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coldshinypearl · 2 years ago

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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 · 1 year ago

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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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lesmislettersdaily · 2 years ago

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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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aidanchaser · 1 year ago

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter Twelve

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

He shouldn’t have done it. There was no reason for him to detour on his way back to the palace, but it was hard enough to ignore Plagg’s thrum of chaos on a good night. And on a night where he knew that he was going back to a ball he did not want to attend, when Cataclysm hummed unspent in his veins, and when Ladybug had formally rejected him, as completely as she could manage?

He couldn’t help himself.

Chat Noir had told Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng that he did not steal things that were irreplaceable, but that was only half-true. He stole irreplaceable objects all the time, like the Bourgeois' wedding rings or a one-of-a-kind, hand-crafted lute owned by Monsieur Stone. But even though the objects themselves could not be replaced, the people who owned them had the resources to fill any void left by their loss. If anything, Chat Noir was simply creating more opportunities for the artisans’ guilds of the city.

So Chat Noir did not feel guilty in the slightest as he returned to the palace with a pair of Chloé Bourgeois’ favorite dancing shoes in hand. Sure, they were unique, embroidered in gold and studded with topaz, but she could afford new ones, and, as an added benefit, she had nearly caught him slipping out her window. So not only had the theft gained a bit of thrill and daring, Chloé knew exactly who had taken her shoes, and would not spend hours looking for them or bothering servants about them.

The trouble that awaited Chat Noir, however, had nothing to do with the shoes in his hand. Since he had left the castle, the guards on the palace walls had been doubled, making it difficult to slip past unseen. There were also crowds of lords and ladies, their attendants, and plenty of young eligible women from the city trying to get into the palace through the main gates, and it was slow going because several check points of guards had been added. The extra bodies made it harder for Chat Noir to slip in unseen.

The glittering jewels dangling from the guests of the ball did not help. The urge to slip amongst the crowd and lift gemstones from wrists and sashes pulsed beneath Chat Noir’s skin, but at least this time, his reason managed to hold him back and keep him in the shadows. He waited for a pair of guards to pass each other on their patrol and slipped over the wall at the very moment their backs were turned.

Getting back to his rooms was not much easier, and as he finally reached the tree he usually used to leap in and out of his room, Chat Noir paused on the branch. There were two people in his room. He could not see who, but he could make out their shapes through the curtains.

He whispered a curse under his breath and slipped along the tree branches with the same ease of a cat. The first open window that Chat Noir found led into Félix’s rooms.

He hesitated only a moment before taking the leap.

His hands tightened around the window sill and he listened for any sounds of disturbance. When he heard nothing, he crawled inside. The room was, as far as Chat Noir could see, empty.

Félix was most likely down at the ball with Aunt Amelie, which was exactly where Adrien ought to be. Chat Noir quickly tucked the shoes away underneath Félix’s bed—he could retrieve them later—and whispered, “Plagg, claws in.”

The fay pulled away from him and the urge for chaos receded so that it was no longer a steady drum pulsing in his heart, but rather a distant murmur that he could set aside.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in Félix’s mirror and nearly choked. He had forgotten that he was still wearing the green and gold outfit that Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng had designed. He looked like a proper prince, except for the small, pitch black creature hovering at his shoulder.

“Do we have to go to the ball?” Plagg whined. “With all the lords and ladies here, there are so many wonderfully empty houses to explore.”

“It’s a good night to be Chat Noir,” Adrien agreed with a small smile, “but unfortunately I have to be a prince right now. At least there will be plenty of good food.”

Plagg considered this for a moment, then obediently slid into Adrien’s pocket.

As much as Adrien loved Chat Noir and the freedom that came with the transformation, it was still only a part of him. It might be wonderful to forget, for even just a few hours, the weight of his future and his grief that soaked the stones of the palace, but he still wanted to be a prince. He still wanted to do what was right for his kingdom, and to succeed his father in all the ways that were expected of him.

He would give Plagg up once he was wed, but he was going to miss Chat Noir a great deal.

And more than that, he was going to miss Ladybug.

But before Adrien could go down to the ball to find a proper bride for a prince, he needed to see who was in his rooms. The staff should be busy attending to the guests. He was also a little worried that if someone were to search his rooms, they might find a hidden drawer stuffed with an unusual amount of stolen art and jewelry for a prince.

As Adrien put his hand on the door to open it, he heard his father’s voice and froze in place.

“I don’t want excuses, Nathalie; I want him found.”

Nathalie’s reply was cool and even. “Every available hand is looking for him. If you want me to divert some of the guards to add more to the search party—”

“No one can know that something’s wrong—though I’ve half a mind to cancel the entire event and dismiss every guard in the palace after this evening’s disaster. If they hadn’t failed to protect this palace from those Sapotis, Adrien never would have gone missing.”

Adrien’s hand trembled on the door. He ought to push it open, he really should, but he hesitated. Could the ball be over that easily, if he just disappeared for another hour? He could have his evenings with Ladybug back? He could cling to just a bit of freedom—well, only until his father arranged a wedding properly, and if he did allow his father to cancel the ball, maybe he would lose the chance to choose his partner.

“If he’s not found…”

But the rest of his father’s reply was too quiet to hear; Adrien pressed his ear against the door. Perhaps he could not blame all of his curiosity on Plagg.

“You made a promise to Emilie,” Nathalie said in a voice very nearly tender. “Do you really think this is what she would want?”

