#beautiful anna karenina reference

[giro-revuescope]

The Sun Sets on the Stranger - Flower Troupe, 1978

Although Takarazuka was never able to obtain the legitimate stage rights for Goncharov (Koike is definitely still vibrating with frustration about this—it's obvious a ton of his ouevre is inspired by watching that tragically cut 1990s TV dub version on NHK) this obscure Utsumi Shigenori Bow Hall is believed to be quietly based on the film.

It's hard to tell, since the action is moved into the early 1930s (probably for the costumes) and many of the names are changed, but it would certainly explain why it's never been restaged, or made available apart from a few archival clips.

From what's known about it in the program booklets and magazine writeups, most of the violence of the film is shifted offstage, with the onstage plot focusing more on the tension of competing loyalties as the situation spirals from idealism into inevitability.

[breha]

anne rice, pseudointellectual extraordinaire, managed to squeeze into the tale of the body thief references to: "sailing to byzantium" and "the dolls" by william butler yeats, a tale of two cities, anna karenina, the postman always rings twice, lolita, "the tyger" by william blake, a tree grows in brooklyn, "the thing on the doorstep" by h.p. lovecraft, "eyes of the mummy" by robert bloch, goethe's faust, jeffrey burton russell, mircea eliade, john milton, marcus aurelius, hart crane, george bernard shaw, diogenes, thomas aquinas, jacques maritain, pierre teilhard de chardin, dostoyevsky, albert camus, and john keats. at one point lestat uses the alias "sebastian melmoth," which was a pseudonym used by oscar wilde, itself a reference to melmoth the wanderer by charles maturin. later lestat goes by the last name "wilde." he also references othello and at one point asserts that he is "not time's fool." the alias "sheridan blackwood" might be a reference to sheridan dufferin given rice's interest in art, and i assume she got "alexander stoker" from bram. the movies that appear or are referenced are suspicion (1941), vice versa (1988), all of me (1984), the company of wolves (1984), beauty and the beast (1946), the dead (1987), it's a wonderful life (1946), and body and soul (1947). characters see or reference art by rembrandt (specifically the syndics of the draper's guild), picasso (three separate times), willem de kooning, jasper johns, andy warhol, monet, and edward hopper. there's also a reference to the actor rutger hauer. uhhh i think that's it but holler if you caught one i didn't

[nahobinobrunestud]

Honestly saying or even advertising that a visual novel is 100+ hours can be pretty misleading in part because most people's reference to literature are traditional novels and a 100+ hour visual novel with whatever word count it may have is critically different from its presumably similarly lengthed counterpart by sheer virtue of the fact that one has beautiful soundtracks and pretty pictures while the other doesn't. The former is far easier to maintain one's attention (especially as someone with adhd) than the latter and likely wouldn't feel nearly as long as people make it out to be anyway by comparing it to a different medium among other things. Reading Higurashi or Umineko is not going to feel like or feel as long as reading War and Peace or Anna Karenina, I promise you.

[brutlist]

PEOPLE I'D LIKE TO GET TO KNOW BETTER!

alias / name:   miska (me-skuh!).

birthday:   feb 2

zodiac sign:   aquarius ( fun fact i'm a triple air sign ; aquarius sun / gemini moon / libra rising!).

height:   6'0

hobbies:   writing, making soup, reading , cosmetics , fashion , painting , queer representation, looking mean so men don't talk to me, fucking uhhhhhhhhh sims 4

favorite color:  god uh iridescent anything , matte black , silver and gold , pink , red , green , blue , purple

favorite book:   black forest by valerie mrejen , the narrow road to the deep north by richard flanagan , beloved by toni morrison , lord of the rings!!! , mostly dead things by kristen arnett , anna karenina by leo tolstoy, the road by cormac mccarthy

last song:   G check by peelingflesh & snuffed on sight

last film / show:   cozy winter hut only bc i fall asleep to this lol

recent reads:  i'm gonna be real with you i'm very bad at finishing books; still reading lapvona (i'm scared) and the terror

inspiration:  a lot of my inspiration comes from the material i read and the music i listen to! heugh's playlist is here .( it's still super under construction :( ) cormac mccarthy had a HUGE influence over my writing style, as did richard flanagan and kristen arnett. i'm very visually driven so i look a lot to aesthetic pieces in scifi , epic animation styles (old 90's anime, you know the ones), and anything involving a medley of medieval / modern futuristics. most things with an unreliable narrator. space and nature documentaries also get me pretty good, you'll see references to bears and tarantulas a lot. i also like a lot of stuff that's visually narrative, like you'll see in old content and some new how some things are periphery or not facing the camera as a focal point - ask me why!

story behind url:   funnily enough i'm also inspired by brutalist architecture, it's so itself in a way that truly is brutal, and i find that to be incredibly beautiful. heugh is very much the same, his methodology is unapologetically efficient though unorthodox which can repulse some people just like the architectural style can, as it's often used by oppressive entities-but in this case it's meant to intimidate those who intend to use it to subjugate, and i love that about heugh the most

fun fact about me:  i have also ridden horses! we had a bunch when i was growing up (mother was trying to establish a breeding ranch for foundation bred quarter horses) and even did a little bit of training for some of the problematic horses (under supervision i was only like. 13 lmao)

tagged by: @4ger tagging : @celesteye , @depreciate , @ruinaa , @newsworth , @crimenight , @f1llgraves

[riotgrrrlhole]

Me when I was a kid * Madame butterfly sounds in the background

Me : that’s sound beautiful mom what the story is about

My mom : about a woman who falls in love with man and kills herself

Me: oh okay :)

Me again but Carmen sounds in the background

Me: wow that opera sounds good ! What’s the story is about ?

My mom : about a gypsy ( sorry for the word but back then we all used gypsy or húngaros to refer to Romani) woman who loves to love and a man falls so in love with her that he he kills her cause he can’t stand the fact she fell for someone else

And also told us the stories of famous people like Maria Callas as if it was normal to tell a child that a woman with a beautiful voice died for love ( also she kinda hated Jackie O) or Vivien Leigh or Romy Schneider lives

Me eight years old with my sister watching Jane Eyre , Anna Karenina and Wuthering Heights ( the 90s version) on tv

My mom passing by : man I don’t know why you guys are so obsessed with Anna Karenina and Wuthering Heights and all those period drama movies

My sister and I : 🙃 cause you made us like that

[lesbianaglaya]

Hey, hope you're having a good day! which english translations of war and peace do you like best/think are interesting? hoping to finally get around to reading it this year and idk which one to pick up pls help :))

hi! currently struggling to write less than 15000 words on one aspect of 26 pages of w&p so. im doing. that. but it makes it a good time for this question!

so generally from my memory the pevear and volokhonsky, anthony briggs, louise and aylmer maude, and constance garnett translations are the most common ones. i know there are more but i do not. know stuff about them so theyre getting left out.

first to knock out one: the constance garnett translation was good when it came out in 1904 but now reads as very dry and clunky. its also not the most accurate to the russian text. would not recommend as your w&p introduction.

the maude translation was done during tolstoys life and by his close friends louise and aylmer maude. it received his approval, and is generally considered a very accurate translation! when i first approached it i was thrown off, but oxford world classics recently updated it (adding french back in, de-anglicizing the character names, etc) and that makes it much more approachable. Im currently using it (not the updated edition sadly) for reference as I write when i need to check something quickly and cant parse the russian text and it's really grown on me. if you have access to the updated version this could be a good choice!

pevear and volokhonsky is the one you generally see in book stores! they are a husband and wife translator team who became very popular after oprah recommended their translation of anna karenina. generally accurate to the text. people disagree over whether they deserve all the praise theyve gotten, and while i dont think their translation method is perfect Ive read many of their translations and find them very enjoyable and as mentioned accurate. their w&p is how i first read it, and now im kind of dedicating my life to it. so.

finally the fucking briggs translation. i hate the briggs translation. lots of people talk about how great the briggs translation is, how its so beautiful yayayayayaya. well i think it is bad. I personally do not think it is that much more "lyrical" than the p&v translation, and there were moments where I went and checked the russian text because there were some. liberal interpretations in the translation. my personal opinion aside, many people do love the briggs translation, and I think reading any translation of w&p is better than not reading it. i personally dont like this one and dont find it as accurate as maude or p&v but it is out there and is an option but my personal recommendation is to only go for this one if you cant get into maude or p&v.

so tl;dr i would suggest either the updated maude or p&v! its a great experience, and if you can read it with a friend or a group i think that makes it even better. good luck!

[wordtowords]

From Cuckold to Wittol

wittol - noun - a man who knows of and tolerates his wife's infidelity (Lexico.com)

I have to admit that five minutes ago, I didn't know that wittol existed. However, I am aware of cuckold. The term is used quite a bit in classic 19th century novels, usually to refer to an old, rich geezer married to a beautiful young nymph who can't seem to be faithful to her boring, infirm hubby. Her cuckolding him results in derision aimed at him, naturally. Others, particularly his male peers, see him as laughable since he is unable to "control" his woman. Tolstoy's Anna Karenina is my favorite of these books. Anna's husband does know of her infidelity, but tolerates it only up to a point. If you read the book, you already know that what he thinks of her dalliance with her military man soon becomes superfluous at the end.

On the other hand, wittols are not merely a product of the literary past. There are quite a few out there in reality. For example, an ex beau of mine knew his wife was cheating on him. In fact he couldn't help but noticing as she dangled her younger lover, a college professor, like a 4-H-blue-ribbon carrot right in front of him, the jackass. Still, he was unprepared to grant her a divorce. What? Finally, he was forced to because she wanted to marry the academic. And he, the wittol, of course, wanted to date me. It worked out fairly well for all parties involved until I happened upon another lover myself and left the man who had been left. Needless to say, Fate wasn't too kind to the wittol. Later, though, he married his office manager, the next woman that looked at him, and as far as I know, they are still married. The guy got himself somewhat of a Hollywood ending after all. His wife is too unattractive to cuckold him, so he probably feels secure. It happens.

Needless to say, wittols don't like being wittols. Many have to be because they simply can't afford to divorce. After a few hard years, their once straight-arrow marriages take a turn in another direction, going from linear to incurved, from closed to open. I guess this romantic modernity could work, but if I were the wittol, the divergent arrow of infidelity would puncture my blow-up kayak of equanimity. Basically, I'd rather swim than sink to new lows morally. But to each her/his/their own, right? Who am I to judge? In the end, I suppose that wittols wind up loving their wives too much. And sometimes when you love someone that much, you, like that arrow, can't quite see straight. It happens.

#word of the day, #vocabulary, #writers, #writers and poets, #words, #inspiration, #optimism, #inspiring words, #humor, #spilled thoughts, #motivation, #inspirational thoughts, #inspiration, #inspirational words, #words of wisdom, #affirmation, #optimism, #poets and writers, #writers community, #writers, #readers #writing

[lolabangtan]

kneel before your queen | ksj

Rage and lust for power had driven you to tear your throne from the entrails of others. You were a woman without mercy. However, to Kim Seokjin, you were the rightful queen – and he was ready to prove himself to be your faithful servant.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: mentions of murder and violence, war, sport shooting. One (1) Anna Karenina reference (sorry fellas I like Tolstoy 🥵)

# dark royal AU, sub!Seokjin, queen!reader, hurt/comfort, sort of historical AU, unrequited love, angst, marriage of convenience, violence kink, choking, madam kink, oral sex (female receiving), breathplay, cum play, unprotected vaginal sex, overstimulation, breeding kink, masochist!Seokjin, possesion kink.

Read Kneel before your queen while listening to its own Spotify playlist

Your history up to the throne was stained with blood. Your marriage was stained with blood. Your reign, your crown, the halls of your palace – they were all stained with blood.

Luckily, the bloodshed had paid off; you no longer had a foolish king by your side, and no one had the guts to stand up to you. You didn’t know where your humanity had gone after all this, but it had never led you anywhere.

You lived in a country where the sky was always cloudy and where mist covered every single corner. It was a dark, cold place of stone, and both nobles and commoners had gone mad a long time ago. They were born mad, you were absolutely certain. You had been there a long time, your heart seized by power, and you were no longer a foreigner.

More, more, more. It had always been like that – since you were a little girl, there had been a consuming rage growing inside of you.

With each foolish choice that you could not refute, with every unnecessary war, with every glass of wine that your husband guzzled, with every ball in which your feet ached and your hands stiffened as you were waltzed from one side to another. It grew within you before you even knew; a deep hatred, a lust for power. If only her hands were shaking, you remembered what they used to say.

But your hands never trembled.

The times when you rode through the capital in a carriage, wrapped in a blue mist, in the dawn of youth, when your chest grows wider and wider and tries to swallow all the blissful beauty in the world, your soul sold for a kingdom, were long gone.

That part of you was long dead; she got killed.

“Your Majesty.” The dim lights illuminating your office trembled when your counsellor opened the door. “Invitations to the Masquerade are to be sent out, but there has been a change.”

You sighed, putting down the quill.

That was the reason you despised having to be both the king and queen. Your council could take care of some things, but not all. And apparently, the Masquerade was more important to them than the war budget, even though your troops were on the front line to expand your territories.

“What is it?” you finally asked.

“Duke Seok-min has passed away, and his son Seokjin has inherited the title. You must change both invitations,” your advisor informed, talking quietly.

“Tell one of my ladies-in-waiting to take care of the matter.”

“Yes, but— His Grace would like to be received and acknowledged as the new Duke by Your Majesty before the Masquerade. You do now, madam, that it is stipulated in the treaty. You cannot possibly refuse.”

As if that was his true intention. You knew the now Duke Seokjin; he was as handsome as he was ambitious. Contrary to what people would think, you did not like men like that. The farther they kept from your prize, the better, and his family had always had his eyes fixed on your throne.

He should better remember what happened to your husband, and how strong your soldiers were.

“This kingdom won’t survive another civil war,” you muttered, taking back your quill to resume your paperwork; “especially not against me.”

The man in front of you gulped. “Indeed, Your Majesty.”

“Send an official letter to Red Rivers. Duke Seokjin will be gladly received at the palace.”

Naturally, when he arrived with his court, he did not do it hat in hand, unpretentiously, fearing his queen’s anger. No, it was noisy, it was colourful, contrasted with the whiteness and numbness of your city. He brought music, and he brought dancers, cheers, drew suspicious glares towards him.

But he did not care.

You were already awaiting with your court in your throne room by the time Seokjin was bathed and dressed accordingly.

“Your Majesty.” Once he arrived, showered in swooning and praise, he bent the knee in front of you and kissed your hand gallantly, making your court smile and swoon. “I come to pledge allegiance to you. For Queen and Country.”

The court exclaimed back. For Queen and Country.

Your counsellor whispered something to your ear under the duke’s intense staring and turned to glance at someone in the crowd. Nodding, you then turned back to him, chin resting on your knuckles. He found your eyes oddly fascinating as you said, “Would you care for a shot tomorrow, Duke?”

You needed to find out his intention on his coming here. If there was something you had learned, it was not to trust anyone – especially handsome faces.

“You must admit that your request is rather odd. What will be of your land during your absence?”

You had gone quite deep into the forest that surrounded the south of the castle. Beside you, your loader was making sure your weapons were ready. Beside Duke Seokjin, his was doing the same, except that he would occasionally slip glances of terror at the presumptuous nobleman until you spoke up.

Both loaders understood not to disturb your conversation.

“I will find someone to take care of everything,” Seokjin muttered as the vassal carefully handed you the gun. “With my men at the front, I only have to— oh, here they come!”

The gun practically aimed itself, your instinct moving your arms as if there were a spring in them. After the flock of birds flew off, leaving the fallen behind, the ground reeked of blood. “Must I remind you, sir, that your family sided with my late husband during the war?” Next to you, Seokjin flinched when you shot. “Losers are not free to decide.”

“That was my father, Your Majesty – he and his idea that a bastard prince would weaken the crown.”

“It would have, most certainly,” you conceded, aiming again.

That’s why I had to kill them.

You commanded the party to move on to the next spot, although Seokjin didn’t seem too keen on the sport. It was a tradition; a king had to show to his subjects that he could shoot his enemy stone dead and protect what was his.

“I am glad to say that I bring only good news from the front,” he said suddenly, preparing to aim. “Will you make us an empire if I am ever to give you the chance, Your Majesty?”

“I am not sure about being an empress, but I will bring my people land, wealth, and power.”

Seokjin chuckled. “Three of my four favourite things.”

You could only mimic him, and it was his turn to aim. He was a decent shot, far better than what you had expected at first, and you were aware that there were only a few horsemen in the north better than him.

The smell of blood was deluging your senses, the metallic odour lingering on your nose. It seeped over your lips, invisible. It was a smell you had grown attached to.

“La belle dame sans merci.”

When you turned around, Seokjin was staring at you – he was staring at your blown-out pupils. The view sent a shiver down his spine, electric and bracing, which travelled back up his body and pooled under his tongue.

“Mercy doesn’t rule a kingdom,” you answered without looking away. “Mercy doesn’t secure you the throne.”

“But it secures you allies,” he retorted.

You shook your head with a grin, now utterly uninterested in your next shot. “Power does. Or are you here to have me pat your head and flash you a timid smile?”

“Her Majesty’s Lieutenant?”

Seokjin had gone to the Council Chamber first thing in the morning to meet with your courtiers.

Your advisor didn’t know what to answer, taken aback by Seokjin’s confidence. “The position is vacant, Your Grace, but—”

“I ought to find an occupation,” he continued, taking a seat in front of the puzzled old man, “if I wish to stay in the capital. That is what Her Majesty said, if you will allow me, quite firmly. So, I thought that I might employ myself as her Lieutenant. I do have the experience; military, administrative, logistical…”

“But I am not quite sure whether the son of the man who manipulated the late king and who tried to dethrone Her Majesty is the best fit, Your Grace,” your advisor retorted. He then tried to find support from the rest of the courtiers, who just kept quiet.

“Where is Her Majesty?” Seokjin asked, nonetheless.

“She is, er— she must be either in her office or strolling about the palace gardens.”

After a fairly long search, Seokjin found you sitting on a stone bench under the shade of a rose-apple tree, deeply engrossed in thought, not minding the snow around you; the morning light was sullied by the haze, permanent in the capital, casting barely half of it through the thick leaves above you. Your face, as always, made his heart shrink.

