#tagging was hard when i used this site forever ago

[venx-art]

BLOOMETH THE ROSE

[rehfan]

La Belle Dame avec Merci -- Chapter 4: The Cosmos Intervenes

Eddie Munson x Unpopular!AFAB!fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ readers only please - minor children DNI! – No Upsidedown; reader is technically a virgin; mutual pining; Eddie has trust issues; emotional hurt/comfort; female masturbation; male masturbation; emotional manipulation; reader is kinda shitty to Eddie; reader gets better; angst; more angst; Eddie’s mom is dead; small act of accidental physical violence; Uncle Wayne is the best; 

Tagged: @bluestuesday / @ali-r3n / @winchester-angel / @iletmytittiestitty-russ / @mewchiili / @chaoticgood-munson /

DO NOT POST TO ANY OTHER SITE. My words are mine and mine alone.

Inspired by @/hard-candy-writing ‘s ORIGINAL POST

MASTERPOST LINK – AO3 LINK

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Sadie Hawkins dance was tomorrow. All your friends had either asked other boys or were going as a group. And of course you were included in the group. Hell, you were expected in the group. Sighing, you stared at your reflection in your bedroom mirror. You hated how you left things with Eddie.

A day and a half had come and gone and he hadn’t really spoken to you. But then, you didn’t know what to say to him. When he left biology, he left school. And he hadn’t come back. After your French class, you overheard Jeff telling Gareth that he took today off too. Gareth wasn’t happy with the news. “Fuck! He said we’d go to Cosmo’s tonight for the listening party. It was supposed to be this big deal.”

Jeff shrugged, “He might still come. It’s not school and the Ice Queen won’t be there.”

Well that was a punch in the gut. Eddie clearly wanted to avoid you. You weren’t sure who Cosmo was, but you felt guilty that that last kiss caused Eddie to freak out and, as a consequence, may have ruined the boys’ plans. Maybe this Cosmo could be a good go-between to bring Eddie and you back together? Not to continue your ruse, but just to make sure he didn’t hate you forever. You couldn’t live with that.

You sidled up to the boys in the hall. “Uh. Hey,” you started and they turned to look at you, the interloper. “Who’s Cosmo?”

“What? One more thing you’ve got to know to weasel your way into Ed’s life?” asked Gareth, clearly defensive. “You’ve fucked him up enough, don’t you think?”

“I told him women are trouble,” said Jeff.

“Shit, he’s the one who told us that women were trouble,” said Gareth with a huff and a smirk. To you, he said, “Why don’t you leave him alone? Huh? He never asked for you to be hanging around. Besides, we all know you don’t really mean this shit. You’re just playing along to make all the jock dudes crazy and to make the girls not think you’re a virgin.”

You swallowed hard and tried not to blush. Eddie had obviously told Hellfire all about your plan. “So,” you said, “what you’re telling me is that it’s actually working?” You gave them a cheesy smile, hoping your charm would win you at least a snicker of laughter, but they gazed at you, dull-eyed and stone faced. “Or not.” You backed off. “Listen, he hasn’t spoken to me in almost two days. And I haven’t spoken to him.”

“Yeah,” said Jeff, “he took off because you kissed him in class. I saw you two. Everyone did. Thought your play acting was only reserved for the hallways.”

“Hey. Wait. He kissed me, if you must know. Up until then-“

“Yeah, up until you decided to push things. Next thing you know, you’ll have tricked him into taking you to fuckin’ Sadie Hawkins,” said Gareth, “You are really the fucking limit, you know. Using a guy just so the school won’t think you’re this virgin queen. I mean, are you really that fucking selfish that you’ve got to go around using people to make those party kids and jocks think you’re normal like them? Fucking pathetic loser.” He punctuated his rant with a slamming of his locker.

You went home that day feeling like the pathetic, needy loser Gareth said you were and having gotten no closer to making things up to Eddie than you did two days ago. Maria sat next to you as always. She lived three streets away from you just outside of the Loch Nora neighborhood and you had a car. It was a no-brainer that you two would carpool to school and back every day. 

“Trouble in paradise?” asked Maria, knowing full well that you and Eddie had been on the outs for at least a day. If Maria had a middle name, it was “Gossip”. Nothing passed her notice for long. You rolled your eyes at her comment, but decided that she could have her uses after all.

“Who’s Cosmo?” you asked.

“Huh? Cosmo? No one at school is called Cosmo. Oh! Are you talking about the old hippie dude who owns the new record store on the other side of town? I think his name’s Cosmo. Truthfully, your boyfriend might know him better. But yeah, Mirage Records and Music is the name of the place. At Washington and Fair Streets? Where the Kenyon Department Store used to be? Big place. Myra Turnbull said she went there and it was like Sam Goody’s only humongous and a little grubby. I guess they kept the old wooden floors.”

You could have laughed out loud. It was the same place that you got the guitar strings for Eddie. And she was right: the place was massive. Two stories tall, old-fashioned listening booths along one wall. All kinds of music on all kinds of mediums: vinyl, cassette, CDs, and even a few ‘gently used’ 8-tracks. The second story sold musical instruments, sheet music, and musical supplies. Frankly, grubbiness aside, Cosmo’s place was a little too good for the likes of rural Hawkins, Indiana. And you met the man. He’s the one who sold you the damn strings!

Maria went on and on about Myra and you let her. You had tuned her completely out. You knew that after you dropped her off, you were headed straight to Cosmo’s to see if you could fix things between you and Eddie.

~080~

Eddie hadn’t wanted to go to school for the last day and a half and so he didn’t. Wayne was used to him playing hooky and as long as it wasn’t for more than three school days in a row, he was cool with it. So Eddie spent the days working on characters, digging up old figurines and cleaning them off, discovering loose die in his dresser drawers and gathering them all up in a glass mason jar he found in the kitchen, and other distracting things he could do that kept him busy, but didn’t represent actual work. He spent the days doing all of that but it was no use. 

What he didn’t want to do was think about your eyes. Or that kiss. Or the feeling of you under his hands. That same feeling that now made his palm itchy to touch you again. He didn’t want to think about the sex. All the late night conversations. All the dreams he had for musical success that you would support while you both made a living doing ordinary shit. He didn’t want to think about your smile when he told you about the record contract. Your wedding. Your dress. Your happy tears. He didn’t want to dwell on the thought of the swell of your tummy as you prepared for your first child together.

“Forget her, goddamn it,” he muttered as he yanked open another dresser drawer and rifled the things around listening for the telltale sound of a plastic die rattling underneath his clothes. Nothing there. Missing, just like you.

He slammed it shut with a grunt and sat heavily on his bed. He almost crushed some school papers with his ass. Irritated, he pulled them from beneath him, tearing the edge of one of the pages. It was the one with Keats’ poem on it that Hutch had given him. He read it again.

La Belle Dame sans Merci

by John Keats

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has withered from the lake,

And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel’s granary is full,

And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever-dew,

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful—a faery’s child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

She looked at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan

I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long,

For sidelong would she bend, and sing

A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild, and manna-dew,

And sure in language strange she said—

‘I love thee true’.

She took me to her Elfin grot,

And there she wept and sighed full sore,

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep,

And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—

The latest dream I ever dreamt

On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;

They cried — ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci

Hath thee in thrall!’

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,

With horrid warning gapéd wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,

Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is withered from the lake,

And no birds sing.

He had had Hutch tell him what ‘la belle dame sans merci’ meant in English and he had to admit, Hutch had been right. You truly were a beautiful woman without thanks or mercy. That knight was just as hooked as his fictional one had been. As hooked as he was.

“Stupid ass,” he said, stalking to his dresser where Sweetheart hung waiting for his fingers. He tossed the paper on the dresser and looked in the mirror. “Why couldn’t you see what she was?” He had been talking about the knight in the poem, but clearly he was staring at himself as well. And as if to answer, his reflection looked at him helplessly.

Then he got angry. All the hurt he had suffered from all the girls who had ever kissed him and laughed later about it with their friends, all the shoulder shoves he had gotten for being the weird kid, all the fun made over the drawings that accidentally fell from his folder when he was shoved into the lockers, all the pointing and giggles, all the unkindness thrown his way, all the snotty rich kids who saw him as a necessary evil to get weed for their ski party weekend at their parent’s mountain home during winter break or the beach trip they had planned for summer, smiling disgustedly at him when they opened all their folding money and only peeled off a few bills to throw at him when he handed over the baggie. The hateful names, the dirty looks, the punches, the insults, the humiliations…each and every one of those moments billowed up from his past and washed through him causing hot tears to sting his eyes as he thought about how you had fucked him over like all the rest until it resulted in that final exposing humiliation. You used him and then suckered him into a real kiss with real feelings involved in it. You were evil. Pure fucking evil.