“You presume to know much for a servant.”

“I presume to know much for a mother,” Nathalie snapped back.

Adrien bit down on his tongue. Guilt flared in his chest. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping like this, and he certainly shouldn’t make his father worry just to delay his responsibilities as a prince.

He pushed the door open and pretended to be surprised. “Father, Nathalie, what are you—”

“Where have you been?” Gabriel’s words were hard and demanding, edged in ice and steel. He was dressed for the ball in a white doublet and red jerkin. His tone, dress, and bare wedding ring finger knocked the wind from Adrien’s chest as surely as if he had been punched in the stomach.

Despite the call of duty, he wished quite suddenly that he had simply stayed Chat Noir and spent the night wandering rooftops, or had even stopped by Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng’s attic again. Surely she would be up all night, and he could have kept her company.

“I—the monsters knocked me unconscious. I just woke up in the garden…”

It was a terrible excuse. If he had been in the garden, he should have been found or been seen coming up to his room. His father’s hard glare was unchanged.

“Are you hurt?” Nathalie asked, and Adrien shook his head.

He rubbed a spot on his head where he might reasonably have taken a hit. “Ladybug’s magic works miracles.”

Gabriel found it hard to believe Adrien, but he found it harder still to believe that his son would lie to him. “If you’re perfectly well, then you ought to be at the ball greeting the guests.”

Adrien bowed. “Yes, Father.” He was not sure what he had expected from his father, or how he could have expected anything different to have been said, but disappointment hung in his chest all the same.

His father cleared his throat and, in a voice almost as tender as Nathalie’s had been, said, “I’m glad that you’re all right.”

It was perhaps as much as Adrien could hope for. “Thank you.”

As Adrien left, Gabriel turned back to the fireplace. Not for the first time that month, that day, or even that hour, he considered canceling the ball.

“An entire year,” he muttered.

“Pardon?” Nathalie said.

“It’s been a year since Emilie fell asleep. A year of failing to catch the Fays of Creation and Destruction. I thought the ball might draw more powerful curses to us, but all it has done is put this palace and Adrien in danger. We’ve accomplished nothing.”

“I would not call today’s venture a waste,” she said. “After I doubled the guards around the castle and instituted two additional checkpoints for screening guests, I conducted thorough interviews with the guards who saw Ladybug and Chat Noir’s escape.”

Gabriel's gaze cut swiftly to Nathalie. He did not praise her efficiency, and she did not need him to. She did not do this job because she craved his approval. She did what she did because she knew how drastically grief could rend a person in two.

“What did you learn?” he asked.

“The boy that Chat Noir escaped with was wearing one of the aprons from the boulangerie and patisserie that the Duchess had arranged to cater the ball. I can send for a pair of guards to bring him here for questioning.”

Gabriel leaned against the fireplace mantle and pressed his palms into the cold marble relief of entangled vines and pomegranates. Sometimes it was all too much. Running a kingdom, protecting his son, fighting to save his wife…

He glanced at the pale line where his wedding ring had once sat. The skin was worn smooth and silvery like a scar. The temptation to put on Emilie’s ring had grown ever since Félix had slipped the band from his finger, but Gabriel had resisted. He had promised Emilie. He had promised her that he would never use it.

But that was before Adrien had disappeared for an hour.

“Gabriel?” Nathalie asked.

Gabriel’s smile was little more than a sneer. Nathalie never used his title in private. Were it anyone else, he might have dismissed them for arrogance. But Nathalie was truly irreplaceable, and she knew it.

“No,” Gabriel said. “I’d like to talk to the boy myself, and I’m afraid Amelie has made it rather difficult for me to disappear for the next few evenings. But clear my schedule for tomorrow morning. I want him and anyone else from the bakery escorted to the throne room as soon as they arrive.”

“I’ll see it done,” Nathalie said. “Is there anything else?”

He straightened and pulled on a pair of white gloves. They had been a last minute addition, picked out when he realized that he would not have a wedding ring to wear.

“Your search of Félix’s rooms has turned up nothing?”

“I’m afraid not. But you asked me to be discreet; perhaps if I were able to make a mess, I might have more luck.”

“The last thing I need is Amelie asking questions.”

“Do you think we ought to search her rooms for the ring?”

“If she had it, she would have told me. She’s never been one to avoid confrontation.” Gabriel adjusted the amethyst brooch at his throat and smoothed out the brilliant red jerkin. He had not been terribly pleased that a party meant doffing his mourning attire, but he was an expert at keeping up appearances. If the appearance of a king thrilled about his son’s upcoming marriage was what the kingdom needed, then it was what he would be.

“Take another look,” he said. “Félix will be at the ball all evening, so you’ll have plenty of time.”

“And who will run the event while I am up here, doing your dirty work?”

“Amelie and I will manage.”

Nathalie hesitated. “Of course.” She did not bite her bottom lip, but she was tempted to. Years working in the palace had taught her the importance of being unreadable. And this last year of watching the royal family worn down by tragedy and barely holding together under the weight of their grief had taught her the value of being truthful, perhaps especially when no one wanted to hear it.

“Would it be so terrible to enjoy yourself tonight?” she asked.

Gabriel’s sneer-like smile was far more sneer than smile. “Tell me, Nathalie, what is there to enjoy?”

