms to the wrists. His head was thrown back on the pillow, in the careless attitude of repose; his hand, adorned with the pastoral ring, and whence had fallen so many good deeds and so many holy actions, was hanging over the edge of the bed. His whole face was illumined with a vague expression of satisfaction, of hope, and of felicity. It was more than a smile, and almost a radiance. He bore upon his brow the indescribable reflection of a light which was invisible. The soul of the just contemplates in sleep a mysterious heaven.

A reflection of that heaven rested on the Bishop.

It was, at the same time, a luminous transparency, for that heaven was within him. That heaven was his conscience.

At the moment when the ray of moonlight superposed itself, so to speak, upon that inward radiance, the sleeping Bishop seemed as in a glory. It remained, however, gentle and veiled in an ineffable half-light. That moon in the sky, that slumbering nature, that garden without a quiver, that house which was so calm, the hour, the moment, the silence, added some solemn and unspeakable quality to the venerable repose of this man, and enveloped in a sort of serene and majestic aureole that white hair, those closed eyes, that face in which all was hope and all was confidence, that head of an old man, and that slumber of an infant.

There was something almost divine in this man, who was thus august, without being himself aware of it.

Jean Valjean was in the shadow, and stood motionless, with his iron candlestick in his hand, frightened by this luminous old man. Never had he beheld anything like this. This confidence terrified him. The moral world has no grander spectacle than this: a troubled and uneasy conscience, which has arrived on the brink of an evil action, contemplating the slumber of the just.

That slumber in that isolation, and with a neighbor like himself, had about it something sublime, of which he was vaguely but imperiously conscious.

No one could have told what was passing within him, not even himself. In order to attempt to form an idea of it, it is necessary to think of the most violent of things in the presence of the most gentle. Even on his visage it would have been impossible to distinguish anything with certainty. It was a sort of haggard astonishment. He gazed at it, and that was all. But what was his thought? It would have been impossible to divine it. What was evident was, that he was touched and astounded. But what was the nature of this emotion?

His eye never quitted the old man. The only thing which was clearly to be inferred from his attitude and his physiognomy was a strange indecision. One would have said that he was hesitating between the two abysses,—the one in which one loses one’s self and that in which one saves one’s self. He seemed prepared to crush that skull or to kiss that hand.

At the expiration of a few minutes his left arm rose slowly towards his brow, and he took off his cap; then his arm fell back with the same deliberation, and Jean Valjean fell to meditating once more, his cap in his left hand, his club in his right hand, his hair bristling all over his savage head.

The Bishop continued to sleep in profound peace beneath that terrifying gaze.

The gleam of the moon rendered confusedly visible the crucifix over the chimney-piece, which seemed to be extending its arms to both of them, with a benediction for one and pardon for the other.

Suddenly Jean Valjean replaced his cap on his brow; then stepped rapidly past the bed, without glancing at the Bishop, straight to the cupboard, which he saw near the head; he raised his iron candlestick as though to force the lock; the key was there; he opened it; the first thing which presented itself to him was the basket of silverware; he seized it, traversed the chamber with long strides, without taking any precautions and without troubling himself about the noise, gained the door, re-entered the oratory, opened the window, seized his cudgel, bestrode the window-sill of the ground floor, put the silver into his knapsack, threw away the basket, crossed the garden, leaped over the wall like a tiger, and fled.

#les mis #les mis letters #volume 1: fantine #book 2: the fall #chapter 11

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andtheyreonfire · 2 years

Text

when you’ve laid your hands upon me

pssst. pssssssst. @borrowedblue . a manic twink dressed like a cross between freddy mercury and oscar the grouch told me it was ya birthday. heard u like scary man, so.,

Like I said on Ao3, this is kinda a song fic! Start the song at “the giant pressed play” for an enhanced experience :0

Special thanks to @bilgisticallykosher for helpin me with this fic! i have been waiting all day to read urs girl.,

Word Count: 4168

Ao3 Link

Warnings: Fearplay, consensual fearplay, references to body mutilation, Remus-typical POV, and cursing.

A gust of breath launched the straw wrapper in Remus’ mouth to the other side of the room.

It fluttered, looped, glided through the air in something one could almost call beautiful. Flew through a sliver of dull light shining through Remus’ blinded windows. Turned green in the neon light radiating from his beloved Frankensteined Furby’s eyes, shimmering from its spot on his desk. The straw wrapper crinkled, almost ethereal in Remus’ piss-colored lighting, like a lost soul drifting back to the netherworld finding peace.

The straw wrapper hit the back wall, and fell to the floor like the flaccid piece of paper it was.

Remus groaned.

There were no side commissions to complete. No work in the middle of spring. No inspiration for a project bubbling up out of the blue, and the materials for his current ones were on their way. Rummaging around in their garage was too much work. Getting up only to sit down at his shitty computer felt like a waste.