He had been an idiot. He should have trusted his instincts about you. And now all he could think about was you. All he wanted was more of you. He saw his reflection and saw his mouth form a hard line. Just like his dad’s had always done. Suddenly, his father was there towering over him as he cowered before him, his mother standing his way, blocking his father from taking out his anger on her little boy. He heard him hit her, heard her fall; he had shut his eyes against it moments before. He heard him shout. He heard her cry then beg. Then he’d hit her again calling her pathetic.

He blinked away the tears, rubbing at his eyes with a rough hand. That was it; he had to stay away from you. The anger he felt was too much. And he refused to become his father. No way was he going to be around you anymore. Not if you made him like that. The last thing he wanted was to become a monster. Not ever. Not ever.

The phone in the kitchen was ringing. There’s only two callers that could be: Wayne or Hellfire. He would be happy with either at the moment. He cleared his throat and tamped down his frustrated tears. Breathing deeply, he picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“You still coming to Cosmo’s or are you still dealing with your fucking menstrual cramps?”

Gareth.

“Fuck you. I don’t duck an appointment with the Cosmos,” he said, using his nickname for Cosmo the hippie. “I said I’d be there and I’m going to be there. Is your mommy able to take you, or do I need to pick up your sorry ass?”

“I got a ride. The rest of the fellas too,” said Gareth. By the slightly subdued tone of his voice Eddie could tell that Gareth’s mom was indeed going to drop her precious little boy off.

“Cool,” said Eddie, “One less thing for me to worry about. See you there at seven.”

“See ya,” said Gareth, “And oh yeah. One more thing: your girlfriend’s been sniffing around. Asking about you.”

His heart skipped. Fuck. He cleared his throat in an effort to gain control. “Has she?” he asked finally. It almost sounded convincingly nonchalant.

“Don’t wet your panties. Jeff and I told her off. She’s not going to bother you again.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raised. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” said Gareth. In the background he heard Jeff say something.

“What was that?”

“Jeff says she turned tail. She knows we know what’s been going on between you two and how fake it all is. She’s fucking pathetic. And thanks to us, she’s off your back. You can thank us when we see you tonight. Later, man.”

There was a click and a dial tone in Eddie’s ear. He hung up the receiver and stared at the phone. “Well. Thank God that’s over.”

It was three hours until he had to head out. He supposed he could pick up a few pizzas and some pop and bring it to Cosmo’s along with his weed. The dude was turning out to be his best customer. He would have to make sure he had plenty to bring. Guy went through weed like Eddie went through underwear. And he had to remember the character sheets. He wondered if Gareth would think to pack that last D&D playbook that he had loaned him. He wondered what pizza toppings everyone would like. He wondered if there was extra if he could bring it home to Wayne. Wayne would like that. He wondered what pizza toppings you liked. He wondered where you were and what you were doing and what you must have thought about the boy who kissed you and ran away.

All these thoughts passed through his head in the few scant seconds he stood stock still staring at the phone, willing it to ring again. He wanted it to be Gareth telling him that he was full of shit, that he never spoke to you or told you off, that it was all a joke and haha what an idiot he was! But it didn’t ring. It didn’t ring with you on the other line either. You and your warm voice cooing some dumb nickname at him. You with your mouth so perfect and smeared with that watermelon Chapstick. Your voice asking him where he’s been and why he kissed you and then ran away.

No. No. He needed to never see you again. He couldn’t trust himself. His temper was too much and you were too aggravating. You couldn’t be trusted. No. He would put you away like his dice, safe in a jar somewhere, far from the harm he could cause and far away so you wouldn’t cause him harm either.

Yeah. That was a good plan.

~080~

You wished you had had Eddie’s number. It would have made things so much easier. Or knowing where he lived? You knew it was the trailer park, but you weren’t about to go knocking on doors if you didn’t see his van. That would be weird. Plus, just showing up on his doorstep was borderline creepy, so it was this or nothing.

As you pulled into a free parking space across the street from the main entrance to Mirage Records and Music, you blew out a long breath and stared at the store. It was almost five and the place closed soon. Just like small town Hawkins to have their businesses shut down when the sun hit the horizon.

It took only a moment to cross the street and open the door. A wave of patchouli and sandalwood passed over you, but it suited the place. You saw it with different eyes now. The first time you came in, you wended your way through the rows and rows of vinyl and CDs moving to the lady behind a counter where a glass case held vintage vinyl and rare albums for sale. She had pointed you up the stairs to the second floor. A red neon sign shaped like an arrow with script writing that said “this way” was mounted on the wall as you had ascended and passed into what you had to imagine was every musician’s wet dream.

At the top of the stairs, behind you and to the left, two full drum kits were set up on either side of a defunct freight elevator with caution tape across it and a sign that said: OUT OF ORDER. Surrounding them were all kinds of drums on display as well. Cymbals of various shapes and sizes hung on the walls behind them like gold records. Your eyes moved along from left to right. Keyboards were on display along with an upright piano and a baby grand along the next wall. And on the third and fourth walls? Guitars. Guitars of every description. Rows and rows of them.

The first time, you were too focused on your shopping objective. This time, you marveled at the collection. There were amps set up beside soft-looking chairs scattered about the space, encouraging people to touch and play and try out the instrument once the treasured item was retrieved from the wall by the large bearded gent who was reading a magazine in one cushioned corner near the sheet music.

“Can I help you?” he said, rising from his seat. “Oh! It’s you! Back again?” He was a jolly sort, with wild grey hair matching his unkempt grey beard, a barrel-chested, big-bellied hippie in a distracting yellow Hawaiian shirt, blue jeans, and Birkenstock sandals.

“Hello again, sir,” you said and stopped, stuck. What exactly were you going to ask him? Hey, do you know this kid I go to school with? Can you get him to like me again? Or at least talk to me?

“Are you here for more guitar equipment? We got in some pick-ups just yesterday-“

“No,” you said, wringing your hands, “I have a friend - the same friend I was shopping for before - he and his friends from school are all supposed to come here today to meet with you?”

“Oh! The Corroded Coffin boys! Sure! Are you a fan of theirs?” he asked, peering at you from over his purple-tinted John Lennon glasses. “Or- uh-“ he winked, “are you a groupie?”

The blush that came over you must have turned you crimson because the man just chuckled. “Sorry,” he said, “I had to. It was too good to resist.”

You laughed nervously and cleared your throat. “No. I- uh… Well Eddie and I had a sort of weird thing happen between us a couple of days or so ago and he’s been avoiding school since then and I just want to apologize to him and-“

“Say no more,” he said, holding out his palms toward you in a surrendering gesture. “An affair of the heart is always difficult to navigate.”

“Well, it’s not really that-“

“Nonsense. You like him enough to come here knowing that he’s supposed to be here so you can talk to him and patch things up?” You nodded. He shrugged and smiled “Then it’s an affair of the heart. Don’t you see?”

“Cosmo!” called the lady from downstairs. She was shouting up the stairwell.

Cosmo fairly skipped over to the edge of the railing to shout back down. “Brenda, my love?” He spoke to her like he was Romeo and she was Juliet. Only he was the one on the balcony.

“Gonna lock up,” she said, sounding grouchy, “You still expecting those kids?”

“Yes, my angel.”

“Fine. I’ll leave out the sign to tell them to press the bell.”

“You are an absolute treasure, dearest one.”

“Oh, blow it out your ear. See you tomorrow.”

You had to know. The woman didn’t sound mad at him for calling her those things, she just sounded bored with him. “Is that your wife?”

Cosmo’s laugh was deep and rich. A hippie Santa Claus. “No,” he said, “Brenda just works here. Tolerates me. Sells my wares. And then fucks off home to her lover Cara. Don’t tell the morality police in this town. She and Cara would be run out on a rail.”

He turned from the stairwell and looked you up and down. “You’re a top-40 kid, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Well, we’ll soon fix that,” he said. “Come with me.” He moved down the stairs with a swiftness that belied his appearance. He wasn’t tall, just under six foot you judged, but nimble as a dancer, despite his belly and gray hair.

He led you downstairs past the listening booths and to the jazz section. “Are you familiar with any of the classics here?”

“My gramps listens to jazz, big band, and swing,” you offered.

“Excellent!” he said. “You come from good stock then. What about grandmama?”

“Mostly folk music,” you shrugged, idly flipping through some vinyl. “But I know these: Ella Fitzgerald, Chet Baker, and Louis Armstrong.”