“The company of your family. It is just a thought. Please excuse me so I may rearrange your schedule tomorrow—and might I recommend taking time tonight to discuss the new tariffs that Empress Tomoe proposed with your Minister of Finance? It will clear at least one meeting from tomorrow with relative ease on both our parts.”

“First you tell me to enjoy myself and next you tell me to discuss taxes with my court. If you’re going to give inane advice, at least make it consistent.”

“You asked what there is to enjoy. If you won’t enjoy your family, you ought to at least enjoy your work.”

Nathalie did not wait for another retort from Gabriel, nor his dismissal. She bowed and left Adrien’s rooms.

Gabriel did not follow, not right away. He needed a moment to pull himself back together, to get his world back under control. First Félix stealing his ring, then his guards letting Chat Noir and Ladybug escape, now Adrien missing for nearly an hour and this with Nathalie—

He thought again of the ring inlaid with gold that sat on Emilie’s finger and of the wooden box tucked safely away behind her golden portrait. He swallowed down the anguish that swelled in his chest. No, he would not resort to such drastic measures just yet. He would not break his promise to Emilie.

Félix had agreed to see to it that Adrien married Princess Kagami Tsurugi. Gabriel needed the secrets that the Tsurugi family had to offer, knowledge of the potential of magic that even he had not yet discovered. He need an alliance with the Bright Islands of the East if he was going to save Emilie..

And if Félix failed, Gabriel would see to it himself. His word as king and father would be enough to make Adrien see reason. It would have to be.

As for Félix, Lila Rossi was not a terrible choice. She may have lost the gift of illusion and trickery, but Gabriel could still make use of her family’s long connection to the Forest of Fay. It was their knowledge that had gotten him the miraculous gift that he did possess.

Perhaps Gabriel could enjoy the ball. Perhaps, for once, everything would go his way tonight.

Word of Adrien’s miraculous reappearance spread so quickly through the palace staff that by the time Adrien hurried into the ballroom and took his place at Félix’s side, just moments before the ballroom doors opened to announce the assembled guests, Félix had already heard from three different sources that Adrien had been unconscious in the garden for the last hour.

Amelie squealed when she saw him, kissed each cheek, and fussed with his hair.

“We were all so worried!” She took his face in her hands and turned it from side to side, as if checking for any sign of an injury. “Have you seen your father yet? He was in such a state—”

“I did,” Adrien said, voice impressively even. “I’m sure he’s on his way.”

Amelie pursed her lips, green eyes still searching, but she did not press the issue. “Well,” Amelie finally said and brightened her smile, “are you ready to find the woman of your dreams?”

Adrien did his best to return his aunt’s smile. “I imagine I’ll have to be.”

The ballroom doors opened and the doorman began announcing the ball’s attendees. Adrien was a bit surprised that the Bourgeois family was not first to arrive, eager as Chloé was to keep her position as his fiancée, but then again, Chloé might have had some trouble finding new shoes to wear.

Instead, it was Lila Rossi who was the first of Adrien’s long list of suitors to be announced. Lila, head held high, stalked down the ballroom’s center, dressed in a brilliant orange and black gown with gold embroidery. A pendant of polished jasper glistened at her neck, and Adrien wondered if anyone in the room knew that it was a fake besides the two of them. He did not dare mention it to her, though, and instead, politely kissed the back of her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Adrien,” she smiled. “May I have the honor of your first dance?”

The informality of it startled him, but he kept his face even. And with no reason to say no to her request, opened his mouth to accept, but Félix spoke first.

“Mademoiselle Rossi, I was just about to ask you for your first dance,” Félix said with a smile that might have been charming to anyone who didn’t know him well enough to see the falsehood in his steely gray eyes.

Lila’s tight smile was just as hollow. “I apologize, Your Highness. Perhaps you and I could share a second dance?”

There was no polite way to decline this arrangement, though her choice to maintain formality with Félix and drop it with him unnerved Adrien.

“I’d be happy to share your first dance, Mademoiselle Rossi,” Adrien said, hoping that he did actually sound happy even if he didn’t feel it.

There was a flicker of irritation in her hazel eyes as Adrien refused to use her first name, but she tucked it away behind a polite smile. “And if you wouldn’t mind—” but Lila was cut off by the loud trumpet of the announcer, and Adrien’s stomach twisted into a tight knot as he recognized the tune.

“His Majesty of the Bright City of Lights,” the door attendant shouted to the ballroom, “King Gabriel Agreste.”

The ceiling of the ballroom appeared to rise as the gala’s guests collectively dipped into bows and curtsies. Adrien remained frozen, caught in the gap following the attendant’s announcement, as if the doorman had begun a spell and failed to finish it. Adrien was aware of nothing but the pounding of his father’s shoes on the floor in time with his own drumming heartbeat and the overwhelming absence of his mother’s name.

Queen Emilie had loved throwing parties. She and her sister alike were hostesses first and foremost with a love of the arts. Dance and music had always filled their castle, and Adrien had attended so many balls as a boy. And he had loved, once he was finally old enough to join the parties properly, watching his mother enter. Were she here, she would have been dressed in a fine, new gown for the season, one hand on his father’s arm and the other clasping the hands of each person that she walked past. But tonight, King Gabriel walked alone.

Adrien wondered if his father felt her absence as strongly as he did.

If King Gabriel was as grieved as his son, neither of them could afford to show it. Their smiles were tense but polite as Adrien bowed and his father took his place at his side.