“Your Majesty.”

Some seconds passed and, seeing that you would not answer, either too pensive or too little preoccupied with what he had to say, Seokjin took a seat next to you.

“These gardens are dreadful,” you suddenly muttered, still not looking at him. “Most of the flowers here can’t bloom in such cold weather, and they need more sunlight than they can get. They all die, eventually. This place kills them without blinking an eye.”

“What about lilies?” Seokjin pointed at the reddish flowers hanging from the stone walls. “I heard the bulbs may benefit from a winter chill to produce big blooms.”

“But they don’t thrive until spring.”

He turned his head to you. “No winter lasts forever.”

It had been announced all across the capital, the execution of your counsellor. A neat shot in the forehead, in private, clean business and not a word of cheering while you stood to watch him fall down on the ground, regal and solemn. Not a word of warning coming from your lips, either. You probably liked him.

“I like your new advisor,” Seokjin continued at your silence. “I was talking to him earlier. He seems loyal enough.”

Not like the one before him.

“I am terribly intrigued by your intentions, you know,” you chirped then with a soft chuckle. “I heard you wish to be my Lieutenant, but I know you want more than that, or else you would not have come from so far a land to meet me under such a silly pretension.”

Caught red-handed, Seokjin laughed nervously and looked away. “Surely you know, well… I have a very ambitious family, and I think that only the palace might protect me from waking up stone dead on my bed.”

“Ah, so you seek protection.”

Contrary to the capital, the Red Rivers were a rich, beautiful place located in a valley between the First Mountains and the frontier with the northern kingdoms. The House of Red Rivers, thereupon, had always been a major military force for the monarchy. Strong, well-fed soldiers and a strategical location, only they could ever stand a chance against you.

Or at least that was what Duke Seok-min thought; with a king maddened by conspiracies and a young queen too naïve in the ways of the world, he only needed to wait for the perfect chance to seize your throne.

“Only until I sort things out in my family tree,” he clarified.

You knew about Seokjin’s younger brother, Kim Namjoon; great leadership, a tender heart, but too many shadows next of kin harping him to stop the new duke’s contested ambitions and seize the sway of his lands. And even if he might not do it himself, who knew what his relatives were capable of?

“I understand,” you muttered, “but I’m afraid that I cannot help you, sir – I too have a side of the bargain to respect, and it could be presumed that I have made you my hostage, or that I plan to seduce you and take over your lands.”

“You would not need to hold me hostage to achieve that.”

At his flirting – or courting almost, peeking through his intentions – you arched your eyebrows and tilted your chin in defiance.

“I will not remarry.” Your voice was firm, albeit you carried on with your words with a little hesitation that you utterly deplored. “I refuse to become another man’s breeding cow and give up all the power and influence I have gained.”

“Make me your concubine, then.”

There were some of your ladies-in-waiting promenading around the garden. “Let us continue this conversation somewhere more… private,” you finally said and led him to your sitting room.

The Royals Apartment were not too far from your private garden. Upon your entering the first drawing-room, you sent for a servant and ringed for some tea, which you would serve – you did not want a single soul around during your conversation.

Seokjin took a seat in front of you as you waited the few remaining seconds for the teapot to be ready.

“I cannot see why my staying here, or becoming your Lieutenant, or becoming even your concubine,” he insisted, “could possibly provoke a rebellion in the palace. Didn’t the Treason Trails extinguish all the dissidents left at Court?”

“Enemies can sprout from anywhere,” you answered simply as you poured steamy, rich tea into one of your beautiful cups. “Even from here. Surely you know that I am in a difficult situation; a young, widowed, childless queen with half the nation against her and the other half dying on the front.”

“You know that you can crown any of your bastard children if you have no heir apparent.”

You couldn’t help the cruel laugh that burst out of your throat. “What makes you think I’m going to let you impregnate me with that filthy cock of yours? You are of no use to me.”

Seokjin laughed quietly, oddly fascinated by your crude wording. “They don’t call you the Bloodsucking Queen for nothing, I see. As your lover, my position and title would be secured, that is no secret. Do tell me, Your Majesty – what may I offer you along with my filthy cock?”

You suddenly cupped his cheek in your hand, and he closed his eyes and rubbed his face against your touch, indulging in the warm contact.

“I guess I could make good use of your soldiers,” you considered, looking away as Seokjin kissed your inner wrist.

“You may use them whenever you want. Conquer with them, slaughter with them,” Seokjin groaned, and he watched your thumb go down to caress his lips. “Show the world that you are unstoppable – I am at your disposal.”

“That’s a tempting offering, Seokjin. Are you sure you can pull it off?”

Your hand travelled to his scalp, and you tugged at his hair to lock gazes with his half-lidded eyes, pupils dilated and covered with a thick haze of lust. Why did he not fear you? How could he not shiver before you, plead for mercy instead of begging you to hurt him?

“You are a very strange creature by way of a man,” you muttered rather to yourself, looking into his eyes.

Seokjin now began to kiss your neck. “I want to be swallowed by your eyes, Your Majesty. I want you to devour me, to burn my skin with yours, turn me into dust. I want to live in your fist so you can keep me warm. I want to see you burn the whole world down and then kiss me breathless.”

“You would burn with it,” you whispered, “the fire would swallow you too.”

But he just chuckled, kissing down your chest as he unbuttoned the front of your gown. Even better.

Your hand tugged at his hair, stopping him in his tracks as he grinned up at you. “Do you plan to ruin a young, unmarried lady’s innocence too, Seokjin, apart from her kingdom?”

“I only plan to ruin myself – with you.”

Your taste, your flesh, your piercing gaze on him, that was all he wanted. That was all Seokjin could think about as you hiked the skirts of your gown, the bottom of your chemise, until you bared your soft thighs to him.

Seokjin stifled a needy sigh.

“Prove it,” you finally said, voice heavy with desire. “Prove that you can be of use to me. Prove me that you can hold a bit of a burn.”

He rushed to the floor and knelt before you. You were quite wet already, his teasing proving to be worthy of your arousal. But he was not smug about it, rather grateful. At least so were his lips, brushing softly against your folds, breath hitching in his throat. Your smell pierced through his brain and almost made him drool over your cunt.

With your sigh as a signal to get on, Seokjin’s lips parted your folds, hands on the edge of the silken chaise to support himself. He first delved his tongue into your slit, and you couldn’t help gripping his hair again – it had been long since you last had something to clench around.

Tongue out, Seokjin lapped at you with broad, gentle pressure, not so clear whether he was testing the waters or plainly teasing you. Your hand on his hair proved to be enough of a prompt.

“Your taste is so good, ma’am—” Seokjin murmured in between flicks, breathing through his nose.

You moaned a bit too loudly when he wrapped his tongue around your clit, skin prickling at the pleasure. It had started to build up in the pit of your stomach, more eager and aroused than you were willing to admit. Your fingers held Seokjin’s head in place as you ground against his face, and he replied with a muffled groan, intoxicated with your cunt.

“S-shit,” you let out, spreading your legs to give him some more room on the chaise. “Keep going, Seokjin, just— just like that…”

Seokjin crawled up and settled in between your thighs on the elegant, ancient chaise, and you were quite sure that the lewd mix of your arousal and his spit had begun to spill down on the silken cushions of the furniture.

“Fingers—? M-ma’am?” he managed to ask.

You looked down at his cum-covered chin – even the tip of his nose had some of your juices smudged on it. “Not yet,” you said, losing your breath. “I’ll let you know when.”

Nodding, Seokjin returned all of his attention to your clit, lapping at it and delving his tongue into your slit with lewd slurps. As the coiling tension in your lower back engorged, you gasped and ordered him to finally use his fingers, which Seokjin obliged with a groan of utter, pent-up lust for you.

He slipped a finger inside and curled it, unwilling to risk your orgasm fading away. You spread your legs farther, his elbow now able to rest and gain momentum.

Seokjin could just watch in awe how your wetness spilt down his digits, smudging his knuckles and even the palms of his hands. His cock throbbed in his breeches, your voice was so tortuously sweet, pushed him to flick his tongue faster and curl his digits deeper into your cunt.

A few seconds later, you came with his head trapped between your thighs and your fingers pushing it even harder against your cunt.

“E-enough—” you breathed out once you rode out your high, pushing his face away.

Seokjin pulled away with a certain twinkle in his eyes, bright and dark at the same time, exhilarated but also as if he were sinking deep into a state of drunkenness.

Smiling down at him, you wiped the remnants of your arousal from his swollen lips. “I imagine you expect some kind of retribution—”

“Dance with me tomorrow.”

“Seokjin—” Your fingers swept away from his cheeks in an instant. “I know what you intend to achieve, but you won’t succeed. Your behaviour is suspicious enough, and my courtiers have begun to whisper. I do not wish to slice any more heads, let alone see mine chopped off.”

“What is this sudden weak speech, ma’am?” he asked, trying to provoke you.

“There is no weakness in being cautious, although perhaps you’re not aware of the concept,” you replied, letting him curl up on your still bare chest. His lips on your breasts send warmth through your lips.

“I will gladly please you again if that’s what it takes, Your Majesty,” Seokjin purred before delving again between your legs, peppering kisses on your inner thighs. “Very gladly.”

You beckoned at him. “Up.” And he stretched his neck upwards in an instant. “If you are trying to put me in a compromised situation so that I end up seeing myself forced to become your wife, you are quite mistaken. I would have you shot in front of the entire capital before hanging my face low and take it.”

“Ah, that is more like Your Majesty,” he said with a relieved smile.

“I loathe your arrogance.”

“Just one dance,” Seokjin insisted, and you could not stifle a sigh. “It does not have to be the first, we may wait till all your guests are too drunk to notice.”

“If only you were not so strong-headed, Seokjin…” you muttered, stroking his cheek again. “Then I could find myself enjoying your pestering. You may as well travel north and find yourself a younger queen with a little less blood on her hands – and fewer people awaiting her murder.”

“I will be by your side, I will show you that I can.”

You just had to let him prove himself to you one last time, once more and for all.

Both eagerly and suspiciously awaited throughout the capital, the day of the royal masquerade celebration finally arrived. Your offices had taken great pains to make the event as sumptuous as possible, and you were looking forward to it; Seokjin would finally leave once the party was over, and you could regain your unrelenting peace.

He saw you walk in, announced by the chamberlain, wearing that crimson red ball gown and white mask, your posture as regal as always. And he saw you subtly looking for him in the crowd.

You danced four times, each of them for the sake of diplomacy and peace within the kingdom; you used to be fond of dancing, but not anymore. It reminded you of a different time, a softer, more tender part of your life which you now remembered with bitterness.

Later in the evening, after a quick supper that proved the food to be fairly better than the one from last year, the wine and the liqueur began to pass by your guests’ hands more frequently. By midnight, they were most of them inebriated and, surprisingly enough, having fun.

Finally, Seokjin saw his chance to approach you and request a dance.

“This would have been a most suitable moment to poison an enemy or two,” you murmured, taking his hand.

“They seem to be enjoying themselves this evening,” he whispered as you waltzed; “surely you don’t want to ruin it for them? It might come out rather helpful when you find yourself in need of a broader war budget or coax the liege lords that are revolting in the west.”

You pouted. “Hm, you might be right about that. Perhaps you’re not just a pretty face.”

“Oh, Your Majesty – I am many things.”

The two of you spun in the middle of the great hall, and it was almost beautiful. You almost felt fluttering and sweet for the first time in ages, felt like the rottenness in you had vanished when Seokjin had made it as visible as possible. The world, for once, did not reek of blood, your hands were warm only with sweat.

Maybe they noticed your smile, maybe they did not. For once, you didn’t care.

Seokjin took you back to your throne, where your ladies-in-waiting welcomed you, and bowed his neck shortly before vanishing into the crowd.

No one expected your company and conversation for quite some time. After a couple of hours passed, the guests began to look around in search of a bite to take into their mouths, and you beckoned at the footmen to bring the tables with the second supper, a feast to satisfy the self-indulgent swine you surrounded yourself with.

As you were to announce it, a nobleman suddenly stumbled to the front of your throne, showing up with loud, shrieking cackles. “Her Majesty, the cock-sucking queen! M-may I have the next dance?”

The hall went silent after the words echoed through it. As heads and eyes turned like hawks to you, expectant and fearful, otherwise amused, you remembered Seokjin’s words and smiled a bit breathlessly.

“I am afraid that the viscount is rather inebriated this evening. Praetor” – you then turned to your courtier, whom you flushed from his spot next to the tall window – “call for a servant and have him sent to the Lower Chambers. I will take care of it after the ball.”

“Should I— should I send for the quaestor?”

You nodded softly and watched your guards leave the hall with a strong grip on the still laughing viscount.

“See?” Seokjin appeared from behind you and handed you a glass of wine. “They are all relieved, but not for him. They are happy that their queen managed the accident without ruining such a nice evening with blood. How much were you looking forward to stabbing a spear down his throat?”

“Quite eagerly,” you muttered in response, taking a sip.

“And staking his neck against the wall?”

You turned to him with an amused smile. “How come you’re enjoying this, Duke? Should I appoint you Master of the Lower Chambers? It is beautiful employment, I must say.”

“I’ll leave the duty to Your Majesty – I am rather wary of blood,” he retorted. “But I do enjoy the bloodlust in Your Majesty’s eyes.”

Then a gentleman interrupted to demand your hand for the next dance, which you could not refuse. Seokjin watched you walk to the centre of the hall with a content smile and went away to fetch himself another glass of wine to wait out your return. He ought to drink his jitters away if he wanted to impress you.

Conversing sulkily with other courtiers, Count Jongsoo turned to him when Seokjin reached his hand to get his drink. The nobleman smiled, no longer interested in what the courtiers had to say, and greeted the duke with a polite smile.

“You must count yourself rather fortunate, sir,” the count continued; “Her Majesty never dances with noblemen outside the court.”

Seokjin put on a brief smile. “I do appreciate her kindness.”

“She used to, before His Majesty’s… death. But she no longer does. I imagine that she does not wish to… encourage misguided ambitions.” Seokjin stifled a chuckle; it was the count’s ambition the most misguided here – if he thought that the crown would end up on his head merely because he was the king’s fourth cousin and the queen had no heir. “Do you think so, sir?”

“I believe that not even the unwavering encouragement will put all men off when it comes to such a woman,” he simply replied.

“She used to be beautiful,” Count Jongsoo said, looking at the empty throne. “I remember when she would drive through the capital when His and Her Majesty were just married; but her beauty withered, she killed it. Now all one sees in her is blood on her hands and the shadow of a power-hungry tyrant.”

“Life in the palace is rather painful if you have no ambition,” Seokjin retorted with a slight frown.

How could anyone expect youth and beauty to survive in a place like this? Where the sun barely appeared, where it was always cold and damp, the chill seeping into your bones. And yet, and yet, you were beautiful, in a way.

“Do you agree with her— with her methods? She’s a vamp, a bloodsucking warlord. We nobles who are not at court are of no interest to her… She never takes us into account. One faux pas or misheard whisper and we might as well say goodbye to our heads. Surely we think alike, Duke?”

However, Seokjin chuckled. “You do know what you mustn’t do, sir. If Her Majesty has an iron fist,” he continued, glancing at you sideways, “you better not provoke her anger.”

“You must feel protected in the palace.” The man’s tone had changed completely, now cold and mangy. “Is your brother not to visit?”

“If Kim Namjoon wishes to” – they both jumped at your sudden appearance, and you walked up from behind them with your favourite wine swinging in a glass – “then he will be welcomed gladly, as any other of my lieges would.”

The man hastily bowed his neck to you. “Your— Your Majesty.”

He then made up a poor excuse, lamented greatly having to turn down your society, and went away as Seokjin tried to stifle a very amused chuckle.

“I do not recommend turning the eastern overlords against you just for the sake of my name.”

“I was not protecting anything, Your Majesty,” he excused himself and sipped his wine; “I was merely stating my honest opinion. I’m not a flatterer, and I must admit that I find adulation tasteless. Besides, it makes my skin blush, which is rather embarrassing for a man in my position.”

You could not help smiling at that. “I must not praise you, then.”

“Oh— but praise is something quite different. I do revel in a word or two to fawn me, especially if it comes from your lips, ma’am.”

Again, you just stared at him, pondering. Seokjin would give each of his limps to know what you were thinking, whether you had finally started to take a fancy to him. His heart swelled at the mere thought, expanding across his chest with hopes of requited devotion. Seokjin had felt your warmth already, and there was no way he could part from the capital now.

He was hot, he felt so hot against you, almost burning.

After sneaking into your chambers the night before he was supposed to part back to Red Rivers, waking you up with the soft stroke of his fingers instead of a dagger against your throat, you could not let him leave without, at least, kissing him. You let him slither into your bed, too. It was clumsy at first, both too overwhelmed after so long without feeling another person’s touch.

Seokjin had whimpered as his fingers first entered your wet heat, and you had groaned, too, your own digits raking through his hair. You could not let him slip away; you would not let him.

“Ma’am, you kill me,” he had groaned in a whisper when you rid yourself of your nightgown, breasts bouncing in a playful greeting. Seokjin let you cradle him against your chest. “You kill me, you’re killing me,” he was now chanting, almost in a fever, relishing in the truth behind his own words.

Your lips on his blushing neck peppered excruciatingly light kisses. “I’ll mark you mine, Seokjin. All mine—”

“F-fuck.” He took a deep breath when you moved your other hand south, to his bare stomach. The trail of hair to his crotch felt soft under your finger pads. “I’m yours, yes, damn it— please, do something, anything.”

You watched him close his eyes; Seokjin’s body was trembling, he was sensitive. As your teeth nibbled his jaw, travelling to his earlobe, you finally deigned to press your hand against his crotch, tearing a whimper from his throat.

Seokjin was glad your bed was so soft underneath him, or else it would have melted his body as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, pumping it with slow but firm moves. There wasn’t a part of himself that wasn’t shivering and throbbing, his mind spinning with the sound of your voice caressing his ear, telling him how much you wanted him inside of you – whether it was his cock or his tongue.