Remus was, in every sense of the word, bored as fuck.

At times like these, the human would find his way over to Logan, drape himself over his boyfriend’s shoulders and ask normal questions like how long would it take someone to bleed out after having their dick ripped off by a lion? and on a scale of 1-10, how fuckable are giant squids?

But Logan was doing adult things, like taxes and filing taxes and chugging almost giant-sized cups of coffee. As cute as the furrow of his boyfriend’s brow and concentrated pout were, being disturbed was the last thing Logan would want.

Remus scratched a stain on his Fish Want Me, Women Fear Me tee, gaze drifting around the room. It landed on the painted guitar pick—bigger than his head, like most of Remus’ stolen goods gifts were—mounted on the wall.

Looking at the swirling landscape of a prairie in a hurricane, a grin spread on Remus’ face.

What were two boyfriends for, anyways, if not for twice the amount of Tomfuckery?

Remus catapulted himself off his bed, ignoring the music scale of pops his back released. A quick jog down the human walkways along the walls, a cheerful wave to a Logan perched on the literally giant-sized couch, and Remus found himself at the door of his other boyfriend’s room.

Well. Human-sized door.

Remus barged in, because knocking was only something door salesmen came up with to sell more doors—just like how shitting was only invented by toilet salesmen to sell more toilets.

Sure enough, a massive, macab-dressed form was hunched over a tangled, all-too expensive sound system; wires and cords strewn around like tentacles from a god of the void. The giant was bobbing his head, strains of a guitar faintly protruding from bulky headphones. He drummed a beat out with colossal, black painted claws.

Remus trotted forward.

He could tell the moment the giant noticed him. Cat-like pupils flickered towards him, locking onto his movements like a predator staring down prey. It was hard to tell if the lightning that struck his nerves was from instinctual fear or...something else.

Not many humans had the balls to live and breathe near giant-dominated areas—or giants at all, for that matter. Remus and his former-friend-turned-partner were the exception, of course.

And yet, the rockstar in front of him seemed to bring out something different in people. Despite being one of the scariest motherfuckers you could find on a stage, humans and giants alike still flocked to him like moths to an inferno.

Because his music brought out that instinctual, stomach-plummeting fear and honed it. Used it. Celebrated it.

Remus screamed himself hoarse during his first concert, alight with adrenaline and sweat and terror as he was drowned out by speakers ten stories tall. Craning his neck back to see a performer that could hold him in his hand growl out a booming melody. Feeling his knees shiver as vibrations threatened to send him sprawling to his feet.

Remus had known since that first instant he was in love.

He wasn’t even the one that had found his way in the performer’s hand during one of his—ah, audience interactions. The rockstar would parade around a lucky soul like a toy, showing them off and riling them up and scaring them shitless, showing the world the monster he was.

That was all Logan.

Wasn’t like the nerd didn’t sign the proper wavers, they may have just...been shoved away before he could read them. Really, Remus oughta give Janus a medal for getting Logan in the front-row venue.

Remus waved, leaning over the railing he knew could splinter so easily in the giant’s grip. He heard a flash of blaring guitars as his partner slid off his headphones, before he shut off the program with a single click.

If anything, Remus’ partner certainly knew how exhilarating he could be.

The giant grinned, rows of massive, sharp teeth shining in his gay-ass fairy lights. “Hey, Remus.”

That fondness—the quiet, almost teasing lit he gave to someone roughly the size of his finger—was almost enough to send a ball of hellfire careening through Remus’ chest. “Hey, Virgil. What’s fucking?”

“Just runnin’ through the track we recorded last week.” Virgil Tempestas—a stage name, mostly—offered out a palm as long as Remus’ body. The human wasted no time catapulting himself into the soft flesh, jerking upright as the giant brought Remus to his chest. “The instrumental is mixed, which means we’ll probably hit our deadline, but...”

Remus craned his neck back, looking up at Virgil’s face. “But?”

“It just—the vibes aren't right.” His boyfriend huffed, running a hand through a shock of purple hair. “Like—the feel is underdeveloped, or overdeveloped, or the tone isn’t right. I don’t know. I want to be able to perform this live, and it doesn’t...flow. Here.”

With a few clicks, a drumbeat burst out from the sound system. Remus paused, letting the sound wash over him. Guitars joined in a few beats later.

He closed his eyes, imagined giant combat boots stomping around on a stage as big as a city block. Imagined a low, rumbling voice echoing far above him. Imagined fear pumping through his veins, hyper-aware of the powerlessness that pinned him in place and sent him screaming.

Remus imagined what of sound an angel made of chains and strings and churning metal would make, and opened his eyes.