“I’m so glad that you made an appearance after all, Gabriel,” Amelie said, smile at odds with her sharp tone. “I really was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

“A promise is a promise,” Gabriel said.

Adrien bit down on the inside of his cheek. He wanted to ask what Nathalie had meant by his father’s promise to Emilie. Perhaps Adrien ought to ask Félix to find out for him; Félix was good at asking the right questions.

“Your Majesty,” Lila said, and dipped into a low curtsy, “it’s an honor to be here.”

“We are pleased to have you, Mademoiselle Rossi,” Gabriel replied in a voice that was almost warm. “I trust that you are enjoying yourself so far?”

“Oh, yes.” Lila dipped her head and the golden pins and cap that held her hair up glittered as she did. “You’ve thrown a wonderful party.”

“Duchess Amelie has done an excellent job,” the king agreed.

Amelie laughed gently, but it rang as hollow as Gabriel and Adrien’s smiles. “I must have done something right if you’re handing out compliments before the dancing has even begun, Your Majesty.” Even the honorific had a touch of disdain to it when it came from her lips.

Lila looked like she wanted to add something else, but the attendant’s voice shouted across the ballroom, announcing Empress and Princess Tsurugi. Begrudgingly, Lila moved on so that the royal family could continue greeting guests. At least she had guaranteed herself Adrien’s first dance, and if she had her way, she’d make sure that she was his only dance partner for the evening.

Princess Kagami approached the royal family so steadily that she appeared to be gliding, and her pale pink and white dress shimmered in the candlelight like the first bloom of a spring in a sunset as she and her mother walked down the center of the ballroom to greet the royal family. Kagami bowed to the princes, and Félix and Adrien politely returned the gesture.

“You look lovely,” Adrien said, and Princess Kagami dipped her head.

“Your Head of Household found someone just as capable as my own handmaiden.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

There was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation, and Félix, both annoyed with how terrible these two were at making conversation and convinced they might actually make a happy couple in their shared awkward discomfort, said, “Princess Tsurugi, I apologize that my cousin’s first dance is spoken for, but might I share your first dance?”

Her face remained as neutral and even as Félix’s, but her dark eyes quickly flitted between her mother and Adrien. “I’m afraid I’m not quite accustomed to your court’s form of dancing.”

“I’ll be an excellent teacher, and you’ll be an expert by the time you dance with Adrien.”

She dipped her head in reluctant agreement. “And Prince Adrien, this is acceptable to you?”

“I would be honored to share a dance with you, Princess,” Adrien answered, “whether Félix is a good teacher or not.”

Once she and her mother had continued on, Adrien whispered to Félix, “You’re not trying to woo the Princess of the Bright Islands of the East for yourself, are you?”

Félix could not help but wonder briefly if marrying a foreign princess might be an excuse to get out of this castle. But he set the thought aside. If he left, it would be under his own power, not by submitting himself to someone else. “I’m only doing what I can to make you look more competent. You keep greeting every girl like you’re looking over her shoulder for someone else to walk through that door, and one of them just might slap you for it.”

Adrien could not help but feel appropriately scolded. Félix was right, of course. He kept hoping to see a flash of ruby earrings or that one of the girls might pull him in close and whisper that she was actually the city’s beloved hero. He wondered, if Ladybug did reveal herself, would he tell her the truth? That he was Chat Noir, her partner who she had just turned down an hour ago in this very ballroom?

He sighed to himself and ignored the inquisitive sideways glance that Félix cast his way. Ladybug had said that she was busy. She didn’t have time for a ball, and she didn’t have any interest in marrying him. He was going to have to choose someone else.

And there were plenty of girls to choose from. The ball became a whirl of one girl with her mother after another, all there to introduce herself to him in hopes of winning his affection, and he found that he had little time to consider anything other than dresses, names, and a schedule of dances.

Just before the dancing began, the Bourgeois family entered, all announced with their full titles, and walked quickly down the ballroom to greet the royal family. Chloé, after a brief curtsy, took Adrien’s hand and kissed him on his cheek.

“I’m so sorry we’re late, Adrikins,” she said, as her parents thanked Amelie and Gabriel for hosting the ball. “You’ll never believe that Chat Noir stole my favorite pair of dancing shoes just as I was getting ready to leave.”

“How unfortunate,” Adrien said, and hoped that he looked as sympathetic as he ought to.

“But I know you’ve saved your first dance for me, haven’t you?” she leaned in, just like she might have when they had been officially engaged, and Adrien was overwhelmed by her rose-scented perfume.

“Sorry, Chloé.” He blinked back tears as her sweet perfume stung his eyes. “Lila already asked—but we can share the second dance, of course.”

Chloé’s lower lip trembled, suggesting tears, but her eyes were dry and furious.

“And you can have my first dance tomorrow evening,” Adrien offered.

Chloé let out a sharp breath and pursed her lips. “Fine. Then Prince Félix, you’ll just have to dance the first round with me.”

Félix looked all too pleased with himself as he said, “My apologies, Mademoiselle Bourgeois, but I will be sharing the first dance with Princess Kagami.”

Chloé wrinkled her nose. “Who even is that?”

Félix merely shrugged. “If you had arrived on time, perhaps you would have heard her introduction.”

Adrien, once again, found himself trying to make amends for Félix’s manners. “Chloé, I’m sure Félix would be happy to share the third dance with you.”