“And what of the blues?” he asked, waving a hand toward the section in question.

“Mom listens to a little Janis. But I know about the Blues Brothers. Do they count?”

He laughed again, long and loud. “You have a good sense of humor. But yeah, that’s a good start: BB King, Cab Calloway, Aretha, Ray Charles, John Lee Hooker… all of them on the soundtrack and most in the film. And Janis,” here he sighed deeply, “my first rock and roll crush. Died tragically. Senselessly. S’why I only stick to weed. But in case your parents ask: I didn’t tell you that. Like Nancy Reagan says: just say no to drugs.” He winked at you. “But oh it does an old man good to see a youngster appreciate the masters,” he sighed. “What about rock and roll?”

“Billy Joel’s okay,” you said.

Cosmo groaned so loudly, you thought he was having a heart attack. “We were doing so well…” He recovered himself and with a crooked finger he led you to the rock section of the store. “Never mind, there’s always room for education and improvement. Here!” He held up an album with a picture inside of another picture. The smaller inner picture was framed and hung upon a wall with peeling and faded wallpaper. It contained an image of a bearded man slightly bent over on a cane and carrying a pile of sticks on their back in a bundle. There was nothing on the album cover to indicate the band’s name. You shook your head.

“Led Zeppelin?” Cosmo said hopefully.

“I’ve heard of them. Heard them on the radio sometimes, I think? But I’ve never sat down and listened-“

“Perfect!” he said. “This will be part of your musical education this evening.” He rooted around in his collection once more and selected three more albums.

“This evening?” you asked. “I really should be going home after I talk to Eddie. My parents-“

“You can use the store phone to call them now if you want. Tell them you’re here. Tell them you’re safe and with friends. It’s all true- well… almost. Which reminds me,” here he stuck out his hand. You took it dumbly. “Name’s Cosmo Blankenship. Proprietor and owner of The Mirage and purveyor of fine musical wares. And you?” You smiled and gave him your name. “HA! And now it’s true. We are officially friends, well met.” You resisted the urge to curtsey. Barely. He was charming in a very old-fashioned way. It was adorable.

As he went back up the stairs, he told you some of the intimacies of Led Zeppelin’s Fourth Album he had gleaned over the years since its release. “Mind you, I’m not the biggest Led Zep fan. But they are unignorable for their contribution to music as a whole.” He set the record down on a table in one corner where you could see behind him a stereo system setup including a turntable. He carefully unwrapped the album from its resealable plastic covering, slid the record and sleeve out from the cover, slipped off the cover, gave the record a caress with a soft cloth, and then placed it on the turntable. With the tenderness of a lover, he began the machine and lowered the needle onto the disc.

The strains of “Black Dog” came strong out of the speakers. Your eyes lit up. Cosmo beamed at you. “Sit! Sit! Take it in properly!”

You picked a small couch big enough for two and let the music wash over you. Cosmo sat next to you, a surprisingly comforting presence beside you.

I don’t know, but I’ve been told

A big-legged woman ain’t got no soul

The undeniable blues roots of the song just pulled you along. This was music that spoke to you. This had also never happened to you before. It picked you up and passed through you, practically touched your soul. You were breathless. Soon you were nodding your head to the rhythm.

The second song also came at you hard, drums pounding out a rhythm you felt to your bones.

It’s been a long time since the Book of Love

I can’t count the tears of a life with no love

You don’t know when the smile spread across your face, but it was there just the same. “This whole album is magic,” whispered Cosmo, not wishing to disturb your experience as the second song ended and the third began. “They really got a hold of something in that studio. Steeped in Tolkien too.”

“Tolkien?”

“You know? Guy that wrote Lord of the Rings?”

“Oh sure! He wrote The Hobbit as well. Right?”

Cosmo smiled at you. “Just the man!”

“I read The Hobbit and tried to get through Lord of the Rings, but barely made it past the first book. Really complicated and everyone had like, four different names.” Cosmo nodded sympathetically and patted your knee gently.

As the next song played, he said: “You know, Eddie’s favorite book is the Lord of the Rings. And he loved this song when he first heard it. This and “Stairway” are his favorites off this album.”

You could see why. It wove a tale of knights and battles, castles and honor. The disjointed instruments backing vocals that almost wailed in pain. It was a moving piece.

The drums will shake the castle wall

The ringwraiths ride in black

Ride on

When the verse of Stairway to Heaven began, a firebell rang, sharp, loud and jarring. You looked at Cosmo, alarmed. “No worries,” he said, “that’s just the doorbell. The Corroded Coffin boys are here.” He glanced at the clock above the stereo. “Here early too. Huh.” He moved to the stairwell and descended. “Keep listening! I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared down the stairs.

There’s a sign on the wall

But she wants to be sure

‘Cause you know, sometimes words have two meanings

Your gut twisted. If it was anyone other than Eddie, a fight might break out and you might cry. If it was Eddie, a fight might break out and you might cry. And if it was everyone - Eddie and all his friends - a fight would break out and you would definitely cry.

Yes, there are two paths you can go by

but in the long run

And there’s still time to change the road you’re on

Voices were at the stairwell. You heard Cosmo’s tone above another male voice, but both were too soft to distinguish past the music. It only sounded like one other person though. You held your breath. You wanted to run but all you could do was sit as still as possible and await whatever fate was climbing the stairs.

“Started a bit early, I’m afraid,” Cosmo was saying. The heavy foot treads were distinct: only two people. Your chest was tight; it was hard to breathe. There was a scent in the air mixing with the patchouli incense. Garlic? Whatever it was, you were getting sick. Or maybe it was just your nerves? The music’s rhythm picked up and the guitar solo came in, a perfect soundtrack to your rising panic.

“You brought the food,” said Cosmo, “and I bring the song… and a pretty lady to gaze upon.” Cosmo came by your chair carrying a brown paper bag in his arms. He was followed by Eddie Munson who carried three large pizza boxes in his outstretched hands. His body moved forward, but his head was turned toward you, eyes growing wider as the realization hit him. The music echoed his shift as it moved into a rock groove.

And as we wind on down the road

Our shadows taller than our soul

There walks a lady we all know

Who shines white light and wants to show

How everything still turns to gold

And if you listen very hard

The tune will come to you at-

The needle was pulled off the record.

Eddie had set the boxes down and cut the music off. He stared at you; he was eerily still. Tension filled the air. Even Cosmo was silenced. Eddie’s voice was barely a whisper when he said: “Cosmos? A word?”

Cosmo followed him into a curtained-off back room and you could hear harsh whispering. That had to be Eddie. There was a lower voice in response: Cosmo. Finally, crisply, clearly, commandingly, you heard Cosmo say: “Edward!”

Eddie burst through the curtain. “I want you out of here. You were supposed to be gone. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because… it’s not —,” you began. But you couldn’t seem to form a cohesive thought. There were too many moving parts to this. “When you kissed me, I thought — But then you took off so suddenly and I — I couldn’t apologize — But then Gareth and Jeff they — And I know I’m pathetic! This whole thing’s pathetic! And I should never have done it — but I did — and you were so understanding about it at first — willing to play along — and you used gum and didn’t smoke. I noticed! And I was completely flattered but then — I don’t know. You don’t like me, I know that. You don’t want me around, okay, but — I don’t know. Just — just don’t hate me, okay?”

It was a small miracle that you hadn’t broken down in a full-on cry. Cosmo was instantly at your side with a protective hand on your shoulder. “As I said, Edward, the lady wanted to apologize. If you are any kind of a gentleman, you will talk to her.” Eddie opened his mouth to object and Cosmo held up a hand to stop him. “So be it. You give me no choice. It’s the shaft for both of you.” To you he said, soothingly, “Come, my dear. It’s for the best.”

He took each of you by a respective elbow and led you over to the defunct freight elevator in the drums section. He took the warning tape off one side and it and the sign attached fell to the floor. He pressed the call button and the elevator doors opened with a soft hum. “In you go,” he said to you. Dumbly, you obeyed.

“Is it safe?” you asked, remembering at the last minute that you were up one story.

“Oh yes. It’s just stuck. No power to the elevator itself, just the doors, and the brakes have it frozen in place. Going to cost me a fortune to fix, so until then…” Cosmo shrugged. He gestured for Eddie to enter. 

Eddie was more recalcitrant. His arms were crossed as soon as Cosmo had released his elbow and he stood stock still. “I’m not doing time in the shaft with her. I don’t care what she has to say.”

Cosmo evaluated him soberly over the rim of his glasses. “That’s your fear talking.” Eddie huffed dismissively. “Edward. You will enter this freight elevator if I have to beat you senseless with that crash symbol. Now go.” He pointed inward and Eddie looked from him to you.