“Such a pretty neck, look at this,” you purred. “I’m going to make it even prettier with some marks, what do you think?”

It was not clear how he managed to nod. It wasn’t really clear how his body managed to do anything, given his out-of-mind state. “Mark me, please, I’m all yours.”

Honestly, it was not really clear who was ruining whom here.

Once you had pumped his cock and made it hard enough – beet-red, tip leaking precum down its shaft, sensitive to your heavenly touch – you raised your thighs and sank down onto him; as you adjusted to his size, you could feel the delicious stretch, almost forgotten in the corner of your memory. You mewled on top of him and, were it not for his hands keeping your hips still as Seokjin tried not to crumble down at the feeling of being swallowed by your wet heat, you would’ve most certainly started to roll them down like a maniac.

“Lord,” he cried, fingers gripping your flesh, “G-god, ma’am, so— you feel so good…”

You bent down to kiss him hard. “Seokjin, you fill me up so well, I guess…” You stopped to take a deep breath. “I guess I could make use of your cock.”

“It’s yours,” Seokjin whispered.

“Yes, i-it’s mine.” Your voice came out as a growl, and it made him twitch, fucking back against your thrusts. His face had grown hot, his head was spinning in ecstasy and melting pleasure. “Mine, f-fuck—! All mine, Seokjin, you’re all mine—”

Your cunt was even wetter than before, making Seokjin’s cock work you open so easily. You were positive that your arousal had begun to leak onto the mattress.

“Yours, yours—! O-oh God,” he moaned, and his eyes crossed. “There, j-just like that! S-so good!”

“My legs are tired—” you groaned. “Would you mind getting on top?”

With an eager nod, Seokjin turned the two of you around, hips nested between your warm thighs. His cock slid back into you without delay, and you shared a deep moan as you kissed him again, hook-like fingers gripping his nape.

Then Seokjin pounded into you again, promptly, quickly picking up your unrelenting tempo. You tilted up your pelvis in an attempt to swallow him whole, and he trembled at the feeling of your dripping cunt fluttering around him. The feeling of his balls swinging against your ass was overwhelming, your face scrunching in pleasure.

You were so sweet, so merciless, so sanguine. He loved you.

The thrusts of his hips, sliding his length in and out of you, were desperate. Your skin was burning, sweating and creating painful friction against his. Burn my skin with yours. Every part of your body was tense, building up to a brutal climax that was getting closer. Your entire being ached for him, burnt for him – how could you ever let him escape from in between your legs? Oh, you could not. Not ever.

You looked up at him, and your pounding heart shrank in your chest.

“If you betray me— if you ever dare to betray me,” you suddenly groaned, grabbing his jaw with your hand roughly. When you locked gazes, Seokjin opened his mouth to answer a silent reply, “I will come back and shatter you.”

“F-fuck, I’m—”

His cock twitched inside of you. You kissed him roughly, moaning against his lips to savour the last seconds left for him to orgasm, hungry for the warmth of your body. When you pulled away he whined, but his voice turned into a whimper when you bit down his neck.

Seokjin’s lips peppered kisses on your cheek fervently. “G-go on, please.”

“If you betray me” – your voice came out between panting breaths as you instructed him to start moving again – “I will kill you. I will— I will choke you to death, stab you to death. I will kill you so easily.”

“Kiss me to death, love me to death; b-burn me to death with your skin,” he moaned.

Your fingers crawled up his windpipe like a sly spider. He stifled a gasp, too excited at the thought. His body was plunged into yours so deeply, it was raw. So wet and warm. His mind was spinning around, eyes watching your contorted face, saliva pooling in his mouth and under his teeth.

You pressed with your thumb and stared at his reddening face. “Why do you want me to kill you? Why don’t you fear me?” you cried.

“Because I love you,” Seokjin managed to say. “I— I love you, and I can’t have you.”

Even if you weren’t going to be his, he could be yours – he could let you have him pressed in your fist and at your mercy, he would let you kiss him stone dead. Whether it was his heart or his soul that you crushed, he’d let you have it.

I love you. The words itched in your throat, craving to be uttered but, for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Your eyes burned, and a tear fell down your cheek.

Seokjin chuckled breathlessly, barely able to kiss your neck.

“I can’t be your angelic-faced lady. You can’t walk me around. I have no blue mist left,” you moaned as your hand tightened around his neck.

Yours was a world of blood, and everything you touched rotted and died; he would be challenged, his children would kill each other for the throne, he would live in this dark place and see you lead it to war after war.

“I want it all,” he cried, gripping the sheets when you clenched around him, your thumb pressed against the side of his windpipe, “I w-want you, they’re all you, it’s all part of— f-fuck! Oh God!”

His face reddened quickly, and he looked down at you so lovingly – it had to be a lie, he had to be lying and pretending he loved you—

Suddenly Seokjin tensed above you, pushing your hand away gently. “I can’t— please, I can’t—” he said before even getting his breath back, and his voice cracked in a whimper. “Please, let me come!”

His plea was accompanied by the twitching of his length inside you, hot and wet, so you grabbed his wrists and pulled him towards your chest, feeling his skin burning against yours. There was a dark haze covering his eyes, and his blown-out pupils were out of focus. The knot in the pit of your stomach grew, almost close to unravelling.

“Kiss me properly.”

He obliged eagerly, his lips crashing against yours and surprising a moan when you nibbled his lower lip. With your whispered permission, he was coming, filling you up and shoving his seed into you before it began to leak out down your thighs.

“Fuck, sorry!” Seokjin cried, still thrusting into you. “So good, ma’am, sorry! Are you— did you—”

“Stay still, don’t move your hips,” you grunted.

As you thrust up against him, your swollen clit rubbed against his pubic bone. You curled your toes in pleasure, fighting the urge to rip his neck off with your teeth, draw bloody-red lines on his back with your nails, feel his skin with yours to the point of melting together. His moans and whimpers of pain only fuelled your desire.

His body felt soft on the flesh, tired in the bones, not so fledging and rather ageing, at least in a prospective way. So easy to break and crush beneath your fingers. There was a certain youth in him, which you witnessed at your wedding, when you were cheerful and liked to sing and fill the castle with your music and your laughter, that had already started to wither – he was, somehow, no longer the young, handsome heir to the greatest noble title in the kingdom, flashing smiles and blowing kisses to the ladies. And somehow, too, he was still all of that.

“I’ll take all of you,” you growled in a whisper against his ear, piercing his back with your nails, “every single ounce of you— all of your seed, all of your power, all of your body, all of your love. I’ll take it with me, Seokjin, you’re mine.”

“We would be so powerful together,” Seokjin whimpered. “I want you to take me, milk me— and my power. Be— the tyrant they fear you might become.”

With your legs hooked around his hips, you felt his cock twitch within your walls. “Come for me again, Seokjin, fill me up— w-want me to carry your bastard prince? Want me to take your filthy seed and make it a b-baby? Then come inside of me! F-fuck, I’m close!” you groaned against his cheek, nibbling his earlobe.

“Oh God, I’m—!” He was throbbing, once again too close to his climax to wait for you. It would be a miracle if he did – and you wanted to see his face of pleasure. “So good, s-so good, ma’am!”

The overstimulation hurt, sent jolts of pain deep into the pit of his stomach and let them spread through his body. He ached into you, hurt to good, you were wrapped around him deliciously, milking every last drop of him, sucking his life and moans and, honestly, even pumping the blood into his heart with the sight of your trembling body.

“Does it hurt?” you asked, breathless, and he nodded fervently. “I’m g-glad.”

“Yes! Yes, fuck, it hurts so much— love it when y-you hurt me, ma’am, God, love it so much—!” Seokjin’s hips began to stutter, thrusts clumsier as he approached his second climax, but you were teetering on your orgasm too. “Oh, f-fuck!”

His cock kept massaging your inner walls, trembling fingers rubbing your clit. As the sounds of smacking flesh got louder and erratic, you kissed him again, left him breathless.

“D-don’t stop, Seokjin, don’t you dare stop!”

When you clenched around him again, his hips stuttered, and he cried against your shoulder, “I-I’d never, ma’am—”

His pelvis meeting yours in clumsy, frantic thrusts, arms hugging you in fear you would slip away from his desperate grip, his cum began to ooze down your inner thighs, exuded by his girth. Maybe trying to make room for his next load of seed, who knew. But it mixed with your own cum, made it sloppy and oh, so arousing.

You were losing composure as your grip on his hair got tighter, even painful – but Seokjin just howled:

“God! God, ma’am, please— p-please, let me come! I can’t hold it!”

His lips lowered onto yours under the pressure of your palm, and you kissed him fervently. Teeth caressing his plump lips, bruising them. You needed him to melt into your body.

“Let the whole palace know,” you grunted, mouth pressed against his jaw, “let them know how much— h-how much you want to come inside of me, fill me up with your cum, shove it deep inside me with your filthy cock—”

“Need it so bad, Your Majesty! S-shit—! I want to fill you up until— until your cunt is leaking with my cum, ma’am!” Seokjin cried.

His face was red, sweaty, eyes wide open and jaw dropped as pleas spilt out of it.

With your nails clawing his back, you ordered him in a whispered not to stop, and the feeling of his cock bumping into your inner bundle of nerves relentlessly finally made the lump in your stomach snap; with his name on your lips and arching your back, you climaxed around him, walls clenching that pushed him over the edge too.

“Right there, Seokjin—!”

“I’m coming!” he whimpered. “Y/N, God, I’m— I’m coming again, p-please, your legs…!” You hooked your legs tightly around his hips, help them roll into you with your calves. “Oh fuck, just like that, Y/N, s-so good, so good!”

One last half-heartened thrust and he went still on top of you, warm cum soon flooding you.

Perhaps his sweat – or yours, for that matter – was made of lava, or maybe his skin was ablaze because he feel burning against you. You slowly started to catch your breaths, tangled in each other’s arms, and you carded through his hair, pushing it back to stare at the sparkles in his eyes.

You cupped his face and brought him up to you, breath hitting his lips. “I will not make you my concubine.”

He let out a defeated chuckle and closed his eyes.

“That much I knew,” he said then, peppering kisses on your cheeks. “It will pain me to leave, Y/N, you must know that. I do not care if you find me—”

As your arms wrapped around his neck in an attempt to fight the chills that had started to take over your body, Seokjin’s body pressed against yours, and you sucked his lip into your mouth with a playful giggle.

“I will make you my consort.”

Behind your throne, there was this fresco painted a long time ago by artists from the royal court. It depicted a beautiful host of angels and gods from the skies and the seas. They watched over the king and his kingdom and looked after the welfare of the people. The blue mist covered the stone walls and the ceiling with intricate gold detailing.

There is no blue mist left.

They said you still had the king’s blood on your hands when you were crowned. You remembered it vividly – it was warm and sticky, abusing your nostrils and nesting in your lungs and the pit of your stomach. You didn’t hesitate a second to take over the throne.

His crown was waiting obediently on a blue velvet cushion, this time immaculate. The gold glittered in the candlelight with stars of white light, and the rubies and sapphires sparkled.

Seokjin glanced at you when he heard your chuckle, muffled to everyone else by the High Priest’s reading.

You looked beautiful, breathtaking, but then, you always did, at least to him. So powerful with your red mantle solemnly placed on your shoulders, in contrast with your snow-white wedding gown. Snow and blood, it was you, his favourite thing – above land, above wealth, above power.

As your eyes, ever so cunning, stared back at him, Seokjin felt a shiver of ecstasy down his spine.

You did not love him, that much he knew. But now he held hopes that you might, eventually, in that future that you would face together. Now he knew that there was a chance that you could love him beyond his troops and prolific lands, beyond his handsome face. Seokjin was now your consort, and as such, he had years ahead of him to love you, just as he had done for so many years already. Loved you from afar, loved you through the veils of blood and snow around you.

“I, Seokjin, take thee, Y/N, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

Then the High Priest held out what would be his crown from now on, chanted a solemn thread of praise and cultic admiration to the dynasty, and placed it on his head under your proud gaze.

With a smile, he knelt before his queen.

Soon, if his plans worked and you were willing, though, he would kneel to his empress – he was willing to make you the most powerful person on this earth.

Seokjin then stood up and turned around to the sight of you, holding out your hands, grinning. No sign of repentance in your face, no meek sweetness or eyelashes fluttering as you looked down. You would give him none of that. You were his queen – sa belle dame sans merci.

Don’t hesitate to like, reblog, and leave some feedback if you liked it! It’s always good and encouraging to know what you think <3

“Kneel before your queen” is copyright ²⁰²¹ Lola Bangtan, all rights reserved.

[holmesandtheroman]

The Empty Place Where Love Should Be — Abner Krill x Fem!Reader

Chapter 3

A/N: There are feminine terms used to refer to the reader in this chapter. I'm so very sorry for the wait, but I had some family commitments that took up a lot of my writing time. I have, however, written further into this piece and I'm REALLY loving where its going. It's angsty, it's sweet, it's sad... all the good shit! As always, you can read it on my AO3 as well, here.

Abner ran his fingers over the spines of the books carefully shelved in front of him. “Tolstoy,” he whispered to himself. “Tolstoy, Tolstoy…” His eyes scanned for the Russian author’s name. He finally landed on Anna Karenina, and his eyes widened at the thickness of the book.

He swallowed, the intimidation of the text reaching through him as he pulled the book off the shelf. He felt the weight of it in his hands as he carded through the pages. He did not have much experience reading fiction; how was he going to make it through in one sitting? He turned the book over and read the back cover.

Abner sighed in resolve: he was going to read this for you.

As his thoughts turned to you, his heart jumped into his throat. You were the kindest person he had ever met, even though he had only met you twice. He never expected anyone to treat him well, especially after his mother had convinced him that no one would.

You were the opposite of what his mother had told him the world would be if he ever ventured out without her.

“Nobody’s kind to people like you, Abner,” she had snarled at him time and time again. “Especially when they can’t even look people in the fuckin’ eye!”

He pushed his mother’s admonitions out of his head. He was not at home now, so he would not afford his precious time away from his mother back to her at all. Being out of the house meant he could think about you.

Abner took the book and headed to a quiet corner of the library where he could start reading. As he passed the non-fiction section, he glanced over at the other library patrons at tables or in comfy chairs, each one engrossed in their own reading. He stopped in his tracks when his eyes laid on you, curled up in an armchair with your brow furrowed as you read Materials Science and Engineering. He quietly gasped as he realized you were here the same as him: to understand the person behind the favorite book.

For only a moment, Abner thought about walking over and saying hi, but he decided against it. What if you thought he was stalking you? Would you be flattered that he had gone to look for your favorite book? Or would you just be weirded out? He wondered if he did occupy some part of your mind to the point where you would go out of your way to read an engineering book. What if, after reading Materials, you would think he was so uninteresting that you would never want to speak to him again?

He quickly walked away to a hidden corner where you would not be able to see him if you happened to look up. He had killed his own excitement upon seeing you. Still, his heart swelled with the idea that you had gone out of your way to try and understand his interests. What if… you liked him?

That thought made him nearly laugh out loud in derision. No one as beautiful and amazing as you could like someone like him. His mother had said so.

“Abner, you’re just one of those people that only a mother could love. I’m the only one who will ever understand you and your condition. No one’s gonna have the time or patience for you like I do.” His mother’s voice cut through his head. “Once anyone sees those awful spots, they’ll run for the hills. But not me.”

Abner sat down in an armchair and dropped the book in his lap. He rubbed his face as if he was trying to wash away his mother’s berating words.

“No one loves you, Abner, except me. You’re nothing.”

He shook his head, tears starting to form. “Stop!” he cried into his hands.

He heard silence again in his mind, so he breathed deeply several times to calm down. He looked down at the book in his lap and blinked. This would take his mind off of things. He would just focus on reading Anna Karenina so he could… Why exactly was he doing this for you? To talk to you about something? To understand you better?

All Abner knew was that he was interested in what you had to say. He just wanted you to talk to him about something, anything. He did not want many things in life, but that was something he truly desired: for you to talk to him and be his friend. This was him trying to manifest that.

As he read the first sentence, he remembered you saying it: “‘All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’” Your eyes had lit up when you recited it like you were reading it aloud for him. He had thought how beautiful you were at that moment as your enthusiasm for Anna Karenina met your voice.

Soon, Abner had read halfway through the first page without actually comprehending any of it: all he could think about was you and your smile and your laugh. Your encouraging words and your kind heart.

He trained his eyes back up to the top of the page to reread what he had glazed over, and he could not help but think how nice a hot cup of tea would be as he read.

When you walked through the doors to Coop’s Kitchen on Monday, you were immediately accosted by Ellie, who very nearly knocked you out accidentally with the tray of food she was carrying.

“Don’t you check your phone?” she hissed at you.

“Hello to you, too,” you said in shock. “What’s wrong?”

Ellie jerked her head to the other side of the diner. “Your guy’s here!”

You looked across the relatively busy diner to find Abner seated at his usual table, hunched over the table as he wrote something down. He appeared to be concentrating heavily on whatever he was doing.

“How long’s he been here?” you asked.

“Came in about an hour after we started serving lunch.” Ellie placed the plates of food in front of her customers.

“And he seems all right?” you asked, following Ellie back behind the counter.

Ellie shrugged. “Bit jumpy, but he was like that last time, wasn’t he?”

You ignored her jab. “I’ll go talk to him.” You set your purse down behind the counter, along with your apron and book (you had decided it was too difficult to start with college-level engineering, so you opted for Engineering for Dummies). As you got closer, you realized that Abner was reading, but you still could not tell why he had been writing in a notebook.

“You’re here early!” you greeted him jovially as you stopped at his table.

Abner flinched in surprise and looked up at you, his face going red. “(Y/n),” he said. He tried to push the open book that laid in front of him off to the side. “I didn’t know you worked during the day,” he murmured.

“Well, I’m not on the clock just yet,” you said with a chuckle. “What’re you reading? It must be fascinating.”

He did not respond right away. Abner fidgeted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable. His eyes were averting yours once again. Had you done something wrong?

You simmered down your tone of voice to be more gentle. “Would you mind if I sat down?” you asked.

Abner shook his head. “No, please,” he replied.