Félix looked at Adrien like he would rather take a bath with a tub full of spiders, but he didn’t dare say as much. Instead, he settled on, “If you want a partner for the first dance, you might want to hurry. It looks like the musicians are already setting up.”

“Ridiculous,” Chloé hissed under her breath as her family walked away, and Adrien imagined she was moments away from dramatically telling her mother how unfair the whole situation was.

But he did not have time to dwell on Chloé. As the musicians began to play, people began to find their first dance partner of the evening. He did not have to look hard for Lila, who probably had not taken her eyes off of him since she had arrived.

Slowly, the crowd of guests sorted themselves into pairs. Félix and Kagami greeted each other with solemnity appropriate for a funeral as they joined the line of couples. Even Duchess Amelie and King Gabriel took each other’s hands for the first dance, though they looked no eager than Félix and Kagami did. Amelie’s smile was polite, and Gabriel’s face as grim as ever, but each was equally miserable.

It gave Adrien a bit of courage, not to know that his father and aunt were unhappy, but rather to understand how hard this event was for all of them. He could only imagine how much Amelie must be missing her husband and Gabriel his wife, yet they continued to put on an appearance of celebration for the sake of the kingdom. He could keep up appearances, too, even with someone like Lila.

She was all smiles as she curtsied to open the dance, and Adrien bowed in turn.

“I’m so grateful that your father didn’t cancel the ball,” she said and took his hands in hers. “I was worried when I heard that the attack on the city had spread to the palace.”

“Ladybug was able to set everything right.” The music for the dance began, and Adrien found himself struggling to keep his footing as his heartbreak over Ladybug’s rejection surged in his chest.

“I heard,” Lila paused to turn, then waited for him to do the same before taking his hands again, “that she had help.”

“Doesn’t she usually have help?”

“You mean from that thief?”

Adrien supposed he could not exactly blame Lila for the bitter hatred in her voice. Chat Noir had stolen from her, and while he knew that Chat Noir had needed to take her pendant, he could at least understand why she was angry about it.

But Lila had never reported the theft. Adrien glanced at the orange pendant around her neck and the way the stone curved in the shape of a fox’s tail. It looked like the miraculous gift she had shown up to the palace with a month ago, which was odd in itself, since Adrien’s own miraculous gift camouflaged itself into a plain sterling band.

“Chat Noir is one of the most wanted thieves in the city,” he finally said, unsure what else he could say. The royal family might accept Ladybug’s heroics, but thievery was still a crime. He couldn’t exactly play prince while defending Chat Noir.

“Don’t you think that if Ladybug was really a hero, she would help catch him?”

“Well, he does help save the city—”

Lila stumbled suddenly and fell against Adrien. He staggered under her weight, careful to keep her upright, but she did not seem capable or interested in supporting herself.

She blinked up at him, dark brown eyes slightly out of focus. “Oh—I’m so sorry. I… I’m just feeling a bit faint. Will you help me outside?”

It was hard not to notice how the heads of the guests all turned to follow them as Adrien carefully led Lila out of the line of dancers and towards the terrace. She leaned against him even as they stepped outside into the cool evening. He helped her prop herself up against the railing of the balcony that looked out into the courtyard.

“Let me get you some water—”

“Oh, please,” Lila clung to his hand, “just sit with me a moment? I think I only needed some air.”

Reluctantly, Adrien sat down beside her.

“It was just so warm in there with everyone dancing,” Lila sighed. “I’m sorry; I’ve ruined our dance.”

“You haven’t ruined anything.”

“I’ll just have to make it up to you tomorrow night.”

“You’ve nothing to make up for,” he said, and stood. “Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?”

Lila fidgeted with the pendant at her neck. “Adrien, I… Can I share a secret with you?”

“Is everything all right?”

“It’s only…” She turned away and bit down on her lower lip. Adrien could not help but think that she was about to tell him everything about how she had acquired the fox pendant. Was she hoping that a bit of truth might give her an advantage over Kagami or Chloé?

“I know you like Ladybug,” she finally said. “I saw the way you looked at her in the throne room last month, when you invited her to the ball, and how sad you were when she turned you down.”

He didn’t care for the reminder that Ladybug had in fact turned him down both as Prince Adrien and as Chat Noir. “I don’t know the first thing about her.” It didn’t feel like a lie, not really. How well did he truly know Ladybug? “I only know that she’s saved the city hundreds of times in the last year. And in that moment, she had just saved my life. It seemed appropriate to invite her.”

“She’s not the hero that you think she is.” Lila looked back at Adrien and her hazel eyes shimmered with tears. “She and Chat Noir stole from me. They couldn’t stand another hero in the city so they—they took my gift. I didn’t say anything because I knew no one would believe me, but I hope that I can trust you with the truth.”

If the stakes of this conversation did not include the fate of the kingdom and Adrien’s future freedom, he might have found Lila’s confession funny. She had unwittingly chosen the last person in the entire kingdom who would believe her version of the story.

“Perhaps you ought to tell my father. He could raise the bounty on Chat Noir.”

“I don’t think even King Gabriel would believe me if I said that Ladybug was a criminal just like Chat Noir, but you believe me, don’t you, Adrien?”

“If you say that Ladybug helped, I’m sure that she did.”

“I revealed myself to you that day because I wanted you to know that I was a hero whom you could trust. Do you trust me?”

Adrien could not bring himself to lie. “What do you really want, Lila?”