He shook his head, his mane of hair waggling along with the motion. “Nope. Not doing it. I have nothing to say to her.”

“Then just listen,” said Cosmo. “For God’s sake, man! Take it from a dude who has loved and lost four times! Get the fuck in the shaft and let the lady apologize.”

“That’s just it: this has nothing to do with love. She doesn’t love me. And I may not know much about love, but this isn’t about love. This is about using people. And Jesus Christ, do I know what that looks like! And she’s used me for a stupid and selfish reason and I’m done! She needs to leave me the hell alone. Starting now.”

Eddie didn’t know where the words were coming from, but they felt right. Like a perfectly balanced sword in his hand made just for him. It felt good to say what was hurting his heart so much. But a small part of him hated the sound of the words, the forming and voicing of them was simple, natural, and free. The hearing of them, the tone they took, and the effect on your face was another matter altogether. You were clearly hurt.

You watched all of this from the farthest corner of the elevator like it was a tennis match: Eddie objecting, Cosmo deflecting and returning the serve. If you weren’t directly involved, you might have found it entertaining. But you were involved. Matter of fact, you were at the crux of the conversation and it made you heartsick. “Please, Eddie,” you begged quietly. “I only want to say sorry.” The metal walls made your voice echo, magnifying your pitiful state.

Something in Eddie’s eyes shifted, softened. But only for a moment. “So say it then. And get out. I’ve got to spend time with my real friends.”

“Edward.”

“Call me Edward one more goddamned time, old man!” he snapped at Cosmo.

You didn’t know why you did it. Call it women's intuition. Call it a primal sense of survival. But you knew that if Cosmo pushed again, Eddie would run. You had to act. You came forward and took Eddie’s hand, holding to it firmly with both of yours when he instinctively jerked. “Please, Eddie. It won’t take long. I only want to understand how I’ve hurt you so I can make things better between us. Please let me.”

Your touch surprised him at first, but when he saw your eyes, he didn’t pull away. He fairly whined at the feeling of you. The warmth of you. Your pleading eyes. The wall he had spent almost two days building around his heart crumbled down and, even though he wasn’t focused on your words, he felt his anger fade.

He hated that you had this power over him.

He loved that you had this power over him.

He let you lead him docile as a lamb into the confines of the freight elevator. Cosmo hit the button. Before the doors closed, he said, “I’m starting the album again. You have until the end of Stairway to Heaven to get this done. Fix this. Good luck, children.” The last sentence was spoken with such reverent kindness, it made you want to cry. The last image Cosmo got was of you holding Eddie’s hand in both of yours in the center of the metal-walled space, both of you the picture of unsure, terrified, tentative trust.

[unholybinchicken]

(technically Thursday because of the time zone)

I did this a few weeks ago but haven't really done it lately so thought I'd do it today. I've got so many WIPs tbh so it's hard to pick just one (also I made a nice little cover art thingy for it on canva so gonna do this more regularly)

Tagging: @unholy-fabray, @yeasymuffin, @dedenneblogs, @lansangprincess, @blossoms-and-possums and anyone else who wants to share their WIPs.

General premise: this is a snippet from the Harper McLean character study I'm working on (Harmerie endgame of course). It was a hard choice between that, more of chapter 3 of i'm open to falling from grace and chapter 6 of stranded on the line where i lost you. This is a (mostly) canon-compliant fic and the part I've written so far contains references to ice addiction, alcohol and intravenous drug use.

Sneak preview under the cut

21st November, 2007

Harper McLean is born at 10:30pm in the back of her mum’s older sister Michelle’s old Holden Commodore, in the waning hours of a neighbourhood get-together.  There’s still a dent on the car from New Years 2000, when her dad ‘borrowed’ it and accidentally hit a tree.  It’s unregistered, unroadworthy, the paint is peeling in places, and someone put a Kevin-07 sticker on it a few weeks ago without asking, but Justin McLean and Nicole Webster didn’t really plan to have the baby today of all days.  

Michelle and Nicole are the only sober people at this party, and Michelle’s the only one with a car, albeit one that shouldn’t touch a road, ever.  

None of them realised that there was going to be a baby to plan for at all until a couple months ago.  

Had they known, Nicole would have probably tried to give up partying, booze and smoking much, much earlier.  Her first thought as she’s going into labour in the back of Michelle’s car is how much she really, really wants a fucking cigarette right now.  

Or something stronger.

After all, if Justin can be high out of his mind for the birth of his first child, why can’t Nicole?

Against her own wishes, she resists temptation and stays sober.  Someone has to.  Michelle puts on the radio as the baby girl makes her grand entrance.  The speakers are muffled, and the signal is fuzzy, but she can faintly make out ‘Rehab’ by Amy Winehouse.  

Michelle, seeing how exhausted her sister is, asks Justin to cut the cord before they go to the hospital together.  Justin is ranting about ghosts and home invaders and John Howard and God knows what else.  His voice grows louder and louder and more and more agitated.  As her eyes meet the familiar scar on Justin’s arm, his favourite injection site, Michelle wonders if he even realises he has a child now.  

She cuts the cord with a set of nail clippers from her handbag and briefly considers letting Justin hold the baby, his daughter, but he can barely stand, and his words come out slurred and disconnected.  

Truthfully, she’s not sure if she should let this man within ten metres of her newborn niece.  She’s not sure what possessed her sister to sleep with him in the first place.

Probably the same thing that’s coursing through his veins right now, she thinks. 

Nicole was always an avid reader, at least before she hit puberty and she started hanging out with the local dropkicks and doing drugs, all while things turned to shit at home.  Mum died, then Dad succumbed to his own substance abuse problems and went to jail, and so Michelle and Nicole were passed around from relative to relative until they settled with Nanna Louise.  It was the closest thing either of them had to a stable home, but they soon learned that nothing lasts forever.  Nanna Louise died, and things went from bad to worse.  Knowing that going to school wouldn’t pay the bills, Michelle dropped out to become a florist.  Nicole was different; there was a time when she wanted to go to uni and become a teacher.  She wanted to travel the world and marry a handsome man, have a nice house, two kids, a dog and a white picket fence.  But that was then, and this is now.

She, like her sister, dropped out of school in year ten.  She’s unemployed.  There’s no dog, no white picket fence.  The only income she has comes from Centrelink, and, more often than not, it’s used to fund Justin’s drug habit.  Her life didn’t exactly turn out like she pictured it.

Well, almost.  She has her daughter, who’s tiny, but who has her mother’s eyes and nose.  They get to the hospital, and as the nurses clean the new baby up and keep an eye on the new mother, Michelle goes outside to smoke a cigarette.

When Nicole eventually comes to, Michelle asks, “What are you going to call her?”

“I was going to name her after Nanna Louise,” Nicole says, frowning.  “She doesn’t really look like a Louise, though.”

Michelle contemplates asking if Justin has any ideas, but she knows he’s not sober enough to contribute anything productive to the conversation.  “No, she doesn’t,” she agrees.  “She looks like you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.  She’s got your nose,” Michelle says.  “And your eyes, I think.”

Nicole smiles.  She looks at her sleeping infant and says, “Harper.  Harper Louise McLean.”

[superlc529]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @esmealux ❤️❤️

How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 29 works on AO3. I've been working on a new Lucifer fic for the past 2 years on and off (mostly off) and that'll be my 30th on the site. However, I do have 63 works on ff.net (29 of them are the same) from various fandoms.

What's your total AO3 word count? As of right now, I have a word count of 179,925 words on AO3. I know that total is sometimes some writers' word count for a single fic. ;)

What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, it's mainly Lucifer (and Supernatural). I've been writing fanfics since I was a sophomore in high school. On ff.net I have written for (in no particular order): Bewitched, The Big Bang Theory, Castle, Doctor Who, Forever, Heroes, Jimmy Neutron, Lucifer, Smallville, Supernatural, Timeless, and Will & Grace.

Top five fics by kudos:

The More Things Change... (Lucifer): 1,090 kudos

Been Down This Road Before (Supernatural): 621 kudos

A Unique Guilt Trip (Lucifer): 548 kudos

Trick-Or-Treating Revelations (Lucifer): 543 kudos

Thanks For Listening (Lucifer): 449 kudos

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I try to respond to every comment if I can... at least on AO3.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't actually write angsty endings. All my fics have happy endings actually. ❤️

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh, wow. Since all my fics have happy endings, it's hard to choose just one... for the ones I wrote over a decade ago, honestly, I can't remember... LOL. Read them if you so choose and pick your own. ;)

Do you get hate on fics?