You slid into the seat opposite him. You smiled warmly in an attempt to restart the conversation. “You know what I read this weekend?” Abner’s big brown eyes looked up at yours. Your face twisted in embarrassment. “Materials Science and Engineering. Unfortunately, almost everything went over my head. I’m just not smart enough for it, I suppose.”

“I think you’re very smart,” Abner countered before you finished speaking.

You blushed. “You’re sweet, but I’m just not good at science. That’s why I went into economics. Then again, here I am, working at a diner and not as a financial analyst for Wayne Industries.” You shrugged. “I guess that’s just how life works.”

Abner was silent for a moment before he said, “‘There was no solution, save that universal solution which life gives to all questions, even the most complex and insolvable: one must live in the needs of the day…’”

“‘That is, forget oneself.’” You recognized the quote immediately, and your heart somersaulted in your chest. “How do you—?”

Before you could finish your question, Abner picked up the book and slowly turned the cover to show you.

You breathed out incredulously; you felt as though you would burst from the joy and flattery that flooded through you. He had remembered your favorite book and went out of his way to read it. You glanced down at the notebook next to him. He was writing down quotes he liked. You were completely speechless.

Abner must have misconstrued your silence, because the next thing you knew, he was shutting the book and gathering his things. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he muttered, his voice shaking.

You frowned. “What? Why are you sorry?”

“I’ve embarrassed you. I shouldn’t have…” he did not finish. “I’ve got to go.” Abner withdrew himself and stood. He turned to leave and was halfway to the door before you finally processed what was happening.

“No, no, Abner, wait!” you called. You flew up from the booth and chased after him, his long legs already sweeping him out of the diner. “Abner, wait!” you shouted once you were outside.

Abner turned around, his gaze on the sidewalk. “I’m so sorry, (y/n). I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You finally caught up to him where he had stopped. “Abner, why are you sorry? I’m thrilled you cared enough to actually read Anna Karenina!”

Abner paused for a moment and hesitantly met your gaze. “Really?”

“Yes, of course! Normally, the reaction I get is, ‘Oh, I read that in school and it was boring’ or ‘I tried to read it but it was so long.’ You’re the first person I’ve met who’s actually read it because I said I liked it,” you replied enthusiastically. You laughed in spite of yourself. “And there I sat like the idiot I am talking about how I couldn’t even comprehend engineering.”

Abner shook his head. “You’re not an idiot.”

“No, but I am—“

“Please.” Abner’s voice became ever-so-slightly harder. “Don’t use that word. You’re… you’re not.”

You witnessed the sadness and desperation on his face as he pleaded. It broke your heart a little. “OK. I won’t use that word again.” You sighed. “I’m very touched that you thought of me. And you barely know me! You could have just as easily forgotten about what I said altogether and I wouldn’t have been any wiser.”

Abner let a small smile creep onto his face. “How could I forget anything you say?”

“Because I’m just a waitress in a diner who you’ve only talked to a couple of times. Most people would forget what I looked like the second they walk out those doors,” you explained. “I don’t mean this in a bad way, but why me?”

Abner thought for a moment. “You’re the first person who didn’t think I was… nothing. You made me special tea: no one’s ever done something like that for me. Ever.”

Oh, God. What kind of life had he been through that no one had ever done something nice for him? Who had told him that he was nothing? He had mentioned his mother last time and how she berated him for being wrong. But was she really that cruel to tell him that he was nothing? This revelation was disturbing, but your heart only went out to him. He evidently needed a friend, as he was as fragile and beaten down as you had initially thought.

“I…” he started again. “I was just as surprised when I saw that you had picked up Materials.” He noticed your confused expression and added, “I was at the library yesterday. I-I saw you, but I didn’t say anything because…”

“Because why?”

Abner sighed. “I was afraid you would think I was stalking you. I didn’t want to scare you because I thought that we could be…” He shut his mouth.

You smiled and reached out to place your hand on his arm: it was the first time you had touched him. You noticed that he had winced at your movement towards him. “You’re a better friend than… well, anyone I’ve come across,” you said. You knew it was a risk to use the ‘f’ word, especially after your third ever meeting, but at this point, you knew that a friend was something that Abner clearly and desperately needed.

Abner looked down at your hand, his expression unreadable. He felt hot beneath your skin and his sleeve. Had he never been offered a kind touch? You pulled away from him, your hand still tingling from the contact.

“Do you like pie?” you asked, interrupting the dark realization you had. Abner perked up. “Mrs. Cooper makes some of the best cherry pie you’ve ever tasted. You want a slice?”

“That sounds good,” Abner admitted.

“Great! And you can tell me what your favorite bits are in Anna Karenina,” you added.

Abner held up his notebook. “I wrote them all down so I wouldn’t forget to tell you.” He then stepped forward, ready to follow you back into the diner.

Tagging: @maximumcoffeeme @asmuo @songofcosplay @nightime-luna-fairy @unadulteratedgiantpastafreak @chaoticwitch22 @thedumbbrunette0-0 @lennyb0benny @lilypetite88 @gonzosestrangedbrother @kennedywxlsh

If you want to be tagged in future updates, send me a message! :)

[therenlover]

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter 3 Part 2 + Epilogue (A Helmut Zemo x Reader Fanfiction)

(Thank you to everyone who has joined me on this unexpected journey. If you’d like to start from the beginning, you can find Chapter One HERE)

Synopsis: At the end of the day, Helmut and his wife fall back together as they always do, and rediscover their intimacy in the wake of their past arguments with no more games left to play. 

Tags: Smut, Fingering, Kisses, Neck Kisses, Married Sex, Soft Sex, The Morning After, Fluff, Banter, Excessive References To Old Literature, Wuthering Heights

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Explicit Smut, Swearing, Mentions of Alcoholism/Alcohol Withdrawals

Word Count: 10,500~

This work has been crossposted to my AO3!

------

The two of you stayed there for a moment, your heart alight with an almost childlike wonder as you relished in the pure bliss of your husband’s hand holding your own. It was as familiar as your own name and yet so new, so different than it had been before. Had he ever held your hand this tenderly? Or looked at you with such adoration? You couldn’t say for certain. Definitely not while you were so distracted by the romance of it all.

Still, all good things must come to an end, and after what could have been an eternity or a moment Helmut pressed one more kiss to your hand before lowering it back to the bed.

“Your trembling has stopped,” he muttered, more to himself than you, “that’s good. Are you still in pain? You could still take one more naproxen if you think it would be helpful,”

You shook your head. “No thank you. I think I’ll be fine for now,” Slowly, you stretched up, your joints cracking loudly as you yawned. Across the room, the clock on the wall ticked silently past 8 o’clock. Could it really be that late?

Helmut seemed amused by your little movements and mental musings. With a sweet smile, he leaned back in his chair. “Tired already?” He teased, but there was no fire in it. You didn’t have anything in you to make a funny quip with, so you opted for simply giving an honest nod. That was enough for him. He dimmed the bedside lamp a bit and picked up his novel once again before he spoke. “You can rest now, Schatz. I’ll be here if you need me,”

Then, nonchalant as can be, he opened up his book and started reading again.

It was a bit… strange, the idea of falling asleep while being watched, even if it was just by your husband. You settled into the sheets, but the thought of it irked you enough that you had to roll onto your side in the hopes that once he was out of sight you’d forget about him being there. It didn’t work. Then, you rolled onto your back thinking if you just closed your eyes, sleep would come eventually. That didn’t work either. You were quickly sat face to face with a conundrum: You couldn’t sleep.

Not in your current situation at least.

As if he could sense your discomfort, Helmut peered to you from above the pages of his book. “Are you reconsidering my offer for pain medication?” He asked.

You groaned. “No, I just can’t sleep. It’s weird being watched,”

Helmut watched over you with kind eyes. He didn’t set down his book as he watched you toss and turn until you finally rolled onto your side to face him, but he did tilt his head slightly as he studied your face. Once he was sure you weren’t in any pain, he gave a curt nod. There was something almost awkward and adolescent about the expression that crossed his face as he spoke.

“Are you… I’m sorry, would you rather I leave?”

The thought of being alone, even if it meant not being watched, made your stomach drop. You had spent so long wanting to fall asleep with Helmut at your side once again. To have him leave now, after everything you’d worked through? It felt like a massive step backward in comparison to all of the progress you’d made. That being said, him sitting at the edge of your bed like some sort of visitor at a hospital bed wasn’t what you wanted either.

No, you wanted him closer.

Needed him closer.

The only problem was that you had absolutely no idea of how to ask for what you wanted. It had always been so simple before. Ever since you had broken him out of the raft you had fallen into bed together exhausted every night with very few exceptions. There was no asking about it, you just did because that was what a married couple would do. That wasn’t even mentioning the nights you’d fall together after the throes of passion onto the nearest soft surface, fully satisfied and boneless and exhausted, but you didn’t want to think about those times. They brought a flush to your face and other places long neglected. You pushed the feeling down. It wouldn’t get you anywhere to be thinking of things like that in your current situation.

Back to the problem at hand, you started to think about if there was a possible, non-awkward way to ask Helmut to lay with you.

After a minute you became acutely aware that there wasn’t.

He was still waiting for an answer though, dark eyes watching you with an intent care and fascination as you struggled to sort through your thoughts, ever patient and careful with you. From your position on your side you had to tilt your head up slightly to see him fully upright in the lamplight but it didn’t matter much. He was still stunning, even sideways. Slowly, you took a deep breath. “I want you to stay, it’s just a little weird to have you watching over me like that,”

The words were soft and delicate in the moonlight. Helmut, thankfully, took them at face value and nothing more. He was still wearing that same strange expression from before, awkward but not painfully so, as his eyes flitted around the dark room. “You… last night and the night before you woke up a lot, inconsolable and vomiting. I didn’t want you to choke or make too much of a mess, so it was easier to sit up and watch you, just in case,”

“Oh,” Your soft lips parted as your heart fluttered, “I’m sorry, I guess? And thank you? I don’t know quite what the right response to that is,”

“There’s no need to apologize, it’s nothing, and I don’t need thanks either. I’m not doing anything any other decent husband wouldn’t do,”

“Well, you’re only halfway decent, so I’d consider this a win,”

Helmut laughed then, something low and throaty that made your chest feel fuzzy and heavy with warmth. “Touché, Schatzi. Now try to sleep? You need your rest,”

You obliged him once again, letting your head hit the pillow. Your eyes remained open, though, as you admired his features in the darkness. He hadn’t shaved properly in a few days and it was obvious from the dark stubble forming on his cheeks and chin, but you didn’t mind it. In fact, you found it incredibly endearing. His turtleneck looked thick and soft as it hugged every plane of his soft chest.  Even his face, furrowed in slight concentration as he found his sentence once again and began to read, looked sweet in the lamplight, framed by unkempt locks of his chestnut hair that had fallen out of their usually precariously kempt style. He looked like an angel there, illuminated from the side while his eyes flitted back and forth down the page.

Part of you yearned to reach out and touch him, because at that moment he seemed far too beautiful and idealized to be real.

After a moment, though, his eyes met yours again. You spoke before he had a chance to offer pain medication a third time.

“What are you reading?”

He regarded you with a practiced gentleness. This was a game all its own that you were both intimately familiar with, and it was much more fun than the ones you usually found yourselves playing. Helmut loved his books, but he never read one without reason. You were curious to see what he found appropriate for the occasion.

“Wuthering Heights,”

A small grin spread across your face as heat rushed to your cheeks. “Really? How morbid,”

“If you think this is morbid, you should have seen me last night,” he chuckled, “I was still neck-deep in Anna Karenina until the early hours of the morning. It did nothing for my nerves,” Somehow, his accent seemed thicker as he rolled the title gently on his tongue. If you closed your eyes, you could see the scene in your mind; Helmut watching you intently in the darkness as you shook, his eyes flitting back nervously to the words on the page before darting back to you again as he read of love and infidelity and death… it was almost too much to bear in the best of ways.

“What will you read next?”

Helmut paused, but his decision came quick. “Pride and Prejudice, I think,”

“How fitting,” you hummed, “I like Pride and Prejudice,”

“As do I, Schatz. As do I,”

The two of you sat with that silently for a moment as you took in a deep breath of cool nighttime air. Outside, you could hear the soft sound of distant passing cars in the darkness, but that did little to soothe the thoughts now racing through your head and making your heart beat faster. Suddenly, and without deliberation, you acted with your heart alone and not your mind.

“Helmut?” you called softly into the darkness.

He lifted his eyes from his book without a hint of annoyance at your repeated interruptions. “Yes?”

Suddenly, your throat felt very tight. “Do you remember the last night we spent in Berlin?”

“Of course I do,” he hummed, but he offered you nothing more to work with. Trembling slightly from the effort, you tried again.

“You read to me that night and it helped with the nightmares. Do you think…” your voice petered off, but came back stronger when you steadied yourself again, grounding yourself in the warmth of Helmut’s eyes, “do you think you could read to me again?”

The smile he offered you was brilliant and kind.

“I would like nothing more,”

With a bit of adjusting, Helmut scooted to the front of his chair so that his knees brushed the edge of the bed. You stared spellbound up at him. If you reached out, just the smallest bit,  you would be able to rest a hand on the warmth of his leg and relish in the feeling of his soft dress pants. Still, it wouldn’t be enough. You needed to be even closer, surrounded by him, entirely engulfed by the warmth and strength and scent of him.

“Do you believe such people are happy in the other world sir?” Helmut began, reading aloud in a voice reserved for you and you alone in these incredibly rare moments, “I’d give great deal to-”

“No,”

Helmut looked up from the novel with a soft ‘hm’ of confusion.

“I-'' you stuttered, “I want you to lay with me while you read, like you did back then,” His eyes lit up and his cheeks flushed as you floundered for some sort of excuse or placation that would explain your sudden boldness. “You don’t have to! I just… I thought it might be nice. If it’s not, that’s more than okay, I didn't mean to upset you. I guess what I’m trying to-”

“Shhh, Schatz. You’re okay,”

At the sound of Helmut’s soft reassurance, your heart slowed down a bit from its jackhammer rhythm against your chest. What? He was… agreeing? Slowly, he stood from his chair and rounded the bed before sitting on the opposite edge. You had to roll over to watch him go, but when he finally sat you reached a hand out to him, which he took into his own without a hint of hesitation.

“It’s not good to work yourself up like this,” he cooed as he toed off his shoes and socks, moving them away with his free hand. “I’m still your husband, just as you are still my wife. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be held,” Your cheeks burned with shame, but somehow you didn’t feel like he was chiding you. He slipped below the sheets then, resting his back on the headboard and beckoning you forward to rest on him. You were scrambling towards his warmth before he had to say another word.

Then, you were finally safe.

There, with your cheek pressed flush against his chest and your arms wrapped tight around his middle, you breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed for the first time in… well, since you could remember really. He chuckled, but you didn’t notice. No, you were far too busy enjoying your newfound warmth. Your limbs were trembling a bit again, but not from your withdrawals. Instead, you seemed to have so much love running through your veins that you just couldn’t manage to keep still. Slowly, you swung your bare leg over Helmut’s clothed one before interlocking them to ensure your closeness.

Helmut smiled down at you and pressed a kiss to your forehead as he smoothed down your hair with one hand and re-opened his book with the other. “Now where were we? Ah, yes. Here we are. Do you believe such people are happy in the other world, sir? I’d give a great deal to know,”

You tuned out his words quickly, instead opting to focus on the timbre and lilt of his tone as he made his way down the page. There was a lightness to it, an honesty that came with reading words that came from another’s mind and not his own. There was no room for bartering when he read, no way to twist the sentiments of the author into his own narrative. Instead, he spoke plainly and often from the heart. You liked to think that was why he spent so much time choosing the books he read. They were, for him, a beacon of clean, clear-cut honesty to cling to even as his brain fought to deceive himself and everyone around him.

As he continued, though, you did notice something strange.

Your husband, especially when focused on a task like reading, wasn’t one to let his mind wander. If he wanted to do something he would simply do it without hesitation. Needless to say, it was also very difficult to distract him once he got fully invested in something. That being said, as he turned the page and continued to speak, his voice seemed to be losing its focused intensity by the second. He also was squirming. Well, no, squirming wasn’t quite the word for it, but he couldn’t seem to get comfortable below you. It was clearly not the weight of your body that bothered him though, nor was it the temperature of the room. Only when you shifted your leg up slightly and heard his breath hitch roughly in his throat did you notice the growing hardness in his pants.

Oh.

Oh.

There was something almost giddy about knowing that you could still affect him the same way you always had, even while half delirious with sleep and suffering through one malady or another, and while a small part of you grew nervous at the thought of reuniting with Helmut like that for the first time since your initial argument all those months ago, on the whole, every nerve in your body was longing to feel him against you again. You smiled softly at the discovery. Some things truly never changed.

As you determined the best way to go about initiating something, you tuned back into his words again. His voice was still sweet and low with his heavenly accent cutting through the old language in a way that made butterflies erupt from your stomach down towards your newly aching core, and yet there was an inconsistency to it.

“She lies with a sweet smile on her face,” he muttered, breath hitching slightly once again as he blinked, long and hard in the darkness, “and her latest ideas wandered back to pleasant early days. Her life closed in a gentle dream - may she wake as kindly in the other world,” As he finished his sentence he looked down from the page to you, prone against the broadness of his chest. His pupils were blown wide with lust in the yellow lamplight and, after a moment struck mute, he licked his lips. “Schatz-,”

“Don’t stop now,” you breathed into the darkness, “we’ve only just gotten to the best part,” Slowly you rose from your place slotted against him. The loss of contact was difficult for you both, but you quickly amended the issue by placing a hand flat against his upper thigh. It was so close to his growing length and yet so far away at the same time.

Helmut regarded the digits with a sure disbelief and mild amusement. “Don’t stop what?”

“Reading,”

Somehow the word sounded obscene as it dripped syrupy and saccharin from your lips. You leaned in closer now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off your husband’s body as his gaze flickered down to your mouth. Despite your words, though, Helmut was quick to mark his page and reach to set the book down on the dresser beside his side of the bed.

“Do you want me?” he gulped, letting himself brush his fingertips ever so lightly against the bottom hem of your sleep shorts. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, after everything,”

You replied with a question of your own:

“Do I look like I don’t want you?”