“I only want you to know that I care about you. My family has been helping King Gabriel with the annual hunts into the Forest of Fay for years. I want you to trust me because… because I think I know how to help your mother.”

Now it was Adrien’s turn to feel faint. He was not entirely sure that he remembered how to breathe, but he managed to ask, “What do you—”

“Adrikins!”

And before Adrien had even turned, Chloé had grabbed his arm. “You promised me the second dance.”

“I did.” But his head was still spinning, and even though neither Lila’s hold on his hand nor Chloe’s hold on his arm was tight, he felt like he had just been torn in two.

“I think I need some water,” Lila said, voice suddenly breathless, and she swayed a bit.

“We’ll send a servant,” Chloé replied with no sympathy before pulling Adrien away and back to the dance floor.

“Chloé!” Adrien protested, but she wasn’t interested in listening.

She yanked him into the line of dancers, right next to Félix, who had found a new dance partner—small, blonde, and dressed in the pinkest dress Adrien had ever seen—and before Adrien quite had his wits about him, the dance was already beginning.

“You promised me, Adrien,” Chloé said as he looked back over his shoulder.

“Chloé, I will dance with you all that you like, but I think Lila needs someone to look out for her—”

“She’ll be fine.” Chloé did not dare let go of him, even if it meant missing a step or a turn in the dance. “The downside of me being the only girl you’ve ever really known is that you’ve never learned how to tell when a girl is faking a fainting spell for your attention.”

Adrien bit down on his tongue. He felt like a bit of a fraud himself. It wasn’t even worry for Lila that bothered him, but he didn’t dare tell Chloé the truth.

“You know that you can’t just believe everything a girl tells you,” Chloé continued. “They’ll say whatever they think you want to hear if it means a chance to marry you.”

And he knew that she was right. He knew that Lila was untrustworthy, and yet how could he ignore her offer?

As the dance pulled them closer together, Chloé whispered, “I heard from some of the castle guards that she’s not even Volpina anymore, that they saw someone else with the fox fay’s magic fleeing the palace after Ladybug saved the day.”

It was nice to be able to tell Chloé something true. “Lila did just tell me that Chat Noir stole her fox pendant, so I’m not surprised.”

But Adrien still wasn’t looking at her, and Chloé couldn’t stand it. Who did Lila think she was, sweeping in like this? Chloé had spent years getting to know Adrien. She was not about to lose this engagement to some upstart who hardly held a title.

“Adrien,” she whispered, and finally he turned back at her, “I may not be Ladybug or Volpina or any sort of hero, but I know you, far better than anyone else in this room, so why are you even looking at her?”

Adrien squeezed Chloé’s hands and kissed her cheek as the dance came to an end. “It’s not what you think,” he said.

“Tell me what I think.”

“That I’m going to choose to marry Lila because she swooned at the end of a dance. I’m not, Chloé. I promise.”

Her sneer was skeptical. “You’ve always been too chivalrous. Every girl in this room is going to turn that against you.”

“Even you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need to.” Though Chloé smiled at him, her confidence wavered. He left her on the dance floor and ignored Princess Kagami as she approached him. Instead, he made a beeline for the terrace and Lila Rossi. First Ladybug, and now Volpina. How was Chloé ever supposed to compete with magic?

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #ml #ml fic #ml fanfic #ml fairy tale au #fairy tale au #lila rossi #chloe and adrien also feature heavily here #gab and nat also have a pretty juicy scene #juicy like plot not juicy like smut

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siliquasquama · 10 months ago

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Two women in a Bed Disturbed by a Cat, Jean Alphonse Rouen, 1842

actual modern historians: in this letter, Margaret tells her dearest friend Adela, “my love, I long to worship at your altar of Venus once more. come to me and rain kisses upon my breasts as you did in Paris last spring.”

people on the Internet: “FrIeNd???” ERASURE. STOP TRYING TO HIDE THE GAY. “OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES”

aforementioned historians: she. she opens the letter with “My dearest friend.” we’re literally quoting here, and we just admitted they had sex

people on the Internet: “JUST GALS BEING PALS” EH? R/SAPPHOANDHERFRIEND?

historians: a truly vast number of us are queer

people on the Internet: LOL FELLAS IS IT GAY TO KISS YOUR BEST LADY FRIEND’S BREASTS??? NOT IN HISTORY!!

#reblog #sighinastorm #history

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mem1490 · 5 days ago

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The faith wins

1- Believe

He couldn't believe that

He could imagine in fact

That can be the weakest

Convert to be the strongest

The kind waves that carry ships

Can be overlapped and damaged them

The fire that warm people

Can harm and hurt them

The boy lost his mother

His father was confused

He tried to heal his son from bad temper

His son cried a lot

And stayed alone at his room

His father asked many doctors

He went to a lot of physiologists

They advised to get new friend

For good luck, the boy found a small cat

They would be friends for all times

His father suddenly married one

He introduced her as she was kind

As she had two children

Son and daughter that would be fun

He refused that marriage

He insisted at his opinion

The woman appeared as she was kind

She dealt him as an angel

But he refused that deal

The kind can look at inner

Heart or the self at inner

The father had wild desire

He married and got her in

After while she brought her kinder

She dealt him with her best

At the beginning, at the first

After that,

She appeared her solid heart

And began to hurt him for reason or not

She got very anger

When he studied and her children not

She hurt him

He had to wash the dishes

Before he went to school

After his return he must sweep

As well as clean the flat

When he complained to his father

She lied on him and got him as a guilt

He was punished by his father

He remarked that when he complained

She wore naked dress

And mothered his father in obvious

Then they closed their room

After that he would be punished

He always ate at the kitchen

He ate the residual and bad food

He slept also at it

While her children ate well

Slept at their beds

Dressed well and did their home works

Without any annoy or disturb

His father lived in another planet

When he saw his son's hair cut in bad way

His step mother punished him by this way

His father didn't ask

What was happened at any way?

e book "the inner force"

#e book #love #beauty #women beatiful #long hair #long hair care

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cryingoflot49 · 11 months ago

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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 · 2 years ago

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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.