I would get hate on fics on ff.net but thankfully (not so far) on AO3. When I first started writing fanfics, I interpreted some helpful advice AS hate, but it really wasn't. Thankfully the response is mostly positive on my writing. Sometimes I'll still get some "hate" on ff.net, but I still feel an obligation to post there for consistency since I cross-posted since getting an AO3 account.

Do you write smut?

No. (But I read it).

Craziest crossover:

The only crossover I have written was a Castle & Forever crossover that can be found on ff.net and AO3 called Ties That Bind.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I think somebody wanted to translate one of my older Smallville fics back in the day. Honestly, I can't remember which one or if it came to fruition.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not to my memory, but I used to beta all the time for Smallville. And I was a "consultant" on a fanfic on AO3 from a friend for a Forever and Quantum Leap crossover fic. Plus, I bounce ideas off with fandom friends in the Lucifer fanfiction world. ❤️

All time favorite ship?

Uhhhhhhhhhh... I can't say an all-time favorite ship because I love all of my ships equally. But I'll settle for my top two: Clois (Clark Kent and Lois Lane) and Deckerstar (Chloe Decker and Lucifer Morningstar).

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I've had a WIP for Sherlock/Sherlolly in my documents for quite a few years. It's a time travel one where Sherlock from post S4 gets sent back to the time between the end of S1 & beginning of S2. I don't think that one is ever gonna be finished to be honest. I never post fics until they're finished anyway, so at least there won't be anybody disappointed. ;)

What are your writing strengths?

I try to pride myself on the characters being written in-character - where the reader can actually picture the actor's expressions, mannerisms, etc - like they're watching an episode. Dialogue is definitely where I excel.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I really suck at descriptions. I'm not gonna lie. I have tried to work on setting the scene and character movements, etc but I still struggle with those factors.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I'm not really great at it. If the character is known to say words or phrases in another language, I might write it in a few times, but nothing that needs a long translation.

First fandom you wrote in?

Jimmy Neutron (on ff.net) when I was about 16 years old.

Favorite fic you've written?

I have a few, but honestly I'm more proud of my Lucifer stories and my one Supernatural story, so I'd have to go with a tie between my first ever Lucifer fic: The More Things Change... and my Supernatural fic: Been Down This Road Before. And right now the Lucifer fic I've been working on for 2 years is quickly becoming a favorite too. LOL. We'll see if people like it once I've finished it and started posting. ❤️

---------

Tagging a few of my fandom friends: @my-crazy-awesome-sox, @mightbeawriter, @wendeckerstart, @kaykat666, @thewollfgang and anyone else who wants to or feels inclined to do it! And to those that I tagged, please don't feel obliged to do it. Love oo!! ❤️

[kingkatsuki]

[ this is to that anon being pissy about you "only" reblogging from your friends. ]

that anon talking about how you don't reblog from smaller blogs is just full of shit tbh. like, i had less than 100 followers when you followed me forever ago. the reason you followed me also wasn't just because i wrote really delicious bakugo fics (in my opnion) but because i also interacted with you !!

we became mutuals & friends because we had a common interest that we enjoyed writing & reading about !! we gushed about bakugo & kirishima & later also kunigami !! i happened to be lucky to get noticed by someone as cool as you.

but to that dumbass anon, you definitely won't get noticed by writers you like if you're pissy about them only reblogging what's on their dash. not many people can enjoy the tags all that much anymore because it's so saturated with two liners or shit not meant to be in the x reader tags.

i promise you, you bitter little thing, if you reblog your faves' fics or send them kind asks or gush about your shared faves with them, they'll check out your writing. as soon as someone comments something nice on a fic of mine or sends me a sweet ask, i stalk their blog for a lil bit...

& on a site like tumblr where reblogging & communication is key, the best way to get noticed by your faves or so called "big" creators, is to be kind !! you don't have to worship them as if they're a celeb (they'll probs hate that tbh) but it's not hard to be kind !!

anyways, the only reason jo noticed me (if i remember correctly) is because i wrote a kiribaku x reader piss fic to her as a gift because i enjoyed all her thirsts involving the topic. our love started with some piss & kiribaku nailing us, okay ??

ALSO !! some of us have jobs & families & lives & can't spend forever going through the tags to find that one out of ten posts that's actually a oneshot or fic that's relevant to the tags. plus, i'm pretty sure jo has devoured every bakugo fic she's come across & she'll devour 99.99% of bakugo fics you throw at her.

apologies for the lil rant. i got heated... jo, ily <33

You’re so sweet🥺 you didn’t need to send me this at all but I appreciate it so much.

I hope you have a wonderful Friday and ily too!💕

[bteezxyewriter12]

Love Motel/ Epilogue

Pairing- Changkyun x Named Reader

Word count- 1k

Includes- fluff

Tag List- @90s-belladonna @mingtina

@direitobulando @honey-zip @chansbabydoll

@anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @jaxxmine @yeosayang

@delightfulmoonbanana @itsshaydeekaydee @seokwoosmole

@rpkth @tannie13 @wisejudgedragonhairdo @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

Series Masterlist

3 years later

Changkyun POV

A huge smile bursts on my face as I see her at the end of the aisle

I excitedly wait at the altar for her, Jooheon by my side as my best man

This is the way I'm supposed to feel at my wedding

Happy, excited, giddy, nervous but in a good way

She looks completely stunning in her dress, like an angel

The dress is exactly her style, showing just enough and covering just enough

My princess

Her eyes are on me, a huge smile on her face

"Happy this time?", Jooheon whispers

"Absolutely"

Jooheon managed to come here just for the wedding

I don't know how he got here, but he swore that he wasn't followed and he took the proper precautions so no one finds us

I trust him

He's been my friend since we were kids

I didn't want to lose his friendship and we kept in touch through burner cells

Every time we spoke it's been like we're two normal guys

We don't talk about the jokop

I'm not there, I gave it up and I don't want to know anything

The only thing he said was that I should not come back to Seoul

I expected that and it was enough warning for me

The wedding is very small, just me, her, Jooheon, her parents, Milena and Tae

We wanted just immediate family and friends at the ceremony

Everyone I know is back in Korea and part of the mob so that was a hard no

We just moved again, to Colorado where she got a job as a paleontologist in a museum

She did end up going to Mongolia for a dig and I went with her

I went to the dig site a few times but it was way too hot for me

I stayed in the apartment most of the time, cooking for her

I did end up finding something I really love to do

She was right

When she was teaching me to cook, I found that I really liked it and I was good at it

I asked her if she thought I should go to school for that and she immediately said yes

While she did her master's, I went to culinary school

We both graduated at the same time, then moved to Colorado a few months ago, buying our first house

I found a job as a chef at a five star restaurant, making really good money

I enjoy it so much so it's really not like a job for me

We knew we were moving when I proposed and decided to have the wedding in Colorado, by our new house

She gets to me and I take her hand, holding on tightly

"Hi jagi", I smile

"Hi baby"

My god she's beautiful

Everything, her hair, makeup, dress is perfect

She's perfect

We turn to the officiate who begins the ceremony

I keep my eyes on her, not being able to tear my gaze from her

I knew from the second I stepped on that plane that I was going to marry her one day

I knew that I wanted her for the rest of my life, that I was going to love her forever

I found the perfect ring, bought it and proposed to her at the dig site in Mongolia, next to the dinosaur she was digging up

She screamed so loudly, saying yes then burst into tears in happiness when I put the ring on her

This time around, I was involved in all the planning

Picking the restaurant for the reception, the food, the cake, the honeymoon destination, everything

Surprisingly it was a lot of fun and everything turned out great so far

I doubt anything will go wrong

I'm marrying the girl I love, nothing can ruin this day

"Please face each other for the vows"

We face each other, clasping our hands

I'm so ready for this

"Do you Changkyun, take Joanne, to be your lawful wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish as long as you both shall live?"

"I do", I answer immediately, smiling so widely

I swear I haven't smile so much as I have today

The officiate looks at her

"Do you Joanne, take Changkyun, to be your lawful wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish as long as you both shall live?"

"I do", she nods, looking at me so lovingly, tears in her eyes

The officiate hands me the ring and asks me to repeat after him

“I give you this ring as a sign of my love. With all that I have, I am honored to call you my wife from this moment until forever.”

I put the ring on her finger, a few tears of my own welling in my eyes

It's just hitting me that this is really happening

I'm marrying the love of my life and I've never been more happy than in this moment

She takes my ring from the officiate, looking in my eyes

“I give you this ring as a sign of my love. With all that I have, I am honored to call you my husband from this moment until forever.”