He was quick to shake his head. It was his turn now to steady himself. “I’ve yearned for you every day since I left,” he whispered, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your lips from the proximity alone, “I never should have gone, Schatzchen. Not then and not before. To be without you is torture. I’ve wasted so much precious time...”

You replied with a simple, breathless, “Kiss me,”

Who would he be to deny you?

With the slightest of smiles, he leaned in and captured your lips with his own.

You had kissed him hundreds, probably thousands of times and yet you never got over the feel of his mouth against your own. Hot and wet and always ever so slightly minty from the small, sweet lozenges he kept in his right breast pocket, it laid claim to you. When you kissed him, there was nothing except him and him and him for eternity. You never considered yourself much of a wordsmith, your talents were elsewhere, and yet you could write sonnets about the bliss that came only when you connected in these brief, close moments of peace.

There were no threats here, not now. There was only Helmut, with his dark eyes and wild hair pulling away from you just long enough to breathe in the darkness of the room before dragging you back in to kiss him again.

Time had no bearing on you then. You could have been sitting there and kissing him for hours, your soft hands gently exploring each other once again but never daring to touch where the other wanted to be touched more than anything. Eventually, though, Helmut pulled away for a meaningful period of time, letting his forehead rest gently against your own as you both breathed heavily, hands finding each other blindly to clasp together in your lap.

When you felt like you were finally grounded to your body again, you chuckled softly, paying careful attention to the way the dim light accentuated the soft blondes and reds hidden in your husband’s brown hair.

“What is it?” he cooed in the darkness, “What could you possibly be laughing at now,”

“I thought I asked you to keep reading, Baron. You stopped at my favorite part. How am I supposed to focus on this when all I’ll be able to focus on is that once we’re done, I’ll finally get to hear what Heathcliff has to say,”

Helmut didn’t respond to your gentle ribbing, not at first. Instead, he leaned back in for one last fleeting kiss before letting his hands rest at the bottom edge of your sweater, bunching up the excess fabric. You assisted him in removing it by pulling your arms from the sleeves as he lifted it over your head. Then, you were finally semi-bare before him.

The cool, dark, nighttime air felt frigid in comparison to the almost burning heat of Helmut’s hands as he ran them down your sides. It made you shiver. That being said, it was nothing in comparison to the full-body tremble he evoked a moment later when he leaned in close to your ear with a sinful smile.

“May she wake in torment,” he quoted softly. The sound of it, so lewd and yet so refined, only added to the wetness between your legs. It didn’t help that his hands had moved on to find purchase on your breasts. He took a nipple between his fingers, rolling it ever just so as he continued. “Why she’s a liar to the end,”

Distantly, you just barely had enough complex thought to marvel at the fact that your husband had memorized your favorite passage from Wuthering Heights. It didn’t surprise you in the least. The last thing that crossed your mind before it clouded fully with lust was that there was something so tender in Helmut’s eyes when he looked at you that you just couldn’t bear it. It wasn’t long after that, though, that Helmut let one of his hands creep under the elastic waist of your shorts to cup your mound and you lost all ability to think about anything other than his soft voice and the feeling of his hands on your skin.

He touched you as if he knew you, and he did. You had known him carnally in more ways than could be counted. Though a bit rough with time, his fingers fell easily into their usual rhythm as muscle memory took over. He relished in dragging you to the edge in a way only he knew how to, and for the first time in months, you let him.

“Where is she? Not there,” he purred against your cheek as his fingers caught just so against your nub. You arched into his touch without a thought. “Not in heaven,” Slowly, his mouth departed from your face. He trailed wet kisses down the sensitive column of your throat, and yet he never broke from his steady rhythm of stroking down your wetness before letting his fingers come back up to circle your clit.

“Not perished,” As Helmut paused, he sucked a deep purple bruise into the soft nook where your neck met your chin, “Where?”

It had been so long. So long since you’d been with him, since you’d touched yourself. You could do little more than cling to him and gasp his name as he played you like a well-tuned fiddle.

He delighted in the feeling of your fingers in his hair, yanking at the nape of his neck and urging him lower and lower as he continued to bring you towards completion. In all honesty, he was smitten with you, and anyone who saw him as he was in that moment, wide-eyed and slack-jawed at just the sight of your pleasure, would know it. Still, his devotion was lost on you, especially in your current position.

That was fine by Helmut.

As long as you were happy, he would be too.

“Oh! You said you cared nothing for my sufferings!”

“Helmut!” You gasped low and sweet and right as he nipped at your collarbone.

The grin that you found when you met his eyes again didn’t do anything to help you put your mind back together, nor did it prepare you for two of his thick fingers to suddenly breach your sopping wet entrance.  He paused then, searching your face for any signs of discomfort or hesitance, but he was only greeted by pure and utter bliss on your end.

Good. That was his goal.

With a soft tug to his hair, he was off to the races again.

“And I pray one prayer,” His mouth was on your breast now. Your hips canted and bucked to meet the quickening thrusts of his digits, which were curled ever so slightly and dragged at that rough right spot inside you with every push and pull. “I repeat it till my tongue stiffens,”

Then, suddenly, his eyes found yours again, and you felt you might perish then and there from the pure ecstasy of it.

“Y/N L/N, may you not rest as long as I am living!”

His fingers dragged across your sweet spot once again.

“Helmut, darling-”

Your voice was a stunted wail against his quiet, sure tone.

“You said I killed you - haunt me, then!”

His mouth was on your peaked nipple, your throat, your collarbone.

“Darling I’m so close-”

“The murdered do haunt their murderers,”

You were climbing, soaring, flying.

Higher, higher, higher…

“I believe,” he faltered for a moment. It was all too raw, all too real. God, how you loved him. “I know that ghosts have wandered on earth,”

You were up on your knees now, and Helmut had followed you up. He held the weight of your body on his clothed chest as he added a third finger. If you thought you had reached the heights of pleasure before, you had broken all the way through the ceiling, up through the sky, and into heaven now. Words dissolved on your tongue as spittle dripped warm from your open mouth down to the messy sheets below.

Suddenly, though, in the heat of it all, there was a tenderness.

The hand that had come to wander your body and assist Helmut’s mouth when it was preoccupied came to cup the back of your head and hold your gaze to him, keep you a captive audience to the way he looked at you; full of lust and love and adoration of the basest most human kind.

“Be with me always,” he urged, and the words were his . There was no more Heathcliff in them than there was Brontë or Austen or Tolstoy. “Take any form,” Tears, big and fat and wet dripped down your cheeks at the sight of it. This was your husband. Husband . Oh, the wonder of such a little word! How had you gotten so lucky? You feared you’d never know. All you truly knew was the sound of his voice as he drove his fingers into you with a mad fervor. “Drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!”

Finally, your words seemed to return as you soared to your completion.

“Always!”

It was a wail. A cry in the dark. A promise.

“Oh, God!”

“Oh, God! It is unutterable!”

Just two more lines.

“Helmut, please,”

Something inside of you was breaking by the second as you clung to him.

“I cannot live without my life!”

“Yes, yes, yes-”

“I cannot live without my soul!”  

He crooked his fingers just so.

You snapped at the finality of it all.

Wordlessly you spasmed against him, hands clinging to every single part you could find purchase on. His neck, his arms, his back; you only had half the mind enough to kiss him as he pulled you through, never stopping his steady rhythm of thrusts. He kissed you back just as eagerly and wiped your tears with his free hand while he did. How could he be so perfect and fucked-up and yours?

You didn’t think to ask.

Instead, you rode through your bliss before slumping bonelessly into the arms of your husband, smiling and crying and utterly alive.

What a gift it was to be human, short life notwithstanding.

You had almost forgotten that.  

After a moment, Helmut slowed his ministrations. He pulled his slick fingers from your body and out of your sweat-soaked sleep shorts and all the way up to his mouth, where he deposited them and sucked the remnants of your release off of the pruned digits. You would have considered it extremely sexy if you weren’t still recovering from a leg-shaking orgasm to end all orgasms. Instead, you just laughed weakly as he removed his fingers from between his lips with a wet slurp and wiped the excess spit onto the sheets.

“How the hell did you manage to remember all that?” You finally asked, nudging him softly in the side as he chuckled above you, settling down once again against the headboard.

He shrugged before he replied. “During my incarceration, I had nothing more than the books you sent me and my own mind. After discovering that particularly filthy annotation you included in my copy of Wuthering Heights, I found I was eager to reread the highlighted paragraph quite often. With time and repetition, the words simply remained,”

You held him closer to you in the darkness.

Outside, the crickets were still singing their sweet song to the sleeping world, dancing along the wisterias and honeysuckles down in the yard, planted long ago with love and care to be pressed and sent along in the very books Helmut had previously mentioned.

“It’s a shame you had to leave it behind when James broke you out. I put a lot of effort into my notes,”

“Take a closer look, Schatz,”

His words were an incentive that provided enough energy for you to just barely push yourself up from his chest on shaking limbs. Sure enough, though, and true to his word, the copy of Wuthering Heights sitting on the dresser beside you was the same well-loved copy you had mailed to him in his first months of imprisonment.

“You never miss a single detail, do you?” You asked, incredulous. He answered you with a simple kiss.

“Do you want to get cleaned up? I could run you a bath,”

The question had your mind wandering to the luscious jetted bathtub in your ensuite bathroom, sitting unused as it had for months in the wake of your fight with Helmut. Perhaps the memories of your endless trysts in that very tub would no longer haunt you as they had before. Despite the temptation of it, though, you had other plans.

“Helmut,” your voice was barely a whisper as you brought your hand to cup him through his pants, “you didn’t get to finish yet,”

Despite the way his breath hitched in his throat, he shook his head. “You’re tired, Schatz, and I will be fine to wait for another occasion. This was about you,”

Excuses, excuses.

You tutted softly as your hand wandered towards his belt.

He made no move to stop you.

“I’ve missed you so much,” The admission escaped you in a breathless sigh. You needed him. Needed to see him, to feel him, to connect with him, trembling hands and aching head be damned! Helmut seemed to understand that because as you released him from his belt and unzipped his pants he busied himself with removing his turtleneck. “Every night, I swear I thought of you every night while you were away. I would lay here alone and close my eyes and hope, so foolishly, that when I woke up you’d be right there beside me again,”

Shuffling out of his slacks, he discarded them haphazardly into the darkness of the room along with his boxers. “Lay down, Schatzi. I’ll take you if you’ll have me,” His words were tender in the night. You did as you were told. In the yellow glow of the old filament bulb, you could see his proud cock, thick and leaking, and it made you want. For what you didn’t know, but you wanted. You needed.

You yearned.

The yearning didn’t last for long, though. There were no games to be played that might make your husband taunt you or force you to work for your pleasure. It had been far too long for that. Instead, you lifted your hips and let Helmut pull the soaked sleep shorts from your legs to deposit them with the other clothes. Then, you were both laid bare.

There was no need for words past that point.

Helmut lined himself up with your opening and, gazing down into your soul, pressed each and every inch of himself into you as he groaned like a man possessed. You clung to him, bringing your arms up around his shoulders, and for a moment the two of you stayed put, connected and completed in a way only the two of you ever could be. Languid kisses were shared. You passed them back and forth like secrets from wet and swollen lips. Only after an eternity when you dragged your pelvis up the slightest bit to grind against him did he move once more.

When he pulled himself from your wetness, just about halfway, he did so with the same slow precision he entered with. You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

There was no desperation to it like there had been when he got you off, no fast-paced need driving you together in frantic breathless shouts. Instead, Helmut kept his pace slow and deliberate. It was like he wanted to memorize the feel of every inch of your body, inside and out. So, he took a snail’s pace as he worked you open below him.

The lack of speed didn't mean there was a lack of passion, though.

Oh no, you both possessed passion in spades and it reflected in the breathy moans that filled the chamber of your shared room. Your room. Your bed. Your home. The thought of it brought you closer to the edge by the minute.

In that darkness, lit by your little lamp and the light of the brilliant moon outside, you could pretend things were different and yet the same. Helmut was simply a businessman who traveled often. You were his little wife. The home was cheery and filled with light, and he would come home to you every weekend with a smile on his face and flowers in his hands. There was no danger lurking in every corner, nor was there the threat or separation at every turn. Instead, you could leave your house freely to buy groceries or visit the Sunday market in the city square down the road. Things were happy. You weren’t going to die.

Oh god, you were going to die.

It was a fact you both knew, now, and had accepted. Your fate was sealed the second you chose to stay at his side all those years ago. Still, it was all approaching so very quickly, you barely had any time left to prepare.

Despite it all, though, you had this time.

You had this moment in the darkness where you could wail and moan and cling to your husband without fear. He had you in his arms and under his chest and filled oh so good with his cock and for just a second, just a sweet blissful tick of the clock, you could forget. You both could. So you did.

Your second orgasm didn’t come on in a steep climb like the first.

No, it crept up on you without you even knowing it was coming. Helmut fucked into you good and slow and deep for an eternity before you felt those telltale jolts of pleasure urging you towards your end. He felt it too, felt it in the way you tightened around him and arched your back when he pulled back only to push into your heat once again.  

There were no words. You didn’t ask for permission. Instead, you just let yourself fall into a pit of your own pleasure as you kissed Helmut and clung to his hips with hands that left bruises in their wake. He followed quickly behind. In the wake of it all, his return and your seizure and the fight and your recoupling, you felt a bone-deep ache of heartache and peace. Then, Helmut pressed a kiss to your forehead and collapsed beside you, pulling the sheets over the both of you and wrapping you in his strong arms. The skin on skin contact was divine.

“Your doctor is going to be very cross with us,” he muttered into the crook of your neck.

You let your fingers dance lightly down his back, slick with sweat, as you chuckled. “Let them be cross, then. I needed you. Besides, you started it,”

He nodded against you. Slowly, you both shifted to a more comfortable position. Helmut laid his head on the pillow, propped up against the headboard, while you opted to use his chest as a pillow instead, running a finger through his chest hair and looking up at him with tired eyes. “I will take full responsibility for my actions,” he said softly, “both recent and past,”

“I’m still mad at you, you know,”

“As you should be, Schatz, I’ve been a poor husband and partner as of late,”

“But you’ll stay now, right?” Your voice was more uncertain than it should have been as your husband reached for the dresser once more, retrieving his book.

Helmut met your gaze and nodded ever so slightly in the darkness.

“I will be beside you from now until I draw my final breath. Now sleep, Schatzchen. You’ll still have me when you wake,”

Slowly you let your eyes drift closed. You were pretty tired out… Wrapping an arm around his soft stomach, you murmured softly up to your husband. “I love you, Helmut,”

“And I love you, Y/N,” he replied, and as you drifted to sleep you could still hear his soft voice, ebbing and flowing with the breeze and cricket song in the nighttime.

“He dashed his head against the knotted trunk; and, lifting up his eyes, howled…”

“What is it with you and bathtubs,” You chuckled, sitting on the lid of the toilet as Zemo straightened out his well-gelled hair in the mirror. Beside you, the body of a man sat bloody in the tub as rigor mortis set in.

Helmut shrugged. “I don’t like to leave behind a mess for those unfortunate enough to find the bodies,”

His words were heavy, but that didn’t stop you from humming an upbeat tune idly as you watched him work. In the end, you had been the one to land the killing blow on… well, whoever was now starting to smell as his bodily fluids crept towards the drain. You didn’t care much about him enough to remember his name. No, not while you could be watching Helmut with an intent fascination. He hadn’t trusted you with his plans, not fully, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to try to figure out what they were by watching the minute twitches of his muscles as he gazed at himself through the thin glass.

If there was one thing in the world you were good at besides killing, it was deciphering your traveling companion’s expression. He looked… tired.

“We’re reaching the end of the line, aren’t we?” You asked.

The words made him pause, catching your eyes in the mirror, but he surprisingly answered you straight.

“Yes, my plans are almost complete,” he hummed, turning to face you, “The Soldat will be moved into his cell to be evaluated tomorrow. I shall assume Mr. Broussard’s identity and, if everything goes according to plan, I shall be traveling to Serbia from there to kill the remaining super soldiers and stage the final fight between Iron Man and Captain America,”

You leaned forward from your perch on the toilet lid, letting your legs sprawl out towards the wall. “So that’s it? Just one more day and it’s done?”

He repeated your words; an affirmation.

“Just one more day and it’s done,” his eyes remained glued to you as you laughed lightly, leaning back to let your head rest against the cool wall behind you. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you snorted, “I’m just trying to figure out where you’ll drown me now that the bathtub is already in use. The sink?”

The look that crossed Helmut's face was between amusement and disgust as he let one small huff of laughter escape from between his lips. Slowly, he closed the small gap between you and leaned against the opposite wall. From his new position, you could see all of him more clearly. The rough beginnings of stubble on his chin, the bloodstains on his sweater, the way his hands fidgeted nervously at the edges of his pockets; everything about him was endearing. You had to remind yourself that both of you would be dead in a few days to push down the burgeoning feelings that began to bloom in your chest.

Besides, Helmut was still in love with his wife. If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting in a cheap hotel bathroom with him and a corpse in the first place. Still, it wasn’t terrible to have fantasies. You were a woman, after all, a woman with needs you were sure Helmut would understand. Distantly you were glad you’d be dead before you had to part ways with him. If it was a choice, you weren’t sure you’d ever choose to leave him.

“About that,” Helmut said, low and sweet. He licked his lips after he spoke. If you didn’t know him better you would have assumed he was nervous. About what, you had no idea. Then it hit you.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

As Helmut nodded, you took note that it was the first time you had ever seen someone look ashamed for choosing not to commit murder.  He gulped down a breath before he began his attempts to explain. “I try not to kill without reason. The deaths of those innocents at the UN are already weighing on me more heavily than I anticipated. It’s only a precaution, but I fear that if I killed you, the guilt would eat at me enough that it might interfere with my mission,”

“Mhm,” your response, a low hum, came with a slow nod that told him you were far from convinced with his reasoning. “It’s a real shame you dragged me all the way to Berlin just to make me find my own way home. I wish I would have known I was making it out of this alive. Maybe I would have remembered to grab my wallet before we left the house,”

“That is another thing I wish to talk to you about,”

You raised your eyebrows in mild disbelief. “There’s more?”