“Bass-boost it, I want my ears to bleed.” He crawled over and leaned against the thumb—the thumb that probably stopping him from throwing himself off the giant’s hand. Virgil’s gaze flickered down to him, and Remus shrugged. “Other than that, sounds good to me. Top ten songs to get your shit kicked in to, definitely.”

Virgil snorted, but slid his headphones back on after a nod from Remus. The human took that moment to latch onto Virgil’s thumb and try to wrestle it to the center of his palm.

He failed—especially when Virgil demonstrated his ability to pin all his limbs down with one hand—but it was a valiant effort.

After some fun and riveting times squirming under fingers as long as Remus was tall, the giant removed his headphones. Remus perked up as his appendages were freed. “Alright. How ‘bout now?”

Virgil pressed play. Deep, booming cords reverberated over him, through him, thrumming in his core. A shudder passed down his spine. Remus grinned. “It’s perfect. Gonna be a hit, I can feel it—Oh, c’mon, what’s got your dick in a twist?”

Virgil bit his lip—which wasn’t fair because that was Remus’ job thank you very much—as Remus frowned at the rockstar’s furrowed brow. The human was about to crawl up to Virgil’s beautiful face and force it out of him when he blurted, “I didn’t practice anything for a concert, I didn’t think to. I usually have a specific act in mind but things didn’t really work out so I don’t—feel like I know the song? And I can’t put on a show if I don’t even know what I’m trying to sing?” The giant sighed. “Yeah.”

Remus leaned back, considering. “You want an act.”

“Yes.”

The human stared up into eyes bigger than his head. “Then let’s make one.”

Those eyes widened, cat-like pupils dilating. “...You sure? We haven’t done that in a while.”

The human’s heart fluttered at the hint of petulance in Virgil’s tone. Seemed the giant enjoyed their cat-and-mouse game as much as Remus did. It wasn’t harmful, just a bit of good, old-fashioned mortal terror and blood-pumping for the soul. Mostly, Virgil did it to test out new show bits or review an old trick, because Virgil was a prep who wanted practice with scaring the shit out of people.

Remus was the only one in their house who could stomach it. Wasn't his fault the looming, the growling, and the reminder of how helpless he was in the face of a monster setting his heart pounding with more than terror. They yearn for what they fear for and all that.

Well—he was pretty sure Logan did enjoy it, even if a few minutes of a game let him out of breath, stuttering, with his face flushed and voice a squeak. He seemed to prefer Virgil’s softer, snarkier side to even the just-for-pretendsies looming danger.

Remus once broke his arm on purpose on their backyard’s brick wall trying to see if he could fit his fingers into his shoulder socket, so.

“Are you kidding? Fuck yes.” Remus wriggled in Virgil’s palm, stopped from toppling off by a gentle claw pressing down on him. “Put me down so you can slam your hands next to me or whatever.”

Virgil snorted, but lowered his hand down to the desk anyways. Virgil’s work desk was massive, even for giants; just a vast expanse of dark wood. His set-up barely filled half of it. “I haven’t even started the music yet, chill.”

Remus slid off the palm, before crossing his arms and pouting up at his boyfriend. “C’mon, I wanna see your fangs, pretty boy. Set upon me like a flock of vultures on a rotting corpse or whatever—”

Virgil leaned forward, setting his forearms on either side of Remus and looming over him. As a shadow fell Remus, he craned his neck back, only to catch sight of massive fangs splitting into a sharp grin. “It’s cute that you think you can tell me what to do,” Virgil Tempestas purred, voice reverberating down and through Remus’ core and fuck, fuck. “Patience, little morsel.”

Virgil leaned back. Remus’ heart lurched forward with him. He took a moment to try to shrug off the flush on his cheeks using his face alone, stopped only by Virgil snorting at his expression. The giant raked his hair back with his claws, stretching to grab a hair tie to put it back. Remus couldn’t help but shiver. Oh, this session was going to be fun.

With a click, the giant pressed play.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Virgil asked, laying a hand flat against his desk. Any growl was absent from his voice, a patently sincere look the only thing toward Remus.

Remus lunged forward, splaying his body across Virgil’s palm yet again. He blew a raspberry. “Duh. I got no reason not to be.”

Virgil watched him wriggle in his palm, and Remus resisted the urge to cringe away from that cat-like, predator gaze. The time for blue-balls was later, goddamnit.

Nothing left to do but enjoy the show.

The beat was nice, steady, a heavy drum pounding through the quiet of the room. Remus stretched as a guitar joined in the mix. He looked up, up, up into his giant’s eyes, and the human’s crinkled at the loving look Virgil directed at him.

The drums slowed, thrumming out a staccato rhythm, and—

Remus found the palm below him gone as Virgil tossed him up.

The guitars surged, fast and sending daggers piercing through his ears, no doubt drowning out the half-delighted shriek Remus let out. The human flailed, catching a glimpse of the ground so far from him, and his stomach lurched like a container of fucking pickle juice.