I feel the cool metal of the ring slide on my finger as she puts the ring on me

The ring I'm never taking off

The officiate continues the ceremony but all I do is look at her

Moving my hand, I wipe her tears away

"I now pronounce you husband and wife", the officiate says, making an enormous smile bursting on my face, "You may kiss the bride"

Our arms move around each other, our lips meeting in a kiss full of love

I hear clapping but all I can do is keep kissing my wife

Fuck, she's my wife

I love the sound of that

When the kiss ends, we lean our foreheads against each other's

"We did it jagi", I whisper

She nods, smiling, "We did it. Me and you"

"Me and you jagi. Forever"

"Forever", she repeats

Pressing my lips to hers again, I kiss her, so excited for our future

[ghostoftheyear]

I just read a comment on a post that made me very concerned, so I wanted to put out a PSA.

Someone was panicking during the recent AO3 outage, where the DDoS was trying very hard to put the site under for good, because they didn't have any way to recover their fics. Which is terrifying, sure... if all you ever do is write directly into the draft page on AO3.

But. Why would you do that?

Like. OK. I know I'm old, and I'm also privileged to have a desktop PC that I use for the majority of everything online. I understand this is not as common a circumstance as it used to be. But if you're using a laptop or PC, you should REALLY be writing somewhere else first. Even if it's just the native notepad program. Anything that allows you to save the file. You don't need something expensive like Scrivener. I personally use a text-based program called NoteTab, which is inexpensive, reliable, and has lots of nice little extras. Of course there's Word and OpenLibre and things like that. Even Google Docs if you're in a pinch (though I can't recommend it given that they're now starting their own AI-theft program).

I'm not as well versed in apps for phones and tablets. But even so, I beg you to find something to write on that isn't directly into AO3. The notes program? Email yourself? A physical notebook?

And there is a reason for this. Purely aside from the fact that the draft will only save your text for 30 days -- and was NEVER meant to be used as a word processor to begin with! -- you should always have a backup of your work somewhere, in the exact case of circumstances like this.

Many moons ago, I used a free site called Crosswinds to host my website. (There were a lot of these, like geocities, tripod, & so on.) One day, there was a server glitch and lots of my files were wiped from creation. I didn't keep copies of them anywhere else, and so they were just gone. I was able to recover some of it, but most of it was just. Gone. Forever.

These days, I edit my stuff on my PC first, and then upload it. I should also probably have another backup of some kind, because I have had catastrophic hard drive failures and lost everything. You think it won't happen to you. Then it does, and your stuff that you've labored on is just gone.

Plus, it's just good to be able to have the text in a location where you can easily read and edit; on top of that, you know that trick of putting it in another font so you can catch mistakes? That is exactly what happens when I get the fic into the preview page on AO3 and I'm able to see all those goddamn typos and missed italics tags and so on.

For the love of whatever you love, friends, you must keep your own backups. You will lose your data at some point. It's going to happen. Or a site will go down. Or something crashes. And it'll all be gone. You really can make sure that doesn't happen, and it'll take less time than you think.

But I will be over here begging on my arthritic, ruined knees for the rest of time: NEVER WRITE DIRECTLY INTO THE AO3 PAGE. EVER. DON'T FUCKIN DO IT.

[druckkugelschreiber]

Find the words

Tagged by the incomparable (did I write that right?!) @mxkelsifer . This is actually the reason it took so long to answer because I need my pc to properly find the words lol. Anyway thanks for the tag, I love these!

The words: flame, mischief, sun, and alone.

I'm sideeying alone so hard already. That one's going to hurt if I find the right oneshot.

Also once more incapable of being short about anything. Sorry not sorry.

Flame

I wanted Andy to believe me. “It’s the hobbit prinzip.” “Das Hobbit Prinzip?”  I hummed in agreement. “It’s the little good things make the big good things. Who makes the world normal? The majority of people. They do the little good things, helping out a neighbour, carrying bags for an old woman, finding a lost pet. That’s the little things that bring the good intot he world. Killing takes bad out of the world, but it doesn’t bring good into it. Now taking the bad out of the world is necessary sometimes, but it doesn’t rebuild the world. So, if you feel like you have to do something. You do the little things. You go out there and plant a community garden and see how much things change around you. How the community begins smiling, or you rescue children from bad situations and teach them to read, build schools whatever. You made yourself. Imagine 7000 years ago you said ‘we’re going to teach everyone to read and educate them. We’re going to be explorers and scientists and not fighters, what then?” Andy took a sharp breath. “You made us. You decided we were fighters, but that doesn’t mean all of us have to fight forever. Every war has to end sometimes.” “And if I hate people and don’t want to help them anymore?” Andy asked almost pouty. I held back a laugh. “Well, I have a lovely cabin up in the norwegian mountains, not a soul around for two hours. Chickens, dogs, cows, whatever your heart might desire.” “That sounds peaceful.” “It’s really nice. I spend an entire year there in 2009.” Andy nodded and I could see some of her cracks mending. “So… you wouldn’t… you don’t think it’s a bad idea?” “I think it’s the greatest idea you had recently”, I said honestly and squeezed her hand. Andy made a disbelieving sound. “I don’t think I would even know what to do with myself.” “Come with me”, I said, keeping my voice light to take the pressure out of the suggestion. Just a friendly suggestion. “As I said, I think Africa would be great for you.” “I don’t think killing poachers is what I’m looking for.” “Well you can always shovel elephan shit, fix fences, learn about vet med on the fly”, I smiled at her. “And if you don’t like it we can still go to that cabin or do other humanitarian work. The world might be on fire, but there are a lot of places we can douse the flames a little.” 

Okay this was longer than expected but I love The Hobbit Prinzip and I love this whole thing.

Mischief

“By the way”, I asked when got out of the jeep after our shopping trip, “can you braid hair?” “Yes, why?” Nile asked, a shopping bag in her hand while I carried another one. “Could you braid my hair for the midsummer festival?” Nile stopped on the porch, mischief lighting her face, “you’re going to dress up really fine aren’t you?” “I’m going to show Andy all she threw away.” Nile laughed and held the front door open for me, “in that I’m all yours.” We put the bags down by the stairs and walked into the kitchen. Andy and Seb were facing each other on opposite sites of the table. Nicky and Joe were also there. The tension was thick enough to cut. Boromir lurked at the edges, keeping an eye on everything, though Sam and Nico were nowhere to be seen. “Please tell me you weren’t arguing”, I said, crossing my arms and stepping up next to Seb, who was closest to the door. Nile took a more neutral position between the two warring parties. “No”, Andy said with an expression that was barely contained murder. If looks could kill. “We just cleared up some things.” I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to glare at her or check on Seb. Considering I wasn’t sure if Andy had been mean or not, I focused on Seb. His entire face was closed off. “Hey”, I brushed his cheek with the tips of my fingers, causing him to finally look down to me, “are you okay?”

I need to revisit this story. It's so much fun. Also no one's feeling very mischievous in my stories, geez I wonder why

Sun

The words didn’t help this time around. “Why is she really here, Riko?”  “I was telling the truth. She really got into an argument with the team. Andy isn’t good at being alone, so I took her with me.” “Just like that?” what happened to ‘Andy abandoned me?’ to ‘it’s her fault’ and all that hate that had burned in Noriko’s eyes when the nightmares haunted her. Noriko’s eyes flew to Andy and I could see it. The very valid reason for my fear. The god damn ocean of love she held for the other woman. It was heartbreaking and beautiful to witness at the same time. I could feel even the anxiety dying because that right there. How the sun looked at the moon, that I could never live up to. I was just… well quite frankly I was just autistic old me. I was weird. I was exhausted. I was anxious. I was nothing like the stories she had told me about Andy and what I had seen of her in the dreams. Always confident. Never stopping. Never afraid. And beautiful. I sighed and went numb. “What do you want me to do, Riko?” I asked and I knew the numbness, the exhaustion lingered but I had stopped hiding, masking with her a long time ago and I couldn’t put it back on again.

I really thought this would be a happy one. I mean I could have chosen a happy one but this is so deliciously angsty I couldn't help myself.