Helmut nodded. His formerly nervous expression was now replaced with a loose smile. Well, as loose as it could be on the face of a former colonel and current terrorist.

“We’re both aware that I will not be making it out of this little escapade alive. Now, I wanted to thank you somehow for your assistance, and I figured leaving you a monetary endowment of some kind would be a good way to repay you,”

“How much are we talking?” Without even noticing it you leaned forwards towards him. He grinned all the while, wolflike and half-mad. You adored it. Adored him.

“At least one million euros,”

Your jaw dropped.

“I’ve gotten in contact with my butler and have taken the liberty of purchasing you another hotel room across town, far from where the Winter Soldier will be set loose. You can check in any time after noon and stay there for up to a week. If you choose to accept my offer, my butler will meet you on the seventh day of your stay with the money, papers to create a new identity, and free transport to wherever you want to go. After that, should you want it, you will receive monthly payouts to help pay for any bills or extra expenses after you get the lump sum. Now, if you’d like something a bit more… permanent, I could also arrange for an extra few million to be delivered in cash up front for you to purchase a house. You will be free of your past, free of everything that has bound you. You can start over and live like any other person. Does that seem like something you’d be interested in?”

Before you could even speak you had launched yourself into Helmut’s arms. He smelled warm, like cedarwood and mint and fresh-pressed linens as you clung to him like a lifeline. There were no words you could say to express your gratitude, nothing you could do to beg him to change his mind and stay. You just held him there, close as you could manage to, as you smiled into his chest.

You were free.

You were free.

“I assume that’s a yes?” He asked. His voice was almost a coo as he finally wrapped his arms around you and reciprocated the affection. The motion caught you by surprise. You didn’t mention it, though, not when you were so deeply entrenched in the feeling of his pulse soaring under your ear.

“A million times yes,”

“I’m glad,” he whispered, “It will give me solace to know you’ll be taken care of. Now, where will you go? What will you do? I want to hear it all. I need to know what I’ll miss once we’ve parted ways,”

You let an almost goofy grin cross your lips. “I’ll retire, buy a little house somewhere in the middle-of-nowhere France with cash, and spend the rest of my days on this earth living in delicious sin. There’ll be no more killing, just cooking and cleaning and painting. I might take up watercolors again. Maybe I’ll even stop by the castle on my way and grab that big painting of you as a token to remember you by,”

Helmut cringed beneath your cheek. “You wouldn’t,”

“I would,” you quipped back, “and I will! I’ll hang it right in the middle of the living room so all of my guests have to pay homage to the man who set me free,” The fact that you wanted to see his face every day as you sat on his couch went without saying. It was simply implied. Helmut seemed to gloss over that fact entirely.

“What will you tell them about me?”

“That you were a good man. A dear friend. Someone who left the world too soon after doing what had to be done,”

“Is that a promise?”

“Absolutely,”

As you breathed him in, Helmut became fully aware of just how close the two of you were, pushed tightly against the off-white wall of the bathroom as the smell of lemon cleaner just barely masked the sweet rot of death. If he minded, it didn’t show. You only pulled away from him when a soft knock on the door of the main room broke you from your reverie.

“That’s breakfast,” you muttered, “I’ll keep her from coming in,”

“You do that,” Helmut replied, but he hesitated before turning back to the mirror. “Y/N?” He called softly.

“Yes?”

“If I don’t get another chance to say it, thank you for everything. I won’t forget the kindness you’ve paid me,”

“Neither will I,”

“Will you stay with me till the end?”

“Always,”

Morning came quickly.

Not quick enough for your rest to feel unsatisfying, but still too fast. There would never be a period of time spent in Helmut’s arms that felt like it lasted long enough. In the end, though, you woke feeling a full-body warmth from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

There was no blaring alarm to rouse you this time, no spasms wracking you and dragging you out of your peace, there was only the soft chirping of birds and the gentle humming of the air conditioning unit as your eyes fluttered open and your arms stretched out to the bed beside you to find… nothing.

You paused.

After a moment of adjustment, you found that your eyes agreed with your hands. Helmut was gone.

Even in the worst heat of the fight the night before, you had never felt quite as upset as you did in that moment while realizing he had left you again. Tears pricked at your eyes. How could he? After all of his promises, he had left you alone the same way he had before. Knowing his schedule, he’d be long gone by now; off the runway and up in the air if not already on the ground at his next destination. The only thing that kept you from bursting into an angry choked sob was the sound of the bedroom door creaking open.

You clutched the sheets to your bare chest expecting one of your guests. Then, Helmut stepped into the bedroom.

What? He had stayed?

Your heart thundered in your chest at the sight of him.

He smiled broadly, with the sleeves of his striped cotton button-up bunched at his elbows and a dirty dishrag in his hands. His voice was soft and tender as he approached. Everything about him seemed so domestic that it almost brought you to tears all over again. “Schatz!” he cooed, reaching the edge of the bed, “did you sleep well?”

Nodding mutely, you offered a wet smile.

“I’m glad,” he said. One of his large hands found yours, still knotted up in the soft fabric of the sheets. The silver wedding band on his ring finger gleamed brightly in the soft daylight. “I hoped I could be here when you woke, but Sam and James requested breakfast and I didn’t want to wake you up quite yet. You seemed peaceful,”

“I was,” you let yourself lean into his touch and smiled when he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, “I am,”

Helmut sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to crawl back into bed with you and enjoy that peace. Unfortunately, I still have to finish cutting up fruit downstairs. I just wanted to make sure you were doing well when I found a minute to sneak away,”

“Well, I appreciate it,” your voice was light as you brought up your free hand to Helmut’s collar and pulled him down for a proper kiss.

He fell into the familiar rhythm with practiced ease. It was brief, just a momentary press of the lips, but it made your heart beat just a little quicker when you felt him against you, warm and real and solid. As soon as it began, though, it was over, and Helmut was pulling back with a smile. All the while, he never let go of your hand. The two of you sat silent for a while, happy to just relish in the feeling of being together, but a clang from downstairs urged a deep sigh from your husband as he finally stepped away. You hated to see him go.

“Duty calls,” He chuckled, accent thick, “Do you think that was James or Sam?”

You nodded softly. “My money’s on Bucky, but knowing what I do about those two it was probably both of their faults. You’d better go survey the damage before they break anything else,”

“I suppose I should,” Helmut paused, turning back to you with his hand on the doorknob. “Will you join us downstairs for breakfast? Or would you rather I bring you up something to eat once I finish entertaining our guests,”

It took a moment for you to respond.

There was a certain safety to remaining in bed. Helmut would be sure to return as quickly as he possibly could, doting on you once again with the same soft vulnerability. You would probably even be able to pull him back into bed with you if you waited long enough. Getting a few more hours of holding him would be a luxury, one rarely afforded even when things between the two of you weren’t rocky. Something, though, urged you towards the other option. Maybe it was the quiet aching in your legs or the urge to see if your husband was able to keep his commitment to bettering your relationship outside of your bedroom, there was no knowing, but the universe wanted what it wanted, and what it wanted was for you to get out of bed.

“You make leaving our room seem like I’m exploring some wild, new frontier,” you snorted, throwing your legs over the edge of the bed. You both ignored your nakedness, though Helmut’s eyes did linger on the swell of your breast as you stood. “But yeah, I should probably get up. I need to clean up anyway, after… well,” you gestured to the mess of dried slickness between your legs, “all that,”

Despite the fact that you had been married to Helmut for over a year and had known him much longer, there was a bashfulness in your regarding of the events from the past night. It might have had something to do with the absolutely caddish grin on his face as he beheld the reminder, though.

“I’ll set you your usual place at the counter,” he said, watching you wander over to the closet like some bare goddess in the morning sunlight. Before slipping away back downstairs, though, he indulged you with a sweet “I love you, Schatz. I’ll await your arrival downstairs eagerly,” Then, he was gone, having closed the door behind him and retreated back down the stairs to deal with whatever nonsense Sam and Bucky had gotten up to in his absence.

You giggled softly to yourself.

Sure, your head still ached slightly and there was a tremor in your hands that wouldn’t quite go away, but for the first time in months, you had hope. The sun seemed to shine extra brightly thanks to that fact. Inside the walk-in closet, Helmut’s cologne was once again just cologne, light and pleasant as you gathered up a soft t-shirt and some sweatpants. After some deliberation, you grabbed another one of his awful thrifted sweaters too.

It didn’t take long for you to take a quick shower next. You washed away the evidence of your coupling under the warm spray, and as you did, something told you that you’d be doing a lot of that in the future. The water was heaven on your aching limbs. About 15 minutes later, you were dry, dressed, and patting the dampness from your hair on the edge of the bed.

Beside you, the nightstand was almost entirely cleared off. At some point in the night Helmut had taken away the tray with the long-forgotten toast, but in its place sat your wedding ring. It seemed to stare up at you with a gaze all too human. The decision wasn’t an easy one to make, far from it actually, but as you pulled on your husband’s sweater you grabbed the ring and slipped it back onto your finger where it belonged, and where you hoped it would stay into the distant future.

With one last deep breath, you made your way out the door and down the stairs to find out exactly what your guests had gotten up to in your absence.

You heard them before you saw them.

“I said cube, James,” Zemo groaned from the kitchen, “not slice. Mangos are best enjoyed cubed,”

Sam chimed in next. “Dude, it’s just fruit! Does it really matter which way he slices it?”

“Maybe if you cared so much about how your fruit was cut up,” James added, “you could do it yourself!”

You crept softly from the landing to the archway leading into the kitchen only to find exactly what you expected. There, crowded around the island and all dressed up in matching aprons, were the three men, all fussing over some part or another of what looked to be a breakfast spread fit for a queen. Well, baroness. Same difference. The sight was one you enjoyed a little too much, so kept yourself quiet for the chance to witness just a little bit more of their natural conversation. Between them, in a high necked vase, sat the salvaged bouquet of spring flowers you had abandoned on the front table. You were glad to see they had made it through.

Zemo was the next one to speak, walking to the stove where he flipped a delicious smelling slice of french toast.

“I believe you were the one who offered to help out this morning. If you hadn’t I would have happily completed breakfast on my own,”

“Yeah, I offered because I’m not a complete jackass,” Bucky quipped back.

“Language, James,”

“God, please don’t ever say that to me again,”

“Apologies,”

Sam noticed you then, your soft chuckles a giveaway. He smiled warmly and set down the strawberry he was coring as he addressed you. “Hey! Look who it is!” In an instant, all eyes were on you. Somehow, though, the attention wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, your presence seemed to calm the constant animosity between your husband and your guests. “How are you feeling, Y/N?”

You replied with a smile. “As good as I can be. Did you guys break anything while I was upstairs?”

As you passed the men to take your own spot at the end of the island, Bucky looked up from his butchered mango almost sheepish. “No, no we didn’t break anything,” Quickly, he added, “It’s good to see you up and running again,”

“He broke a plate while playing catch with Sam this morning,” Zemo added, “Nothing important, we won’t miss it much,”

Bucky blanched.

The domesticity of it all was almost painful as the room shook with everyone's combined laughter. Even Bucky joined in once he got over his mortification. For a moment you all seemed like an odd sort of family, bustling around that kitchen as the last bits and bobs of breakfast were sliced and fried.

It smelled heavenly.

When you had the mind to sit down at your spot on the island to eat you found Helmut had just barely beaten you there and was pouring you a mug of coffee beside your full plate. Oh, how long had it been since you’d had coffee in the house? Probably since last January, when the short days were spent watching out the window for a man who wouldn’t come back. You disregarded the thought as you examined your plate. Tropical fruit, french toast, and a small portion of omelet (with more waiting in the pan), sat, fragrant and saccharine and ever so tempting, but instead of digging in you watched intently as Helmut poured your cream and doled out your sugar. He caught your gaze just as he set a small spoon in the mug to stir it with.

“You still remember how I take my coffee?” You asked.

Instead of answering, Helmut just watched as you brought the mug to your lips. It was, as expected, perfect. Sweet enough but still biting at your tongue as you swallowed it down. Hot, but not too much so. Just heated enough to warm you from the inside out. Perhaps it was Helmut’s gaze that warmed you too.

He turned back to the stove then, gathering his own plate, but you knew he was still watching you even when turned away.

“Of course I remember how you take your coffee,” he finally replied, “You’re my wife,”

“You didn’t get me perfect coffee,” Sam added from his place beside you, beginning to pick at his food as he stared at the dark liquid in his own cup.

“Yes, Sam, but you are certainly not my wife,”

The room was laughing again then, but in a quieter way. Helmut came back around the island with his own plate and took up his seat on your other side as you ate and drank your coffee in the warm glow of the morning light. There was something so alive about being surrounded by compatriots, even if your truce was temporary. Your husband could see the change in the way you smiled.

Slowly but surely, breakfast was eaten and seconds were doled out. You discovered that Bucky, for all his harshness, had a soft spot for french toast with extra syrup and he, in return, learned that mango really did taste better in cubes. The sun rose higher in the sky and, through glass doors, you could hear birdsong outside as they enjoyed the amenities of your garden. Maybe Sam and James could be put to work digging weeds…

You had to work hard to stop yourself from getting attached.

To the guests, to the laughter, to the house you’d lived and loved in. It would all be gone soon enough, shot through or smashed or burned in the months to come, as would you be. Still, you enjoyed it while you could. If this was to be one of your last true spring days, you would savor every tiny minuscule detail.

It did you no good to live in fear of the inevitable.

Instead, you enjoyed the moments in the hope that when it all did come crumbling down, you could face the end knowing you had truly lived.

Helmut’s voice pulled you from your morbidities as he finished the last bite of his omelet. “We’ll have to run out to the market for more groceries today, I’m afraid,” he hummed, “but perhaps that’s a blessing in disguise. It’s far too lovely a day to spend it cooped up inside,”

You quirked up an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yes. We, Schatz,”

Something about the way that he was trying so hard to write his past wrongs was incredibly endearing. It made you grin into your mug as you swallowed the dregs of your coffee. “I guess I could take some time out of my incredibly busy schedule to go shopping with you,”

“Could you really? I can hardly believe it,”

“I’ll have to actually get dressed first, but I could pen you into my schedule, just this once,”

“I hope that you won’t change out of that lovely sweater, though. I find it ravishing on you,”

“Oh, really? Thank you. It’s my husband’s,”

You said the word proudly, The sound of it made Helmut’s face flush as he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

Sam’s voice pulled you from the soft display.

“Man, you guys are so cute it’s kinda gross,”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but the set of his jaw made you think he agreed.

“My house, my rules Sam,” you jested, “and my rules are that I get to kiss my husband,”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just try not to get all mushy. Some of us are painfully single over here,”

“Like you?”

“No, not me, I get all the ladies. Bucky, on the other hand…”

“Hey!” Bucky interjected.

And you laughed. All of you laughed. You laughed and the world turned and somewhere across the globe, John Walker scoured Madripoor for an informant who could give him a lead on Sam and Bucky, but you didn’t know that, and even if you did, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care.

Not when Helmut’s hand was in your own, fingers laced together tight, as you brought your head to rest on his shoulder.

“Schatz?”

“Yes, Helmut?”

“I love you,”

“You know what darling? I love you too,”

You really did.

------

a/n: Wow. It feels so surreal to be done with this project. Thank you to every single person who has supported me through this process. It means more than you know. If you enjoyed the series, or want to scream into the void about it, I always love comments, so feel free to leave one! Thank you again!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace , @multiyfandomgirl40 ,  @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy​ , @wh0re-4-techno​ , @forcebros​ , @sugarsweetkiss​ , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff​ , @killsandthrills​ , @novasstudy​ , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp​ , @inmate-marmalade​ , @alanathedeer​ , @your-pixels-are-showing​ , @shit-post-things​ , @bbarton​ , @sux-ubus​ , @halefirewarrior​ , @janelongxox​ , @rax-writes​ , @wondermia69​ , @booklover2929​ , @lol-im-done​ , @rorodendra​ , @spookycereal-s​ , @viviace​ , @wxrmh0le​ , @whatawildone​ , @mush-room-princess​ , @aliyahsfantasticlife​ ,  @gredvb​ , @chipster-21​ , @whatawildone​ , @cloud-of-roses​ , @bry-97​ , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ , @be-cautious-around-bri​ , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car​ , @frothonthedaydreams​ , 

Please don’t repost my works, thanks!

[butterflies-dragons]

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." This is the very first line of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy and GRRM is very aware of these words; so far he has mentioned it in reference of Sansa Stark and Jon Snow:

Arya was one of the first characters created. Sansa came about as a total opposite b/c too many of the Stark family members were getting along and families aren’t like that. Thus, Sansa was created; he ended by saying they have deep issues to work out. [Source]

An interesting question was “Why are there so many sons who are unloved by their fathers, like Sam, Jon, Tyrion and Theon?” I watched George’s reaction carefully (I was sitting close to him) and he did not take issue with the assumption that Jon Snow is part of the “unloved sons” (obviously the dynamic talked about is Jon/Eddard, not Rhaegar). He nodded at the question and said that he does not have the full quote with him, but the great Russian writer Tolstoy once said that happy families are boring  - this was followed by a big round of applause cause every Russian knows this quote very well (the quote by Tolstoy is: All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. [Source]

And recently I found another similarity with Tolstoy's work and Sansa.

In spite of the obvious differences, Sansa Stark, the betrothed of the Crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon, showing her evident crush and concern about Ser Loras Tyrell's safety during the Hand's Tourney, reminds me of Anna Karenina making evident her illicit affair with Count Vronsky in front of everyone, her husband Alexey Alexandrovitch Karenin included, during the races:

She flew over the ditch as though not noticing it. She flew over it like a bird; but at the same instant Vronsky, to his horror, felt that he had failed to keep up with the mare’s pace, that he had, he did not know how, made a fearful, unpardonable mistake, in recovering his seat in the saddle. All at once his position had shifted and he knew that something awful had happened. He could not yet make out what had happened, when the white legs of a chestnut horse flashed by close to him, and Mahotin passed at a swift gallop. Vronsky was touching the ground with one foot, and his mare was sinking on that foot. He just had time to free his leg when she fell on one side, gasping painfully, and, making vain efforts to rise with her delicate, soaking neck, she fluttered on the ground at his feet like a shot bird. The clumsy movement made by Vronsky had broken her back. But that he only knew much later. At that moment he knew only that Mahotin had flown swiftly by, while he stood staggering alone on the muddy, motionless ground, and Frou-Frou lay gasping before him, bending her head back and gazing at him with her exquisite eyes. Still unable to realize what had happened, Vronsky tugged at his mare’s reins. Again she struggled all over like a fish, and her shoulders setting the saddle heaving, she rose on her front legs but unable to lift her back, she quivered all over and again fell on her side. With a face hideous with passion, his lower jaw trembling, and his cheeks white, Vronsky kicked her with his heel in the stomach and again fell to tugging at the rein. She did not stir, but thrusting her nose into the ground, she simply gazed at her master with her speaking eyes.