The back of his shirt caught. Remus twisted around to see two massive claws pinching it, dangling from a comparatively thin layer of fabric over a fatal fall. The fingers moved, and Remus grasped his shirt collar before it could choke him. He stopped in front of the giant’s face.

Virgil’s mouth twisted into a scowl. Remus’ heart pulsed like someone shoved a screwdriver through it.

And the giant began to sing.

Virgil’s voice was deep—it always had been, apparently. Remus couldn’t imagine anything but those low, crooning tones, pounding through his core like the world’s sharpest drums.

The giant’s fangs were on full display. They shone in the afternoon light, slid against his lip like a sheathed sword, etched closer as the giant leaned in to purr a line in Remus’ face. Wicked-sharp, almost as long as Remus’ forearm, and very, very powerful.

Little morsel, the owner of those fangs had called him, hunched over Remus’ tiny form and looking at him like he was nothing more.

Little morsel, Tempestas had called him, and, well, wasn’t he right?

As the giant’s voice turned soft, he brought Remus away from his face. Those inhuman eyes crinkled into something almost like grief. Remus stilled as Virgil moved a massive claw up to his cheek, and the cool, sharp tip trailed down tiny, vulnerable flesh.

The grip around Remus was iron, but under the stare of something so massive, the attention of someone his mind called a predator, Remus found he couldn’t move if he wanted to.

Virgil leaned in, and Remus’ body vibrated with that low voice. The giant’s gaze slide away, and Remus’ heart stopped as Tempestas’ face shuttered closed.

The guitars exploded, and the giant moved.

Blaring bass, pounding drums, Virgil hunched over him, snarling lyrics to the human in his hand. His voice boomed, but Remus could scarcely hear anything over the roaring in his ears. He glanced away, only for an instant, and his gaze snapped back like a rubber band as Virgil’s shadow engulfed him.

Is this what storm chasers felt, staring down the eye of something so much more than you? The booming of thunder in your core, the crackle of lightning in the distance, craning your neck back overhead to see clouds, a gathering storm, a disaster in motion? Helpless to do anything but sit back and watch the rain pour?

It was certainly what Remus felt, staring up, up, up at Virgil. Staring up at his love.

Remus laughed, slightly manic, and hoped the giant didn’t hear it over the thrumming of the music—

Only for it to turn into a grimace as Virgil dropped him on the table. The human scrambled back, on his feet and staring up as Tempestas launched into the second verse. Virgil tilted his head, slow, almost deliberate, running his eyes down the prey in front of him. Remus swallowed.

Tempestas took a step to the side, standing tall and pinning Remus with his gaze. His claws flexed. He prowled around the desk and—well, wasn’t it funny, how Remus almost felt like the one on a stage, putting on a show to the giant looming over him?

The rockstar leaned forward and tilted his head. Remus couldn’t do anything but stare back as the giant ran a claw down his shoulder. He leaned in, closer. Closer. His gaze turned soft. The dark clouds parted.

Something flickered, and Remus jerked back as the giant closed the final gap with a snarl. He slammed a hand next to the human, and—

The giant’s face filled his vision, his hands practically wrapped around him, his heat seeping into his skin. The sharp smell of peppermint wafted from Tempestas’ mouth. He was so close to him, almost making up his entire world.

Tempestas leaned back, gaze flickering away, and the iron grip around Remus’ heart tightened. Massive claws rapped a beat on the table.

When Tempestas peered down at Remus, he didn’t smile, but was a near thing.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” the giant asked, voice sliding in-tune with the bass. The music blared on, and Remus’ heart leaped as Tempestas moved back to loom over him. “Of course you feel it. Why wouldn’t you?”

Remus craned his neck back, shivering as the giant’s shadow engulfed him. His eyes drifted to the claws so close to him, only to jerk back as something warm and sharp ruffled his hair. The giant smiled, fangs glittering.

“Thrumming, thrumming, thrumming.” His voice was low, that special sort of rumble that only emerged in performances. “The bass, your heart, the vibrations from my voice, up and in you and all around you." Tempestas leveled him with an expecting stare. “You feel that thrumming, that pounding?”

Remus nodded, adrenaline setting his nerves alight, and those massive eyes crinkled. “Thought so.” Tempestas hummed. “Let me ask you something more.”

Tempestas moved, standing over Remus from a diagonal angle. One way clear, it seemed: across from the giant and forward. No hiding spots on the expanse of the desk, but it would take the Tempestas time to reach out. Enough time to run.

If Remus’ legs didn’t give out before he could escape.

“Can you hear my voice?” Tempestas crooned. “It must be loud to those tiny, sensitive ears of yours.” The giant's claws stopped, flickered to point in the air. “Can you hear the pounding of the drums? If this were a real concert, your voice would be drowned out by them so effortlessly.”