Alone

I sat at the edge of the pool, arms wrapped around my knees with my head resting on them. My back leaned against the big tree guarding one half of the pool. It was a pain in the ass to have the tree so close to the pool with all the leaves ending up in it, but I didn’t have to clean the pool, so I didn’t complain.  Andy appeared in the doorway to the garden. Her eyes locked onto me and she walked around the pool to sit down next to me.  Here we go.  “Are you okay, Bran? I mean really?” I looked at her. The way her sable hair shimmered in the sun, the way her eyes were bluer than the tiles of the pool. Andromache the scythian was stunning and sad and always carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. And she wanted to add my weight to it as well and thought it was her duty. I had never met a person who had been more selfless than Andromache.  “Yeah”, I said. “Really. I’m fine.” “You’ve been withdrawn.” “Because all of you treat me like I’m about to break.” I wasn’t. I didn’t break. I never did. I bent but never broke and that was the problem that had haunted me all my life.  “Listen, I get it if you don’t want to talk about it”- “Do you though?” I asked and couldn’t help the sharp tone in my voice. “Why poke and prod if you get it?” “I want you to know I’m here”, Andy didn’t take my anger personally, she never did and I was never actually angry at her. I didn’t think I could. The honesty on her face was disarming. “I’m really here. It’s not just something I say. I’m here whenever you need.” I sighed and had to look away. I knew my ruminating thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone and Andy… she was old enough to actually give me a good answer on this. I had a good inkling on what Nicky and Joe would say. And I didn’t need Booker’s opinion in this. The man was an expert in wallowing in self pity. “Do you think killing a person makes you a monster?”  Andy stiffened. “You’re not a monster, Bran.” “That’s not what I asked”, I shot her a glare.  Andy frowned. “No, I don’t think killing someone makes you a monster. It depends on why you killed them.” My eyes flew over her face. “Do you still feel something when you kill a person?” “No.” And that single word was filled with so much pain. Pain about what she had done, what she had lost, what she thought was a terrible flaw about herself.  I huffed and looked at the soft waves in the pool. “You think you’re a monster.” “I have entire centuries where the only thing I can remember is blood. I’m not sure monster applies anymore”, I was pretty sure the tone of Andy’s voice at this point was the definiton of haunted. Literal armies of ghosts lingered in between the words.  Great. Now I felt bad for making her relieve everything terrible. “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” I shook my head. Unsure if I still wanted to voice my next words.  “It’s okay to feel bad about this, Bran”, Andy said softly. “To feel it all.” The anger bubbled in my chest again. “That’s the problem Andy”, I looked back at her, “I didn’t feel anything. I still don’t feel anything. All my life people told me it’s terrible if you take a life. Every book I read, movies I watched, everyone talked about the weight of taking a life. Of what it can do to you, survivors guilt and all that and here I am and I don’t feel anything.  In the moment I killed him, I felt only rage. I don’t feel guilty for ending this man's life. There was nothing special about it. It was just there and gone.” There was no horror on her face. No judgement.  “I killed someone and I feel more pretentious guilt about not feeling guilty than feeling guilty or bad about it. I feel… I think.. I don’t know”, I kept my eyes on her face. “Still think I’m not a monster?”

Bran and Andy always give me so many feels. Another story I should really revisit. Also not the oneshot I was thinking about when I thought of alone, but I adore it!

If you read all of this I'm very impressed. Also I'm not talking about how this is all about Andy (and all the characters are women just to mention it (Andy wlw supremacy)

[felixantares]

11 22 19 ayo

omg some of those are so fun!! 💚

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

I have such a hard time killing my darlings 😭 I never want to. But I do it!! even though it’s hard! I did it not even like a week ago. There was a whole severitus plot line in build me no shrines that I was super attached to and I cut it, because it wasn’t working. I was crying the whole time and now I have a separate severitus fic that is in no way related. But yes I have a darling graveyard, usually they don’t stay dead long and get turned into new fic ideas

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

I mean, I’ve been doing creative writing forever it feels like. I wrote little short stories as a kid and drew really terrible comics. My mum got me this novel writing program that had a code for an online forum when I was around 12, and so I started writing a novel (I finished it too! I was 13 and it’s actually insane, the plot makes no sense, but like!! I did it, 45k of nonsense. my mum was so proud) but I joined the forum and it was a bunch of other kids all 12-17 who wanted to write books too. I kinda stopped for a while in high school and uni because I’d been told I couldn’t do anything with writing, that it was too hard to make a career out of it and I was better off doing something practical (haha jokes on them I went into art). Then in like… 2016? I had a brief little period where I wrote a couple Merlin fics, they didn’t do super well and I got a couple nasty comments that kinda put me off writing fanfic at all. Then in uhhhh August last year I got really into Harry Potter again after I broke off a toxic friendship with someone who said I couldn’t be queer and also like Harry Potter, so as a giant fuck you to them I joined the first HP discord server I found — which I kinda found my people right away and now I’m quite happily inhabiting my little corner of the internet and writing my stupid little stories.

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

Okay I don’t think I’m crazy organised but then I’ve been told I am, so idk make your own calls. I’ve got 2 physical notebooks, one for my two long WIPs and I just kinda put a coloured sticky note in the pages whenever I switch the fic I’m writing for, and a second book for random ideas and notes and stuff that usually gets transferred to the appropriate document later. The idea notebook is very small and lives in my pocket in case I’m out and need to write an idea down. But I don’t really take a lot of physical notes. My docs and folders though are perfectly organised. Docs are put in folders with their fic (or in the case of one shots, a folder for that) or like my general writing folder if it’s a resource, but I have a naming system that I use for all my projects, based on what kind of file it is so they get tagged with like [OUTLINE] or [WIP] or whatever is relevant. There’s a colour coding system within the documents (so like as I’m writing, notes to myself are always blue, notes on a character are green, sections that need editing are highlighted in red, sections that I’m currently working on are orange… and a few other colour keys that I won’t bore you with) and then I have a spreadsheet I use to track wc goals and overall progress and stuff. I’ve thought about using that “make your own wiki” site that was shared with me a little while ago (or I’ve got a subscription to WorldAnvil for my D&D notes, so maybe that) to start organising my lore notes a bit better, but that’s a fairly large project and I might just stick to what’s working for me.

[madhattersez]

Model Kit Build: "Mrs. Loheng-Rinko" by Bandai

Yesssss! I've been wanting to build this kit the moment I saw the box the first time years ago.

If you squint real hard, you may see a traditional anime-style space battleship, and that's just what they were going for! It's a battleship, but also... a gorgeous Captain lady.

What it is is amazing, I tell ya.

This was the first thing my eyes darted to when I opened the box. Welp, that's creepy as hell. Haha.

This is the first model I've built that had... eye and eyebrow sockets. The eyes are like this because there are a ton of different-looking options you can swap out.

Funny enough, this isn't even the eye option I was going for, but I didn't realize it until I had already solidly placed the first eye down and I thought it looked really cute anyway, so I went ahead with the matching one.

Obligatory torso shot, seeing as how I apparently include one in every build post. It's just a great checkpoint, I suppose.

Decision time - Plastic butt or rubber butt?

This is the first model I've ever built that had rubber pieces! Only her skirt is rubber, and I guess that's to make sure it keeps shape no matter which way she's bending.

The plastic butt is what I need, though, because it's a necessity to put her on the included base(kind of like a seat) in the pose I'm aiming for. The front of the skirt will still be rubber, though.

I didn't take a ton of progress pics because this model was super easy and I just kind of forgot to pause now and then.

Here's a shot of her with all of the battleship gear on - I'm pretty impressed she can balance with all this shit on, honestly, haha.

She has a more "human" looking option that includes loafers for shoes, no turrets in the knees, and, you know, no spaceship parts. But where's the fun in that?

Let's get right to it - Fully built and posed on the included stand! I have her somewhat in the same position as on the box, because again, I really dug it at first site.

I'm blown away - She's incredible!

I also tried a new technique rather than the "clumsy gaijin nipping parts directly from the sprues" technique I have used up to this point. I now clip the branches around the part (like professional builders do) and then do a quick twist to set the parts free.

I had almost zero jaggies or stretch marks. It took longer, but it was so, so worth it. Cleanest build I've ever done, by far.

A back and side shot so you can see all of the battleship equipment on her. What a dope design!

And here are the rest of the peepers that will sit lonely on this sheet, maybe forever.

I was originally going to use 3 and 4. Ah well.

The ones on the right look like some Sonic the Hedgehog shit.

Welp, that's all for this one! The next one I'm putting together is probably the silliest and girliest one yet. And that's saying something! Stay tuned.

For more of my model kit builds on Tumblr, click here:

[sayaratyriea]

Hey. So. I saved your reblog forever ago about discworld cause i was like sure I'll read this eventually. Your testimony in the tags had me intrigued. But i can't find a good copy anywhere. Like the library system in my area only has the audiobooks. i can't do audiobooks cause i can't force myself to pay attention to things without subtitles. Well i mean i can it's just difficult. I tried the open library but the copies they have are scanned in and difficult to read imo. Where did you read them? And also, what is your recommended order?