“A—a—a!” groaned Vronsky, clutching at his head. “Ah! what have I done!” he cried. “The race lost! And my fault! shameful, unpardonable! And the poor darling, ruined mare! Ah! what have I done!”

—Anna Karenina, Part Two, Chapter 25 - Leo Tolstoy

Everyone was loudly expressing disapprobation, everyone was repeating a phrase someone had uttered—“The lions and gladiators will be the next thing,” and everyone was feeling horrified; so that when Vronsky fell to the ground, and Anna moaned aloud, there was nothing very out of the way in it. But afterwards a change came over Anna’s face which really was beyond decorum. She utterly lost her head. She began fluttering like a caged bird, at one moment would have got up and moved away, at the next turned to Betsy.

“Let us go, let us go!” she said.

But Betsy did not hear her. She was bending down, talking to a general who had come up to her.

Alexey Alexandrovitch went up to Anna and courteously offered her his arm.

“Let us go, if you like,” he said in French, but Anna was listening to the general and did not notice her husband.

“He’s broken his leg too, so they say,” the general was saying. “This is beyond everything.”

Without answering her husband, Anna lifted her opera-glass and gazed towards the place where Vronsky had fallen; but it was so far off, and there was such a crowd of people about it, that she could make out nothing. She laid down the opera-glass, and would have moved away, but at that moment an officer galloped up and made some announcement to the Tsar. Anna craned forward, listening.

“Stiva! Stiva!” she cried to her brother.

But her brother did not hear her. Again she would have moved away.

“Once more I offer you my arm if you want to be going,” said Alexey Alexandrovitch, reaching towards her hand.

She drew back from him with aversion, and without looking in his face answered:

“No, no, let me be, I’ll stay.”

She saw now that from the place of Vronsky’s accident an officer was running across the course towards the pavilion. Betsy waved her handkerchief to him. The officer brought the news that the rider was not killed, but the horse had broken its back.

On hearing this Anna sat down hurriedly, and hid her face in her fan. Alexey Alexandrovitch saw that she was weeping, and could not control her tears, nor even the sobs that were shaking her bosom. Alexey Alexandrovitch stood so as to screen her, giving her time to recover herself.

“For the third time I offer you my arm,” he said to her after a little time, turning to her. Anna gazed at him and did not know what to say. Princess Betsy came to her rescue.

“No, Alexey Alexandrovitch; I brought Anna and I promised to take her home,” put in Betsy.

“Excuse me, princess,” he said, smiling courteously but looking her very firmly in the face, “but I see that Anna’s not very well, and I wish her to come home with me.”

Anna looked about her in a frightened way, got up submissively, and laid her hand on her husband’s arm.

“I’ll send to him and find out, and let you know,” Betsy whispered to her.

—Anna Karenina, Part Two, Chapter 29 - Leo Tolstoy

* * *

When the Knight of Flowers made his entrance, a murmur ran through the crowd, and he heard Sansa’s fervent whisper, “Oh, he’s so beautiful.” Ser Loras Tyrell was slender as a reed, dressed in a suit of fabulous silver armor polished to a blinding sheen and filigreed with twining black vines and tiny blue forget-me-nots. The commons realized in the same instant as Ned that the blue of the flowers came from sapphires; a gasp went up from a thousand throats. Across the boy’s shoulders his cloak hung heavy. It was woven of forget-me-nots, real ones, hundreds of fresh blooms sewn to a heavy woolen cape.

“His courser was as slim as her rider, a beautiful grey mare, built for speed. Ser Gregor’s huge stallion trumpeted as he caught her scent. The boy from Highgarden did something with his legs, and his horse pranced sideways, nimble as a dancer. Sansa clutched at his arm. “Father, don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him,” she said. Ned saw she was wearing the rose that Ser Loras had given her yesterday. Jory had told him about that as well.

“These are tourney lances,” he told his daughter. “They make them to splinter on impact, so no one is hurt.” Yet he remembered the dead boy in the cart with his cloak of crescent moons, and the words were raw in his throat.

(...) Gregor Clegane killed the horse with a single blow of such ferocity that it half severed the animal’s neck. Cheers turned to shrieks in a heartbeat. The stallion went to its knees, screaming as it died. By then Gregor was striding down the lists toward Ser Loras Tyrell, his bloody sword clutched in his fist. “Stop him!” Ned shouted, but his words were lost in the roar. Everyone else was yelling as well, and Sansa was crying.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

This similarity could be nothing of course, but I can't help myself finding Sansa in everything I read, like it happened with Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac.

Also Count Vronsky's mare Frou-Frou, somehow reminds me of Lady.

[realhankmccoy]

What a scandal that I've been to Europe so many times but haven't yet read Hawthorne's The Marble Faun. It's best to inform your idiot American self about what the American experience in Europe is going to be like. To be fair, I have read books that had The Marble Faun as their precursor... such as The Sun Also Rises, A Moveable Feast, Tender is the Night, and Daisy Miller (which is a must).

I sure love to read, but you try reading a stack of Harold Bloom books that's just shy of 2000 pages long, America, and see how you fare. I can do this... I have all winter. Hopefully I will emerge as an unbumpkin. Mister Bloom promises me that deep understanding of The Red and The Black renders The Leviathan redundant, and that Anna Karenina has unconscious, dark truths about love that make The World As Will and Representation irrelevant. I do agree, having read three of the four. The hardest part is detailing with his hetero privilege when it comes to love, I feel.

I mean, that's the thing, the homo experience in romance is just this really different thing that's more akin to fried and chopped processed food served near midnight. That's not my fault, since this hetero culture has all the heteros sucking face in the halls at 13 and plastering their sexual perversions across every billboard and in every movie.

Bloom humours all the tawdry, superficial comedy of love, but also is profoundly moved by the sick dark tragedy of destruction and pursuit of the rejector, etc., and he swears all you high-minded chicks would chase Lovelace. It's not that I disagree, but some part of me is perturbed, irked and flipping out -- probably just because I am brim-full of hetero drama and its destructive, trashy wake.

Is Henry James or William Faulkner the best American novelist? It's one of those two. Since we're all trashy, cantankerous, messed up, authoritarian and southern these days (no offence, southerners, but I've noticed even much of Wisconsin is, rather sadly, trying desperately to act like it is Texas North or Tennessee North)... it's kind of like Faulkner wins out just for more adequately reflecting us.

Runners up: Melville (Bartleby and Moby Dick are still very relevant) and Edith Wharton (the most beautiful stylist). I've seen Wharton referred to as 'Henry James in drag', which is somewhat accurate, but you can be Henry James in drag and still be the most beautiful.

[jennibeultimate]

I don’t know a whole lot about the technical side of figure skating, usually I choose favorite skaters just on whose performances I enjoy the most, but I’m curious since a lot of people seem to really dislike her: what do you think of Evgenia Medvedeva? since you seem to know a lot and be very invested in the figure skating world, I’m interested to know your opinion

Oh wow. I am very honored to have someone want my opinion 👀

First of all I am by no means an expert on the technical sides of figure skating - still learning - but I give it a try and your observation is correct that I am very invested in this sport and I know how (shitty) the fandom can be. And to warn you you're in for a long read. 😅

I will give my opinion on both, the aspects of her skating and the person Evgenia Medvedeva. And on why I think ppl may dislike her/hate on her.

1. About Evgenia Medvedeva - the skater

I hope you understand at least the basic terms of the technical aspects in figure skating as I will refer to them a lot in this part.

Jumps - Zhenya is a better edge than toe jumper. Her 3Loop and her 3Salchow are one of the best in the field and imo extremely pretty. Her 2Axel is usually her biggest problem, she muscles the jump. Her toe jumps have issues too. Zhenya has a wrong edge on the Lutz, called a "Flutz", she is working on it but it's still the wrong edge. She mostly didn't get an edge call on it though by the judges. The other aspect ppl often talk about is the "prerotation" in her toe jumps, especially the Flip. She does prerotate more than some other skaters. She is often criticized for it. But to make it short imo the rules about prerotation are a bit blurry (at what point is prerotation normal and when is it excessive prerotation?) and in fact judges doesn't seem to penalize prerotation at all. Some fans like to nitpick on this matter a lot. For some it's almost some sort of crime. Let's just say it's not easy to fix it and I think Zhenya improved on this matter with time. I think Zhenya definitely has some issues on her toe jumps and Axel, but I don't think just because someone has a flawed technique the person is a bad skater. So there are things you can rightfully criticize but also things to love in her jumps like not only are Salchow and Loop beautiful, but also her leg extension on landing is good and she usually has good flow in her jumps. The Tanos (one arm over the head while jumping) aren't my cup of tea but they have a positive influence the GOEs.

Her Salchow:

Her Loop:

Spins - I think she has beautiful spins, but they are not the fastest. And I think her spins were better in the early senior years. The back that is bothering her is making the Bielmann spin not doable for her anymore, which is a shame.

Programs and performance - I think Zhenya does portray characters exceptionally well. Yes some ppl don't like the excessive pantomime in her earlier programs and I also think less is more, but she always captures the audience with her charm and personality on ice and her programs always have a concept she can bring across (even sometimes with questionable theme). She has some very beautiful programs, I recommend her "Anna Karenina" 2017-2018 program and her "Memoirs of a Geisha" 2019-2020 program. What stands out of Zhenya and also has been a reason she has earned high PCS - especially in her first senior years - is that her programs are full of difficult transitions between the elements. I don't want to pick all of the PCS categories apart, just that I think she is selling her skating exceptionally well. (She doesn't have thousands of fans for no reason. 😉)

Scoring - I think this is actually the main point why some skating fans didn't like her in the first place. She emerged to a scene with extremely high scores for being a first year senior, scores that matched past heroes of skating like Yuna Kim and Mao Asada. Even though Zhenya never skated against Yuna and shared only few competitions with Mao, ppl always referred to the old scores of them. (which were former world records) Zhenya's consistency made her get world record after world record and flaws in jumps have often been overlooked like not calling the Flutz and her PCS seemed super high in comparison to other skaters of the same level. Even though the scoring is hardly her fault, she got the flack for it and tbh the way she was scored was also turning me off for a while but Zhenya captured me with her performance. Her high scores also have some justification. Zhenya had the most difficulty in her programs in 2015-2017. She was the skater to start the trend to backload the jumps to the 2nd half to get the bonus points (rules have been changed after 2018 because of this). Her PCS being high can also be justified to some extent, like she does have a lot of transitions and her skating is clear (turns and steps are recognizable and mostly of high quality) etc. I still do think especially after her coaching change to Brian Orser that her scores have been worth a discussion and I think that in comparison her scores were too high, but I don't think there is any doubt that she deserved the world titles she got. (Just look at those comps and tell me who was better?) Also her consistency between 2015 and 2017 is unmatched and is admirable. I think Zhenya has been overscored in her career a lot, but not to the extent that made her "unrightfully" claiming the titles and again that's hardly her fault.

I actually like Zhenya's skating a lot. I wasn’t a fan the first time I saw her but she grew on me a lot, especially in the last two years. She can create magic. 😊

If you want to know more about Zhenya and the technical aspects of her skating you can go through the Evgenia Medvedeva tag on @the-real-xmonster (the blog is not active anymore but has tons of technical explanations)

About the person Evgenia Medvedeva

I personally admire Zhenya for her guts to keep competing in a country where a lot of ppl think she is "too old" for the sport. I also admired her for the coaching change to Brian to go a different way (I hate how she had to return to Eteri because of the pandemic). I like that she is speaking up towards online bullying she and others received. She keeps on sharing on Instagram though she has been harassed there a lot. I think in her interviews she is thoughtful (she is speaking her mind, which I like), but she can also be goofy and funny and her love for anime and being an "Otaku" is making her relatable.

Her Sailor Moon exhibition is such a fun program I can recommend to everyone.

(GIF by @the-real-xmonster)

About the "hate" towards Zhenya:

Some of the criticism Zhenya is receiving is understandable in my opinion. For example lately traveling during a pandemic to another country is something worth talking about or her mother letting a fan into TCC or some of the statements towards media can be criticised. But some "critic" is not criticism but hate for example when she changed to Brian Orser, calling her a traitor, badmouthing her for being ungrateful or being an attention seeker or making assumptions about her relationships with other skaters to the extent she deleted all the pictures with Yuzuru Hanyu from her Instagram etc. (especially when Eteribots or some Fanyus are involved things can turn ugly in the fandom) I also don't think ppl should put all some media is reporting as truth and stalking her Instagram backgrounds to see if she violated her quarantine is crossing personal boundaries. I think these are things that are not ok at all. (and to hate someone for their scores is really stupid imo)

However I think part of the problem why ppl dislike/hate her is her popularity (She has 700k followers on Instagram) . If she would be a no name skater her actions or scores wouldn't be discussed across the fandom. But actually most of the time you can follow the hate back to a few accounts...

Just to be clear it's totally fine to not get into Zhenya's skating, to point out flaws in scoring and in her technique, to not like some of her actions or criticize them, but I don't think it's fair to hate on her or make fun of her injuries or bad performances, she is human and deserves respect. The tone is important. Be kind and respectful! We don't know any of those skaters personally, so what does it cost to be a bit kind? Figure skating is a small fandom and believe me skaters see what ppl write. And it can hurt an actual human being. So please be considerate.

I am not sure if this is the kind of answer you were looking for anon, but here are some of my opinions on Zhenya 😊 You're welcome to ask more if something is unclear or you want to know something about another skater.

Anyone who read 'til the end should have a cookie! Have a good day! Thanks for reading!

Let's end this long read with a happy Zhenya!

[gilmoregirlsrevival2016]

Season 1 Gilmore Girls References (Breakdown)

Yay! All the season 1 references have been posted. Before I start posting season 2, I wanted to post this little breakdown for your enjoyment :) It starts with some statistics and then below the cut is a list of all the specific references.

Overall amount of references in season 1: 605

Top 10 Most Common References: NSYNC (5), Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory (5), Taylor Hanson (6), Leo Tolstoy (7), Lucky Spencer (7), Marcel Proust (7), PJ Harvey (7), The Bangles (8), The Donna Reed Show (8), William Shakespeare (10)

Which episodes had the most references: #1 is That Damn Donna Reed with 55 references. #2 is Christopher Returns with 44 references 

What characters made the most references (Only including characters/actors who were in the opening credits): Lorelai had the most with 237 references, Rory had second most with 118, and Lane had third most with 48.

First reference of the season: Jack Kerouac referenced by Lorelai 

Final reference of the season: Adolf Eichmann referenced by Michel 

  Movies/TV Shows/Episodes/Characters, Commercials, Cartoons/Cartoon Characters, Plays, Documentaries:

9 1/2 Weeks, Alex Stone, Alfalfa, An Affair To Remember, A Streetcar Named Desire, Attack Of The Fifty Foot Woman, Avon Commercials, Bambi, Beethoven, Boogie Nights, Cabaret, Casablanca, Charlie's Angels, Charlie Brown cartoons, Christine, Cinderella, Citizen Kane, Daisy Duke, Damien Thorn, Dawson Leery, Donna Stone, Double Indemnity, Double Mint Commercials, Ethel Mertz, Everest, Felix Unger, Fiddler On The Roof, Footloose, Freaky Friday, Fred Mertz, Gaslight, General Hospital, G.I. Jane, Gone With The Wind, Grease, Hamlet, Heathers, Hee Haw, House On Haunted Hill, Ice Castles, I Love Lucy, Iron Chef, Ishtar, Jeff Stone, Joanie Loves Chachi, John Shaft, Lady And The Tramp, Life With Judy Garland: Me And My Shadows, Love Story, Lucky Spencer, Lucy Raises Chickens, Lucy Ricardo, Lucy Van Pelt, Macbeth,  Magnolia, Mary Stone, Mask, Midnight Express, Misery, Norman Bates, Officer Krupke, Oompa Loompas, Old Yeller, Oscar Madison, Out Of Africa, Patton, Pepe Le Pew, Peyton Place, Pink Ladies, Pinky Tuscadero, Ponyboy, Psycho, Queen Of Outer Space, Rapunzel, Richard III, Ricky Ricardo, Rocky Dennis, Romeo And Juliet, Rosemary's Baby, Sandy Olsson, Saved By The Bell, Saving Private Ryan, Schindler's List, Schroeder, Sesame Street, Seven Brides For Seven Brothers, Sex And The City, Sixteen Candles, Sleeping Beauty, Star Trek, Stanley Kowalski, Stella Kowalski, Stretch Cunningham, The Champ, The Comedy Of Errors, The Crucible, The Donna Reed Show, The Duke's Of Hazzard, The Fly, The Great Santini, The Little Match Girl, The Matrix, The Miracle Worker, The Oprah Winfrey Show, The Outsiders, The Shining, The Sixth Sense, The View, The Waltons, The Way We Were, The Scarecrow, This Old House, V.I.P., Valley Of The Dolls, Vulcans, Wild Kingdom, Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, Wheel Of Fortune, Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf, Working Girl, Yogi Bear, You're A Good Man Charlie Brown

Bands, Songs, CDs:

98 Degrees, Air Supply, Apple Venus Volume 2, Backstreet Boys, Bee Gees, Black Sabbath, Blue Man Group, Blur, Bon Jovi, Boston, Bush, Duran Duran, Everlong, Foo Fighters, Fugazi, Grandaddy, Hanson, I'm Too Sexy, Joy Division, Jumpin' Jack Flash, Kraftwerk, Like A Virgin, Livin La Vida Loca, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, Man I Feel Like A Woman, Metallica, Money Money, My Ding-A-Ling, NSYNC, On The Good Ship Lollipop, Pink Moon, Queen, Rancid, Sergeant Pepper, Shake Your Bon Bon, Siouxsie And The Banshees, Sister Sledge, Smoke On The Water, Steely Dan, Suppertime, Tambourine Man, The B-52s, The Bangles, The Beatles, The Best Of Blondie, The Cranberries, The Cure, The Offspring, The Sugarplastic, The Wallflowers, The Velvet Underground, Walk Like An Egyptian, XTC, Ya Got Trouble, Young Marble Giants

Books/Book Characters, Comic Books/Comic Book Characters, Comic Strips: 

A Mencken Chrestomathy, A Tale Of Two Cities, Anna Karenina, Belle Watling, Boo Radley, Carrie, David Copperfield, Dick Tracy, Dopey (One of the seven dwarfs) Goofus And Gallant, Great Expectations, Grinch, Hannibal Lecter, Hansel And Gretel, Harry Potter (book as well as character referenced), Huckleberry Finn, Little Dorrit, Madame Bovary, Moby Dick, Mommie Dearest, Moose Mason, Nancy Drew, Out Of Africa, Pinocchio, Swann's Way, The Amityville Horror, The Art Of Fiction, The Bell Jar, The Grapes Of Wrath, The Hunchback Of Notre Dame, The Lost Weekend, The Metamorphosis, The Portable Dorothy Parker, The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath, The Witch Tree Symbol, There's A Certain Slant Of Light, Tuesdays With Morrie, War And Peace, Wonder Woman

Public Figures:

Adolf Eichmann, Alfred Hitchcock, Angelina Jolie, Anna Nicole Smith, Annie Oakley, Antonio Banderas, Arthur Miller, Artie Shaw, Barbara Hutton, Barbara Stanwyck, Barbra Streisand, Beck, Ben Jonson, Benito Mussolini, Billy Bob Thornton, Billy Crudup, Bob Barker, Brad Pitt, Britney Spears, Catherine The Great, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Charles I, Charles Dickens, Charles Manson, Charlie Parker, Charlotte Bronte, Charlton Heston, Charo, Cher, Cheryl Ladd, Chris Penn, Christiane Amanpour, Christopher Marlowe, Chuck Berry, Claudine Longet, Cleopatra, Cokie Roberts, Courtney Love, Dalai Lama, Damon Albarn, Dante Alighieri, David Mamet, Donna Reed, Edith Wharton, Edna O'Brien, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Elizabeth Webber, Elle Macpherson, Elsa Klensch, Elvis, Emeril Lagasse, Emily Dickinson, Emily Post, Eminem, Emma Goldman, Errol Flynn, Fabio, Farrah Fawcett, Fawn Hall, Flo Jo, Francis Bacon, Frank Sinatra, Franz Kafka, Fred MacMurray, Friedrich Nietzsche, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Gene Hackman, Gene Wilder, George Clooney, George Sand, George W. Bush, Harry Houdini, Harvey Fierstein, Henny Youngman, Henry David Thoreau, Henry James, Henry VIII, Herman Melville, Homer, Honore De Balzac, Howard Cosell, Hugh Grant, Hunter Thompson, Jack Kerouac, Jaclyn Smith, James Dean, Jane Austen, Jean-Paul Sartre, Jennifer Lopez, Jessica Tandy, Jim Carey, Jim Morrison, Jimmy Hoffa, Joan Of Arc, Joan Rivers, Jocelyn Wildenstein, Joel Grey, John Cage, John Gardner, John Muir, John Paul II, John Webster, Johnny Cash, Johnny Depp, Joseph Merrick AKA Elephant Man, Judy Blume, Judy Garland, Julian Lennon, Justin Timberlake, Karen Blixen AKA Isak Dinesen, Kate Jackson, Kathy Bates, Kevin Bacon, Kreskin, Lee Harvey Oswald, Leo Tolstoy, Leopold and Loeb, Lewis Carroll, Linda McCartney, Liz Phair, Liza Minnelli, Lou Reed, M Night Shyamalan, Macy Gray, Madonna, Marcel Marceau, Marcel Proust, Margot Kidder, Marie Antoinette, Marie Curie, Marilyn Monroe, Mark Twain, Mark Wahlberg, Marlin Perkins, Martha Stewart, Martha Washington, Martin Luther, Mary Kay Letourneau, Maurice Chevalier, Melissa Rivers, Meryl Streep, Michael Crichton, Michael Douglas, Michelle Pfeiffer, Miguel De Cervantes, Miss Manners, Mozart, Nancy Kerrigan, Nancy Walker, Nick Cave, Nick Drake, Nico, Oliver North, Oprah Winfrey, Oscar Levant, Pat Benatar, Paul McCartney, Peter III Of Russia, Peter Frampton, Philip Glass, PJ Harvey, Prince, Queen Elizabeth I, Regis, Richard Simmons, Rick James, Ricky Martin, Robert Duvall, Robert Redford, Robert Smith, Robin Leach, Rosie O'Donnell, Ru Paul, Ruth Gordon, Samuel Barber, Sarah Duchess Of York, Sean Lennon, Sean Penn, Shania Twain, Shelley Hack, Sigmund Freud, Squeaky Fromme, Stephen King, Steven Tyler, Susan Faludi, Susanna Hoffs, Tanya Roberts, Taylor Hanson, Theodore Kaczynski AKA The Unabomber, The Kennedy Family, Groucho, Harpo, Chico, Zeppo, and Gummo Marx AKA The Marx Brothers, Venus and Serena Williams (The reference was "The Williams Sisters"),Thelonious Monk, Tiger Woods, Tito Puente, Tom Waits, Tony Randall, Tonya Harding, Vaclav Havel, Vanna White, Vivien Leigh, Walt Whitman, William Shakespeare, William Shatner, Yoko Ono, Zsa Zsa Gabor

Misc:

Camelot, Chernobyl Disaster, Cone Of Silence, Hindenburg Disaster, Iran-Contra Affair, Paul Bunyan, The Menendez Murders, Tribbles, Vulcan Death Grip, Whoville, Winchester Mystery House

[oh-my-tatoes]

Dear Ania,

The anonymous letter chain has found you 💫. I am guiltily taking the risk of assuming, maybe you would like one dedicated to you as well. I am writing to you, hoping these words do no harm but quietly hold you warm.

How have you been Ania? How's everything around? Have you eaten well today? Are you warm? Have you slept well lately? Have you indulged in things you love?

I hope you have and in case these seemed to have been the toughest tasks for you lately, I hope you find your way back to yourself slowly and in peace.

Well we will be finding some random pages from some random books for you....will they be something you want to hear right now? Well we can't be sure, but we surely hope. I open it to a random page and quote whatever relevant I find inside. (Well relevance is subjective but here I just cut off the plot details, not the words that might matter and interpret layers).....Drumrolls and Drumrolls 🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁 (sounds stupid, well, let's act it's not😶)

His father's whistle, his mother's mutterings, the screech of an unseen maniac were to him now so many voices offending and threatening to humble the pride of his youth. He drove their echoes even out of his heart with an execration: but, as he walked down the avenue and felt the Grey morning light falling about him through the dripping trees and smelt the strange wild smell of the wet leaves and bark, his sould was loosed of her miseries.

The rainladen trees of the avenue evoked in him, as always, memories of the girls and the women in the plays of Gerhart Hauptmann; and the memory of their pale sorrows and the fragrance falling from the wet branches mingled in a mood of quiet joy. His morning walk across the city had begun, and he foreknew that as he passed the siblings of Fairview he would think of the cloistral silverveined prose of Newman, that as he walked along the North Strand road, glancing idly at the windows of the provision shops, he would recall the dark humour of Guido Cavalcanti and smile, that as he went by Baird's stonecutting works in Talbot Place the spirit of Ibsen would blow through him like a keen wind, a spirit of wayward boyish beauty, and that passing a grimy mrinedealer's shop beyond the Liffey he would repeat the song by Ben Jonson which begins:

I was not wearier where I lay.

- A portrait of the Artist as a Young Man - James Joyce

There are people with rooms full of gold.

You can see how rich they are,

but how is it when mystical wealth

shows in the face ?

A lover moans for the Friend,

and a rosebuds leaps from the ground

to see whats happening.

Take off your clothes and jump in the pool.

escape the forehead- pressure of mind.

We used to thin this splashing around

was foolish. Then came a wink,

and we were done for.

How long do you stay jealous and angry?

Let two or three sad songs

rise from your chest.

or just keep doing as you are now.

Maybe in your loud confusion

the world will disappear the curtain lift.

Passion breaks loose,

now silence

The love-king says, It takes courage

to keep the deep self quiet.

- A wink - The Essential Rumi

but as soon as he read or himself devised answers to the questions, one and the same thing always repeated itself. Following the given definitions of vague words such as spirit, will, freedom, substance, deliberately falling into the verbal trap set for him by the philosophers or by himself, he seemed to begin to understand something. But he had only to forget the artificial train of thought and refer back from life itself to what had satisfied him while he thought along a given line - and suddenly the whole artificial edifice would collapse like a hous effect cards, and it would be clear that the edifice had been made of the same words rearranged, independent of something more important in life than reason.

- Anna Karenina -Leo Tolstoy

Sending you love, strength, warmth and peace.

Yours sincerely,

Anonymous 🦋💫

i-

i dont know what to say

im literally crying rn

this is one of the sweetest things ever i cannot put into words how thankful i am for this nonnie

i love you so so much my day was going shit but this really lifted my spirits thank you so so so much im sending you so much love right now 💞 ✨ 💖 this is one of the most beautiful things i have ever received in my ask box <3

[dachi-chan25]

Haven't done this in a while but I had the time so why not?

1.- Pizza Girl by Kyoung Jean Frazier

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I really did like it, reminded me a lot of "Convinience store woman". Like clearly our protagonist needed thrapy ASAP to help her deal with her dad's death, her pregnancy, her attraction to women and hell just for existing as an Asian woman in the USA, but I liked how messy and obsesive she was and how the author allowed her to be fucked up and take bad decisions, I love to see female characters simply exist, it's also a pretty short read so I definitely recommend it.

2.-The Authentics by Abdi Nazemian

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Daría is a persian teen who is really involved in her cultural background and feels that the most important thing one can be is authentic, so that's the name she and her friends take for their clique. But everything comes crashing down on her when she discovers she is adopted, and soon follows an identity crisis. I loved it so much, it felt pretty realistic, like Daría could be self absorbed and unlikeable at times, but who wasn't as a teen? And we get such beautiful heartwarming moments between Daría and her family and friends. Totally recommend it.

3.- The Mall by Megan McCafferty

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Cassie has her life completely mapped out but nothing goes quite as planned, first she gets mononucleosis and after she gets better gets dumped and fired almost simultaneously. Determined not to let it get the best of her, Cassie gets a brand new job, reconnects with an old friend and even finds a hidden treasure. This one is so much fun, all the 90s references and the growth Cassie goes through is amazing, honeslty i would love to see this as a Netflix movie.

4.- Luster by Raven Leilani

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This book was hard, Edie is a very raw character, at first she seems flippant even when describing disturbing facts about her past or details about her relationship with a much older man she seems to be talking about something that happened to someone else all this to cope dealing with her solitude, her trauma, her self hate. And gosh it was so intresting to see her interact with Rebecca and Akila, especially Akila as Edie finds kinship in this young girl not only cuz they are both black but because they are both lost and afraid.

5.- Lakewood by Megan Giddings

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Lena decides to participate on a financially compensated medical experiment so her mom can get proper medical care and to lessen their debts after her Grandmother's death.

So I had many mixed feelings about this, on one hand I liked that we are adressing how sistematical racism has permited experiments on black people with no consequences at all and how it has been happening for decades, but there were certain parts of the book that I couldn't enjoy as much because they were very trippy like I get we are on Lena's mind as things are becoming muddled up because of the medications and all those mind games and the words they have her memorize and repeat but all of it took me a bit away from the story. Still I do recommend it just be aware there is quite a bit of body horror in this so if you are sqeamish better skip it.

6.-The Voting Booth - Brandy Colbert

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Marva and Duke meet on election day as she helps him find the precint he is registered on.

This is very enjoyable, the story is very straightforward, and it insists on our right and responsability to vote even if we feel our vote alone can't possibly change all the injustice we see in the world. And also the romance was cute and developed slowly as Marva and Duke are just knowing each other. Really cute and quick read.

7.- Such a fun age - Kiley Reid

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Emira works as a babysitter for the Chamberleins' . She loves her little charge Briar, although she feels preassured to seek a 'real job' by her friends and by her own economic troubles. Emira soon finds herself in the middle of a tug of war between her boss Alix who tries to befriend her, and Kelley the guy she is dating.

So much drama. This is a great example of what performative activism looks like, first Alix is completely nuts, from her obsession to be seen as this wonderful understanding girl boss activist and the down right creepy sense of entitlement to Emira's friendship and intimacy. Like it doesn't surprise me she chose to victimize herself instead of recognizing it had all been a misunderstanding. And even then she still wants to seem atractive to the man she feels victimized by. Girl no.

Kelley is the ultimate fake woke ally. Dude Robbie was wrong period, he had no business inviting people over to someone else's house no matter the color of his skin. You don't get to talk over Emira on matters of what a person of color should do or feel on certain situations. That said it was so funny when he and Alix called each other out for their fetishization of people of color and yet none of them actually gave a damn about what Emira thought/felt/percieved. They just wanted her stamp of approval so they could pat themselves in the back for being such good allies.

8.- The Life and (Medieval) times of Kit Sweetly by Jamie Pacton

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Kit is working as a serving wench at the Castle, medieval themed restaurant run by her uncle, though she really wants to be a Knight, not only cuz the better pay would help around the house but because she really admires Joan of Arc, problem is the Castle management doesn't allow for anyone who is not a cis male to be a knight. Kit is set on changing that.

Ok so I feel a bit lukewarm toward this. Kit in my opinion doesn't get much growth, it seems she just can do whatever and her friends have to be ok w it, her romance w her friend feels pulled out of nowhere like Jett at one point tells her he is not intrested in dating her and then he is ???, those GoT references killed me, I get it I watched the show and sometimes even enjoyed it but it's not representative of anything medieval and Kit was always talking about how much she liked the actual history of the medieval times so...

Also as much as this book was about feminism and how we should fight for equal job oportunities, it feels as though Kit only cared about medieval woman who fought physically and not on the badass medieval woman, like idk it feels as a rejection of tradicional feminity like even the girl playing the Princess is a jerk. But I did like some parts, like her decision to confront her asshole dad to help her mom and the girls training together.

9.-Cien años de soledad de Gabriel Garcia Marquez

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En Macondo, una población Colombiana a un lado del río, vemos como una de sus familias fundadoras crece, se expande y cambia a través de cien años.

Me encanto, hace mucho tiempo que no leía una novela de realismo mágico que me provocará tantos sentimientos. Creo que todos los personajes reflejan aspectos de la humanidad tan diversos y complejos que sería inútil tratar de enlistarlos todos.

Ultimadamente siento que lo que condenó a la familia Buendia a cumplir las profecías de Melquiades fue sus propia naturaleza que ellos nunca tuvieron intención de pelear, siempre sucumbian a las locuras o pasiones que los inundarán sin mesura alguna o consideración por las consecuencias. Y creo que aún así lo prefiero pues es lo que hace a cada personaje por confuso que a veces llegue a ser la repetición de nombres (que para mi es el simbolismo de una naturaleza y destino continuos) único e intrigante. En verdad espero que se den la oportunidad de leer este libro por lo menos una vez en sus vidas.

10.-The Monsters of music by Rebecca F. Kenney

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This is a gender-swaped modern retelling of the Phantom of the Opera.

It was creative to make Mel, our Phantom, a true magical creature, and the singing contest was also cool. Like don't get me wrong I did have fun reading this but it also felt pretty unpolished like most characters were teens on the contest and that kinda made me roll my eyes a bit, like unless it's the Voice Kids age ranges are quite ample on this kind of shows, also kinda clumsy the addition of the magical elements with the modern setting, Kiyo didn't make much of an impression with me even when Christine is my fave on the original book. Still if you are a Phan like me you might wanna check this one out.

11.- Anna K by Jenny Lee

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This is a modern americanized ya retelling of Anna Karenina.

Not gonna lie this made me cry so much at the end. I really liked Anna and Vronski together so much, and I don't like the love at first sight trope, but here it felt so inevitable. Anna was so self contained until she met him and could truly explore being herself and they really loved each other so much. Also I liked the treatment of the side characters Kimmie and Dustin were well developed and I really enjoyed this one can't wait to get to the second book.

12.- Wonderland by Zoje Stage

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It was ok, but I was actually a bit disappointed cuz I had such high expectations for it. Like for about half the book I was really into the atmospheric vibe the book pulls you into, but as we get the reveal it started to go down hill for me, and the ending left me feeling meh. But maybe it was just not my cup of tea.

13.-Home Before Dark by Riley Sager

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This book is so well crafted!!! I love how it goes back and forth between past and present , first it feels as if history is repeating itself, then as both narratives unfold we start to question and discovering things and the twist at the end was chillin and masterful, I truly and wholeheartedly recommend it.

14.- The Girl with the louding voice by Abi Daré

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Adunni, a teenage girl, flees from her husband to work as a maid in Lagos, though everything she has ever wanted is to study.

This broke my heart, as it reflects how people coming from rural backgrounds get taken advantage of in the City, like similar things happen here in Mexico, but also it made me glad to see Adunni fight and keep her spirit so no one could ever silence her.

15.- The Year of the Witching by Alexis Henderson

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Immanuel does her very best to fit in Bethel, follow the scriptures and the Prophets words, but nothing seems to be enough to erase her mother's sin especially when the Darkwood seems to pull her in. As a plague starts to ravage Bethel, Immanuel has to face her past to save her people.

So frickin' good !!!! This story is great, mainly about the explotation of woman and young girls by people in power (in this case a church), the atmosphere is always tense, Ezra and Immanuel 's relationship is very well developed and one can really see how loyal they are to each other. A great option for horror fans.