Tempestas leaned forward, chest five times as wide as Remus was tall pushing up against the desk. The storm tilted his head. “Can you hear the beating of my heart?”

Remus paused, ice flooding through his veins. The giant purred, “Listen. It shouldn’t be hard.”

And—he could. Blocking out everything except the natural disaster in front of him, he could hear it. It was slow, and so, horribly, loud. As big as a whale’s, pounding, pounding, pounding.

An amused breath of air sent Remus’ hair askew. Tempestas’ voice dropped low, reverberating through the human’s body like a swarm of locusts. “Can you feel anything but me?”

A claw ran down Remus’ back. The pad of the finger pulsed with a massive pulse, surging with the beat. “Can you hear anything but my sound?”

That claw travelled to Remus’ chest, and bits of the human’s tee caught on its small, jagged edges. It slid under the human’s chin and lifted it up. Remus shuddered at the cold tip of it against his neck. “Remus,” Tempestas hummed. “Do you know how helpless you are?”

A blush burned Remus’ cheeks. The giant grinned, fangs shining like chainsaw teeth, and the human’s knees threatened to buckle. “I know what you’re feeling right now.”

The threat under Remus’ neck retreated. Remus’ hand shot to his throat, watching the giant examine a line of claws, each one almost as big as Remus’ head. “Maybe it’s a shiver down your spine. Maybe it’s the hammering of your tiny, little heart. Maybe it’s the blood running through your veins.” The giant’s gaze flickered over him. “You’re vibrating right now, Remus, and it’s not from excitement.”

Remus held a hand in front of his face, watching it shake like a leaf in a hurricane. He was, wasn’t he?

The giant leaned back, and Remus craned his head up, up, up. “You feel it.” He laughed, a sharp, booming thing. “Why wouldn’t you?”

The monster peered at him, gaze wide and unwavering, the gaze of a predator. “Do you feel the urge to run?”

The drums hissed, lightning-quick. The guitars surged like the booming of thunder.

Remus bolted.

The pressure in his legs abated, burning as he pumped them faster, faster. Alarm bells blared, the music roaring in harmony with the static in his ears. A thin sheen of sweat crept down his forehead. A cackle behind him tore through the black noise in his head. Remus pushed himself faster—

He tripped, fell, went sprawling with the edge of the table an arm’s length away. He stumbled forward on his hands and knees, whining. It was right there. It was right THERE—

A massive hand slammed in front of Remus. Claws curled in on him like splintered branches.

Too late.

The human lurched back, whipping around to see the monster looming over him. The giant practically screamed the next lyrics. Remus’ cheeks darkened as he filled up his vision, overwhelming Remus’ ears with pounding music, snarled singing, the thrumming of a massive heart.

Remus’ breath caught in his throat. He had to run. He had to run, get away, move, do anything to escape the behemoth before him. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, why was he frozen, why was he was trapped, why he couldn’t he move move from the predator he’s goiNG TO—

“Virgil?” Came a distant, quiet voice. “Oh. Am I interrupting something?”

The music stopped. Remus creaked open his eyes—when had he closed them? —as the giant in front of him rumbled, “Nah, we’re just having fun.” The massive hand around him squeezed, gentle, yet firm. The human’s heart fluttered. “What’s up?”

Silence. Considering, analyzing silence. Not judgmental, but sharp enough for you to wilt anyways. Remus could recognize Logan’s presence anywhere. Finally, their boyfriend said, “I was considering ordering Chinese shortly. Do you want anything?”

Virgil’s gaze flickered down. His fangs were hidden, gaze open, no trace of the thing of nature present just moments before. He spoke, and it was like the gentle patter of rain. “You want your usual?”

Remus nodded, adrenaline still clogging his vocal cords. He leaned back into Virgil’s palm, letting the warmth seep through his skin. “Vegetable Chow Mein for Remus.” A massive claw ruffled his hair, and Remus made a noise like a deflated balloon animal. “I wouldn’t mind some sushi. Don't care what flavor. Thank you, love.”

“You’re welcome.” Remus could hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He considered throwing a hand over Virgil’s hand to wave after him, but...it was so warm. After a moment, Logan called out, “Try not to overwhelm Remus before dinner.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Virgil breathed. His gaze flickered down towards Remus, slight panic in his eyes. Remus gave a thumbs up, sticking his tongue out for good measure. Virgil deflated a little in relief. Really, how could Remus ever be scared of such a massive dork?

Heh. Dork. After distant footsteps retreated, Remus sprung up from Virgil’s hand. “You found your bit?”

Virgil glanced away, almost like he was scared to look at someone the size of his finger. Pussy. “Uh, sure. You good, Re? I know I got carried away—”

Remus waved a hand. “I’m fine, you tall drink. You barely answered my question!” The human put his hands on his hips, trying for his best stern gaze. “I’ll climb up there and pull you down myself if I need to, bitch.”