🍿

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

🍿

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.

🍿

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.

🍿

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.

🍿

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.

🍿

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.

🍿

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.

🍿

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.

🍿

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.

🍿

(My complete movie list is here)

#movies

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martyrbat · 2 years ago

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last self rb!! this one with the long overdue image description (under the cut!) all ID is in the alt text of original photo reply too just in case you don't want this addition :)

[ID: several panels all from the comic Catwoman: When In Rome. It features Selina Kyle, The Riddler, and an Italian blond assassin she's working with (named Castillo/Blondie). Castillo is drawn as a tall muscular man as The Riddler is depicted as a short, creepy little man that's scrawny and has a long, thin nose. All internal narration boxes are in Selina's perspective.

PHOTO ONE: Castillo and Selina standing close together and talking as Selina is in a short robe. Castillo tells her, “In Italy, it is much better to give something for something.” Selina replies, “The old ‘quid pro quo’. Well, I don't happen to have an extra daddy lying around that I can give him.” He responds, “No. But there us something worth much more to him...” She thinks, ‘Men... No matter what they tell you, all they want to do is pet the kitty...’

PHOTO TWO: Selina is walking into her hotel room to see the Riddler wearing her Catwoman costume. Her costume is way too large for him as he poses in a floor length mirror. She looks at him in horrified shock as he simply tells her, “The airline found your luggage. I had them bring it up.” Selina internally narrates, ‘Edward Nigma a.k.a. The Riddler is actually here by invitation to help me solve the riddle that is my life. Now, when I say “here,” I certainly don't mean in my bedroom... And I sure as hell don't mean “here” as in my Catwoman outfit.’

In a close-up panel, The Riddler defends himself, “What? Tell me you've never wondered how you'd look in a skintight green leotard with question marks all over it... And a nifty bowler hat.” Selina continues to look at him with appall. “I... Eddie. Take my clothes off. Now.” She kicks him out of her room. A panel displays him flying through the air for comedic value before the door slams shut.

PHOTO THREE: Selina is threatening The Riddler with a fork to his neck after she caught him spying on her taking a bath. She holds a towel to her front for modesty while her naked backside is exposed to the viewer. She hisses, “You better have a pretty solid reason why I shouldn't jab this right through your meatball, Eddie.” He justifies, “I was looking for a pen to leave you a note.” Selina reminds him, “Didn't we agree that you were never to come into my room unless you were invited?”

The Riddler defends himself, “Your phone is off the hook. I knocked and no one answered. How was I supposed to know you were taking a bath?” She presses, “And the ‘do not disturb’ tag didn't give you a clue that breaking and entering wasn't your best idea?” He argues, “I've been out doing my job. I've found out where this Don Verinni lives in case you want to pay him a visit... Or do you like cooling your heels in this hotel waiting for him to send you an engraved invitation?”

Selina leans closer so they're nearly nose to nose and warns him, “Careful, Eddie. It's starting to sound like you've grown a pair.” He responds, “If you ever want someone to wash your back...” The next panels is of her kicking him out of her room, a panel once again displays him flying through the air and landing on the ground as Selina demands for him to stay out.

PHOTO FOUR: Selina is alone in her bedroom on a large yacht. She's only in her dark bra and lacy underwear and is wearing high heels and jewelry. She sexily poses on the edge of her bed and bandages her side wound. She thinks, ‘The whole curiosity and the cat thing. There's a lot of truth there. It has something to do with control, although as with most women, feline or otherwise, it almost always does. When the floor keeps moving around, you try and grab hold of something to keep it steady.’ Off panel, Batman calls her name. She looks up at him and questions, “What in St. Peter's name are you doing here?”

PHOTO FIVE: Selina is shown from a low angle in the foreground so the main focus on the panel is primarily on her exposed ass. Batman broods in the background shadows. He tells her, “I came looking for you.” She huffs, “Don't tell me – The Riddler thought I needed help so he dropped a dime on me and–” he interrupts her, “– this has nothing to do with Nigma. This has to do with us.”

She thinks, ‘Nothing holds more steadily than the truth. You uncover that and you've got bedrock.’ She looks at him in disbelief and shouts, “Us?! There is no us. I don't even know you. Just how much did Nigma tell you about me?” He bluntly states, “I came here because I love you.” Selina asks what but before she can get an explanation, Batman suddenly kisses her deeply. His gloved hand grips her upper arm as the other holds the back of her head. Her hand goes to his chest for support as she thinks, ‘It's just... sometimes the truth comes in the most unlikely of places. Like when in Rome...’