The being who could overpower him with barely a thought snorted. “I don’t doubt it—but, uh, yeah. I got it.” Virgil smiled, his genuine one that was more eyes than teeth. “Thank you, really. You gave me a lot to work with—Well. One problem.”

“Yeah?”

“It is...a lot. Not really something I would consider doing spontaneously, especially with a stranger.” Virgil leaned in, folding his arms under him and setting his chin on top. “I can’t help but think it would be better to do it with, say...someone I know.”

Remus’ heart spasmed. He resisted the urge to clutch at it, in the process resisting the urge to bite down on his fingers and see if he was dreaming. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Virgil’s gaze turned soft, open, eyes shining like amethysts. “Obviously, it’ll be different. And only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to force you or anything—”

“I’d fucking love to.” Remus stumbled forward. He nodded, nodded again, looked up at Virgil with a fire in his eyes. “Yes, I want you to toss me around like a limp fucking French fry. Yes—”

“Hey, chill, I haven’t even released the song yet. My next concert ain’t for a while, either.” Virgil’s gaze turned sheepish. “I’ll tone it down a bit, too. Don’t want you to collapse before the show ends.”

Well, rude, but Remus didn’t mind. He surged forward, throwing himself against Virgil’s lips, and shuddered as he felt the giant let out a small gasp of surprise.

He was technically doing the opposite of ‘chilling’, grasping at whatever small bit of skin he could put his hands on and nipping the top of Virgil’s lip. But as that impossibly soft mouth pressed against his body, Remus figured that Virgil didn’t mind, either.

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cryingoflot49 · 4 months

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Book Reviews

Let's Go Plat At the Adams'

by Mendal W. Johnson

When the cats are away the mice will play. When Mr. and Mrs. Adams go on vacation for a week, their two children are left behind with a babysitter. What could possibly go wrong? Those darling little angels would never do something terrible like torture the babysitter, now would they? Forgive me for begging the question and spoiling the entire plot before analyzing the main theme of the book. However, I do have to say that Mendal W. Johnson’s Let’s Go Play At the Adams’ has a bit more meaning than one might expect from a horror novel.

The plot is as thin as it can possibly be. Bobbby and Cindy Adams, 13 and 10 years old respectively, stay at home with their babysitter Barbara in their house in idyllic rural Maryland. Barbara is an attractive college student, a member of the swimming team, and ambitious to become a teacher. The two kids call their friends over to play. John is sixteen, slightly overweight and may or may not make the varsity football team depending on how things go. Dianne is eighteen, awkward, shy, and book smart but naive in the ways of the world. She coddles her young brother Paul who is thirteen and mentally ill. Dianne understands him much better than their parents do. Together they have a club called the Freedom Five that engages in adventure games like playing at war or cowboys and Indians; sometimes the games involve bondage and simulated torture. So when Bobby and Cindy are left under the care of Barbara for a week, the next step is obvious. They tie her to a bed and torture her to death. Then they pin the crime on a creepy Spanish-speaking migrant worker who lurks in the woods near the house. That’s it. That’s the whole story. But the plot isn’t the purpose of the book.

Mendal Johnson writes in the third person omniscient, meaning the novel is written so that the reader has access to the subjectivity of every character. This is significant because the thoughts and perceptions of the characters are key elements in the building of suspense. Barbara, the victim in this game, is given equal weight in relation to the others in terms of character building. As she lies awake all night, bound to a bed and gagged, she tries to understand why this is happening to her. The internal monologue turns into a dialogue when she imagines her college-friend Terry by her side, explaining the situation to her. Terry is, of course, a projection of Barbara’s imagination. It is through Terry that we learn how Barbara is wracked by insecurities and blames herself for the torture. Terry later becomes instrumental in the narrative at the end of the book when the explanation for the torture is revealed. Along the way, Barbara bears a strong resemblance to Joseph K., the main character in Franz Kafka’s The Trial in that she feels she is being punished for something she cannot comprehend and the more she tries to find out why, the more elusive the answers get.

The other characters in the Freedom Five reveal themselves through their perceptions of Barbara. Although they make decisions by voting democratically, Dianne is the brains of the operation, the one who steers them along their course towards the eventual demise of Barbara. For her this is a power trip in which she practices her ability to dominate and control others. For John, the imprisonment of Barbara is an opportunity for him to overcome his insecurity, primarily sexual, in approaching women. Bobby is the one who has the most sympathy for Barbara, but his desires for her are purely based around principles of domination; he fantasizes about her as being a trained domestic animal, one that will always come back to him if he sets her free. He wants Barbara to be like a dog who runs after a stick that has been thrown and then obediently brings it back to their owner. Paul is little more than a mentally disturbed sadist and psychopath, while Cindy is merely the little ten year old girl who tags along with her big brother. Each of them has a specific purpose for doing what they do.