PHOTO SIX: Selina is still in her lingerie and heels while kissing The Riddler since she's delusional and thinks he's Batman. Her hallucination is believed to be from blood lost however it's later implied The Riddler also drugged her with Fear Toxin. He stands on a chest to reach her height and has a hand around her waist as he holds his hat with his other hand. Her narration box reads: ‘... and then things become very curious...’

PHOTO SEVEN: Selina's narration box reads: ‘And I can't get no satisfaction.’ She's kicking The Riddler off the balcony of the ship after realizing she was getting sexually assaulted by him. He's sent soaring through the air (once again mimicking the earlier panels) before landing in the ocean. She shouts she hopes he drowns and The Riddler insists he can explain everything! Her narration continues, ‘So, as one can imagine, these two are a constant source of internal conflict.’

PHOTO EIGHT: Selina's narration reads, ‘To say nothing of what it's done to my sex life...’ She remains in her lingerie and rightfully pissed as she grabs the balcony's railing and snarls down at The Riddler. Castillo comes rushing up to her with a handgun but she doesn't acknowledge his presence as she continues to shout, “What's there to explain, Eddie?! My lips were touching the lips that no woman's lips should touch. Maybe I'll get lucky and the sharks will get you before you sink.” He asks in dismay, “Sharks...? I have to admit, on the surface, things look bad. But, like any riddle, it always looks impossible until you know the answer. Question: where was The Riddler ten seconds before you kissed him?”

Castillo aims his gun at The Riddler and tells her, “If I shoot him, the blood will bring the sharks more quickly.” The Riddler from off panel timidly asks, “Question: what is all this talking about sharks?!” Selina tells the assassin, “Hello, Blondie. We really should do something about security on this boat. This masked man just walked right into my state room.”

PHOTO NINE: Selina is still in her lingerie and is gripping the balcony's railing in anger over being sexually assaulted as Castillo stands next to her with a handgun. She thinks in regards to The Riddler, ‘... And he was never, ever, ever, in a million kajillion years, allowed to touch me.’ Castillo dismisses, “In his defense, a man would not be a man if he were in a room with you, dressed as you are... and not... appreciate it.” Selina questions, “What the hell are you talking... about. Oh.” Midway through her sentence she realizes her state of dress and quickly snaps her hand over her crotch and over her cleavage.

PHOTO TEN: A back and forth close-up exchange of The Riddler and Selina talking. He reassures her, “Look, Selina, just so you know. I figured you didn't want the blond to see you without your mask on... I haven't left your side.” She looks at him in obvious surprise but is appreciative of him being thoughtful. She tells him thanks and uses his name, Edward, instead of the nickname he hates. But then he continues to talk as he starts to sneer at her, “'course, getting you out of your Catwoman costume wasn't the worst job in the world...” Selina immediately punches him in response. He slumps against the wall and holds his cheek in pain and exclaims, “Ow! What was that for?” She looks away from him in disgust and dryly tells him, “For making me think for half a second you were a decent guy.”

PHOTO ELEVEN: Castillo, The Riddler, and Selina are all in a pool after jumping to safety from her burning hotel room. Selina is naked but shown from behind as the two men ogle at her breasts. Castillo tells her “Signorina. We should... Um...” as the Riddler breathes out, “Wow.” Selina demands, “TURN AROUND. BOTH OF YOU! Eddie, get me a towel, a large towel. And if you so much as peek at me – the very next thing you'll see will be my fingernails plucking out your eyeballs. And you, Blondie. Any idea who'd want to barbecue me?”

PHOTO TWELVE: A back and forth close-up on Selina and Castillo talking. Selina is in her skintight Catwoman costume and tells him, “Well... She got the ring box. That doesn't mean she has the ring.” He tells her, “Ah... You palmed it. Where is it then?” She responds, “Where it's safe.” He breathes out, “oh,” and blushes slightly with wide eyes as he realizes what she's indicating (and as she points at her own cleavage in a titillating manner). Selina thinks to herself, ‘I think I just made a man who kills people for a living... Blush. He's kind of cute when he blushes.’

PHOTO THIRTEEN: Selina is laying on her stomach as she sunbathes on a yacht in a revealing swimsuit. Her back is arched as her ass is the primary focus of the panel. She looks over her shoulder at the Riddler, who's sitting in the background and is dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. The narration boxes read: ‘The Blond's safe house floats. I guess killing people pays even better than stealing from them. We've been holed up here for about a week. I'm enjoying Blondie's reaction to the bathing suit I'm not wearing.’ She asks the Riddler, “Any word on The Joker, Eddie?” He responds, “Answer: it's a–” but before he can finish, Selina cuts him off, “–if you say ‘riddle,’ I'm going to throw you overboard.”

END ID]

men need to stop being allowed to write selina kyle

#super sorry for not always having it! i posted this ages ago without one and it was a major flaw and fuck up on my part !#also self rb purely because i saw a selina kyle panel that made me want to bash my fucking skull in #and felt bad i went this long without the id. two birds one stone yknow?#i think this addition is top notch but yknow. just in case :)#anyways #thinking of selina kyle if she was written without centering around being an accessory or conflict for a man.... </3 #refusing to be a victim. stealing from the rich for her own benefit and to be financially stable. using it to open animal sanctuaries and #helping abused victims/woman shelters/protection classes to help other people protect themselves....#just starting shit and living for herself and her own motives and best interest....#sigh.#posts from the crypt #selina kyle #catwoman #crypt's panels #ransom rambles

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