I believe that an important clue to interpreting this book lies in the name “Freedom Five” that the kids choose to give their club. It is exactly the kind of unimaginative and unoriginal title that children would choose for a secret organization given their age-related limited knowledge of the world. It serves as a reminder of how young they are, but more importantly it indicates the author’s intention of examining the nature of freedom. The idea of freedom entails the concept of being free from something and in this case the kids are free from their parents. Not only are the parents excluded from the club, but they are absent from the house while away on vacation. Occupying the space between childhood amd adulthood, the only obstacle to the freedom of choice that adults have is the babysitter Barbara. Therefore, she has to be removed, incapacitated, dominated, and controlled. They also see the world of adults as being an unhappy place. Adults have freedom and with that comes responsibility. Even worse, their lives look dull doing little more than going to work and arguing with each other. The Freedom Five see this as a last chance to experience complete freedom without the accompanying negativity of maturity.

With Barbara tied up and gagged so she can not give them orders, they are free to do whatever they want like staying up all night watching TV or eating all the ice cream, maybe even drinking milkshakes for breakfast. But this freedom isn’t as exciting as they expect it to be. In fact it is downright boring and they do have responsibilities like taking care of themselves and making sure Barabara doesn’t die. Therefore, they have to up the ante by making plans to torture Barbara to death. Most of the narrative tension revolves around the kids suggesting plans and deciding what to do while the reader is suspended in uncertainty, wondering if these things will really happen or if they will be successful or not. Most of the book hovers between light BDSM pulp crime fiction and existential allegory without tipping too far in either direction.

It is at the end and in the epilogue that the meaning of the story is brought out in full. It is surprising to learn that the Freedom Five actually admire Barbara. Her friend Terry is envious of her too as she explains during the final soliloquy. In their minds, Barbara is charming, attractive, intelligent, and talented. Even worse, she embodies all these qualities without making any effort. This is a poignant irony considering the earlier chapter when Barbara thinks about how insecure and awkward she feels. But in the end, perceptions are stronger motivators than reality. Besides, the Freedom Five are children who aren’t psychologically developed enough to understand the complex points of view of others. But in any case, Barbara represents their Ideal Person while they all feel inferior in her presence. So instead of making an effort to build their own characters and achieve a higher state of being, they decide to degrade and destroy their idol. They don’t raise their sense of self-worth by making self-improvements; they do so by tearing down another human being who they perceive to be better than them. All too often, this is the way the world works.

Mendal Johnson could be criticized for making this novel too subtle. On one hand, he shows restraint (haha, no pun intended) when describing the torture to avoid making this into some kind of sick fantasy. On the other hand, he understates the philosophical theme to avoid boring the audience by turning this into a lecture on how terrible it is to hurt people. After getting to the end, I thought the two sides, the form and the meaning, were actually perfectly balanced as soon as he drove the main idea home in Terry’s monologue. I just think that the novel suffers a little bit from too much understatement. He could have turned up the volume on both the torture scenes and the theoretical theme without failing to realize the novel’s intentions provided he emphasizes both aspects in equal measures.

In conclusion, Let’s Go Play At the Adams’ is not so much of a disturbing book as it as a depressing one. The bondage and torture are not so extreme that they make your stomach churn. In fact, the violence barely registers as more than some PG-13 rated horror schlock you would see at a drive-in theater. The commentary on the psychology of power, the nature of freedom, and the sick-mindedness of human society is a little more potent. I do think Mendal W. Johnson is successful in making a statement about human nature. I also think it says something about the time it was written in. Just after the Summer of Love and Woodstock, youth culture and ideologies of freedom were big parts of the zeitgiest. Like Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange, I think Let’s Go Plat At the Adams’ was partially intended to warn us about the dangers of letting young people have more freedom than they need. I have mixed feelings about that idea but I do think it something worthy of consideration.

If you just want to read something for cheap thrills or shock value, you won’t get much out of this book. But if your mind is subtle enough then the next time you wish for someone’s downfall. gloat over someone failure, laugh at someone stupidity, or think insulting thoughts about another person, even if you keep them to yourself, then remember the Freedom Five and ask yourself in honesty if there is something inside you that is just like those terrible kids who tortured Barbara.

#book reviews #mendal w johnson #transgressive fiction #horror #american literature #vintage books

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tilbageidanmark · 1 year

Photo

Movies I watched this Week #98

Is there something called ‘Third-hand smoking’? Because if there is, you might get it from Aki Kaurismäki’s films. Ariel is my 6th absurd film by him, and the first from his ‘Proletariat Trilogy’. One of my favorites of his, a story of a laconic, chain-smoking, hard-on-his-luck miner who travels to Helsinki in an old white Cadillac convertible, but dreams of getting away to much warmer climates. 8/10.

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First watch: Pelle the Conqueror, a Danish-Swedish coming-of-age award-winner directed by Bille August. A textbook dirt-poor immigrant story told in epic and humane style. (Photo Above). 9/10

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Re-watching - once again - my 2 favorite ‘Guilty Pleasures’ by Anders Thomas Jensen:

🍿 The masterful Riders of Justice, again. It’s a richly layered ‘Butterfly-effect’ revenge thriller with a painful human heart and a philosophical depth, and every moment of it is genuine. But even more than the relationship between Markus and his daughter, I love the interactions between the three hacker friends, Nikolaj Lie Kaas as Otto Hoffmann, Lars Brygmann as Lennart and Nicolas Bro as Emmenthaler. A perfect Danish Film. 10/10.

🍿 I was also very happy to introduced my mom to his After the wedding, and to watch it together with her, while I translate the dialogue as it happens. 10/10 for the tenth (?) time. She said it was exactly the kind of movie she likes.

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On the day that charismatic fraudster Elizabeth Holmes was sentenced to 11 years in prison, I saw the 2019 The Inventor: Out for Blood in Silicon Valley, an excellent HBO documentary from Alex Gibney about her. It is based on the investigations and book by Wall Street Journal’s journalist John Carreyrou, who's also interviewed in the movie.

It’s disturbing that one of the few times when white collar crimes are actually punished, the book is thrown at the woman. But of course, when the victims hurt by her actions were not ordinary people but very important VIPs who invested millions in the company. Also how glowing the financial media was about Theranos all the way until it wasn’t. It’s all just a giant Ponzi scheme.

Best new watch of the week.

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Josef von Sternberg‘s The Blue Angel, the first feature-length German full-talkie and Marlene Dietrich’s breakthrough role. The classic story of a respectable gymnasium “professor” who falls for a showgirl and descents into humiliation and madness.

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Photocopier, my first film from Indonesia. A student drama addressing the taboo topics of sexual assaults and alcohol usage by girls. A ‘daring’ exposure played against background of conservative and religious society that refuses to acknowledge it.

The final scene though was better than the mediocre run: At the end, two of the girls push a copier to the roof of the campus building and started throwing leaflets about the abuse, and many others joined them into a torrent of leaflets like a tropical rain.

Typically distributed by Netflix, the platform that guarantees inferior content, from the forgettable and bland to the downright awful. 3/10.

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Naked, my 8th film by Mike Leigh and the first that I really disliked. An ugly story of two disgusting characters, obnoxious, misogynistic, self-absorbed rapists, who casually mistreat everybody around them and about the meek women who beds them and love them. It was a metaphor for the social landscape under Thatcher? OK. But the entitled, dreary and unsympathetic men were not pleasant to spend two hours with.

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3 disappointing shorts:

🍿 Lava, a funky, quirky, badly-drawn, alternative adult animation from Argentina. It’s an incoherent story about a young tattoo artist and her friends who's confronted with “unexpected apocalypse in Buenos Aires, with giant cats adorning rooftops, evil witches wreaking havoc, and hypnotic visuals from phone and television screens rendering the population zombified”. In the last 20 minutes the story disintegrated into even more meaningless grab bag of leftovers. 2/10

🍿 My first by Ari Aster, his early Film Noir parody The Turtle's Head. Office Space’s Tom Smykowski is a sleazy private detective, a prick if you will, whose only care is getting laid and who discovers that his penis is suddenly shriveling. A one-note dick joke about an unsavory character. (Re-watch)

🍿 All the Boys Are Called Patrick, an early Godard short, written by Éric Rohmer. Jean-Claude Brialy is an entitled pick-up artist who aggressively accost two separate women not knowing they are roommates.

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Servant of the people is my first satire from Ukraine. It’s the extraordinary TV series produced and starred by Volodymyr Zelenskyy, former clown and current hero, who now leads the real bloody war against Russia. As an historical phenomena, it captured an amazing light in a bottle moment: The story of an ordinary history teacher who unexpectedly becomes the Ukrainian president, and the parallel story of the real-life comedian who - based on the success of this show - became the actual leader of his country. In a way, it mirrors the same story in the US, when drumpf became president based solely on a made-up personality he played on the TV. Zelenskyy seems though to be a kind and humane individual whose goal was to fight corruption and to serve his fellow citizens, while drumpf... well...

As a TV series, it’s low-brow and shallow, filled with popular humor, and moments of genuine heart. I only binged the first 4 out of 51 episodes.

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So-Bad-I-Couldn’t-Finish-It-Film:

I tried watching Logan’s Run with 1970′s Pretty Boy Michael York after hearing about it for years, but after 20 min. realized it will be a simple kitschy waste of time. I just can’t stand this type of cheesy science fiction premises.

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(My complete movie list is here)

#movies

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