Hi!! I unfortunately don’t know that my reading sources are gonna help much, since I mostly actually bought them (and my local library has a decent supply of copies for the ones I didn’t buy)—I keep having family members give me amazon gift cards and I cannot get it through their heads that I don’t like to support that site, so in order to avoid offending them I buy ebooks whilst trying to convince them to try gift cards for local places. When the money’s already been spent and all… I also like the covers, so I have a few of them in paperback on the shelf :) my copy of Guards! Guards! is hosting at least a hundred four-leaf clovers and a wide collection of bookmarks right now

Does your local library have access to Libby or another ebook rental app/service? My experience is that those are separate from audiobook rentals and might not be obvious, but I think most libraries do let you connect, at least where I’m from. I forget what the other ebook rental app my mom uses all the time is called. Discworld is pretty popular, so the books might have wait times, but it’d be a good place to start if you can access it! I’m honestly pretty surprised your library doesn’t have physical copies, because I’ve never been to one that didn’t have at least a few, even if they’re all always checked out. Maybe I just have good local libraries?

As for starting out: when I got into the series, I used this flowchart to figure out where to start out:

But this is, yknow, pretty overwhelming. My personal suggestion would be to start with Guards! Guards!, though. It’s the first appearance of Samuel Vimes, one of the more memorable recurring characters (and one of my favorites), and is a nice entertaining self-contained story that lampoons a solid handful of classic high fantasy tropes. The plot’s basically, “what if the rightful king didn’t show up to solve the Obvious Fantasy Plot (as rightful kings always tend to do), so the underappreciated city guards have to do it instead?.” It’s got a good spread of typical Discworld humor, interesting worldbuilding, and classic Pratchett insight—if you have ever seen that quote floating around tumblr about how poor people spend more money on boots than rich people because they always have to buy new shitty ones, that’s from Guards! Guards!. If you try this one and like it, that flowchart has a list of the other books that are primarily about the Watch characters, and they’re all very good. Pratchett was a great writer when he wrote Guards! Guards, but he gets better over the course of his career. Pretty much all of these can stand alone quite well, but it’s more fun to read them in order, because they often reference each other.

I would also recommend Small Gods, which is one of my absolute favorite Discworld novels. It’s not linked to any particular continuity, but it’s a really really interesting exploration of organized religion and the way gods work in Discworld, and it hits hard.

Monstrous Regiment is another good starter, being pretty effectively stand-alone with only minor links to existing stories. It’s about a girl who pretends to be a boy to join her country’s army, and as is typical with Discworld, it lampoons basically everything about that classic trope in a way that I personally find very satisfying. Also, there are several characters who have very strong trans and/or lesbian subtext, which is a neat thing to find in an older trope-y fantasy book like this! You can read it in a way that dismisses the subtext as just a continuation of the parody, but frankly I think Pratchett 100% intended those characters to be queer. They feel incredibly sincere to me, the characters just don’t use modern language to describe it all. Plus he dabbles with queer stuff in the Watch novels too, if you squint a little.

You could also, if you are brave and don’t care about late-arrival spoilers, try starting with Going Postal. This is one of the last books Pratchett wrote, and references a TON of stuff that is more satisfying and interesting if you’ve read the books that set it all up (plus if you care about spoilers, by its nature it spoils what happens to some of the Watch characters). BUT, that said, it’s one of the best in the series IMO. Its social critique feels incredibly fucking relevant in the era of social media and internet provider monopolies, it’s a very quick zippy read with a fun protagonist, and it’s got a lot of great humor and clever wordplay.

Generally speaking, IMO you can pick up nearly any Discworld novel as your entrance to the series and follow along and enjoy it if you must. The books are very episodic—recurring characters will occasionally have multi-book arcs, Vimes definitely does, but you won’t miss out on the ‘main point’ of any novel if you don’t have that context. Pratchett does a good job of reestablishing whatever context you do need when it comes up, he knows what he’s doing. So don’t feel discouraged if the only one you find looks like the fifteenth in a continuous string! If the summary on the back looks interesting, you’d probably be fine to just dive in most of the time. The only series I can think to compare it to in this sense is Redwall, lmao—you will get more out of the books if you’ve read the older ones that establish characters and plots being referenced, sure, but you can almost always happily read and enjoy any given book without knowing about that stuff if you want to. You might miss a few things or be confused by some worldbuilding, but at least in my personal opinion it’s never that big of a deal.

I haven’t read the wizard books yet, nor all of the witches ones, so no comment there. But I do really love the Watch books, and I think they’re a more interesting introduction to the series than the Death books, which are the other “timeline” I’ve read. (I enjoy Death more as a character when he incidentally pops up in other narratives, rather than starring in his own, but that’s just my preference.) Hogfather’s excellent, though, and seems to stand alone well enough that you could give it a go if it sounds interesting to you. Fake Discworld Santa gets murdered, Death tries to fill in, and the cast explores the meaning of holiday characters and belief. It feels like a Christmas movie kind of story, if you can picture that energy, but in a strange sideways way that’s like half parody while still half incredibly sincere. (And not, like, actually IRL religious or anything.) That’s the one with the quote about believing in “the big lies, like justice” that also tends to circulate tumblr a lot.

I hope this helps!! I wordvomited a lot and I blame the ADHD, but also I love these books a lot, and I hope you can find a way to enjoy them yourself!! :D

[purplelurkinghini]

Dear purplelurkinghini,

I'm still high on the batman movie, or.. well,, the riddler in particular. I cant stop thinking about him, like, for real. Every day i wake up and check the riddler tag on this site, and idk what to do when i see not many new posts. I try to look for fics on ao3, but a lot of them are just... not my taste. As you might know, i have very specific tastes in fics, so its been really hard for me to find the ones i like. What do i do???????? I went on youtube but there's not a lot of new interview with the cast?? Im like, why isnt there??? I need content of the riddler. If people wont make them the way i like it, then should i just do it myself???? But like,,, i dont really have the time to do something like that. Maybe i do???? I mean--- Well actually, i finished a drawing of him the other day. Should i start writing fics of him too??? Arghhh but im not good at writing!!! Idk what to do now fhdjskhfskj

Love,

G.B. Anon

Dear G.B. Anon,

I, too, am still coming down from the high of having watched the film a little over a week ago. While my chest stopped aching like some highschool girl's would with their first love, sightings of bootleg recordings and low-res screenshots continue to fill my brain with the happy chemical.

Since you mentioned being inspired by the movie (drawing fanart, yes?), I say you make Edward your muse and write what you want to read. Yeah, as someone currently struggling with writer's block, I can only write when I get slapped in the face by my muse and only for as long as the sting lasts. Yeah, I do know it's easier said than done.

Even so, I still recommend writing.

Below the cut, I've continued the snipped you inspired (yes, you were my muse for a few minutes there). It isn't much, and I hope you know I don't mean to squick you (now that's a word I haven't seen used in forever), though I will say it is more of the power play you said you enjoy.

CW: light bondage

With your mouth taped shut, and your wrists bound together and cradling your bound feet, you had no choice but to even out your breathing. You had no choice but to be quiet like the good boy the Riddler had sucking on his rubber-gloved fingers before throwing into the back his own car.

You did, however, have a choice in being a witness to the crime since, of course, he hadn't used his roll of gaffer tape on your eyes. And so you saw that pig Pete Savage be syringed and strangled until he squealed like sow and passed out.

Oh, but the body he slacked against, even with his slimmer frame, was not without strengh. Even as he struggled to shove Savage into the back of his own backseat, he moved like a man high on his triumph, taking his time to taste that sweet, sweet victory. He cracked his neck, moving it from side to side, and rolled back his shoulders. Then, he wheezed, whiffing the air. He breathed in the blood he was about to spill so loudly, you heard him from inside your car.

The echo of it snuck its way into your ears and poured out of your nose through a wheeze of your own. It was surreal, hearing him, seeing him, witnessing him just beyond your window. It was unreal hearing him in the air around you instead of through your speakers. The Riddler might as well have been another streamer with a gimmick if he weren't right there. If he weren't moving towards you, tall and proud and predatory.

"Daddy's all done," he sighed, satisfied, as soon as he swung open the door. "How's my baby doing?"

After watching the ball you were curled up in because of his quick and stinging bondage work, after watching you whimper before him, and wiggle closer to him, he giggled. He looked down at you with the flickering neon light catching in his glasses and making them glow, and he giggled.

"I wasn't long, was I?" He reached for your face and pulled the tape off with no concern for the pain. "You can still make it home by midnight." He wiped the wetness from your lips, suppressing another laugh behind his mask as your mouth opened for him. "You've been so good for me," he said in a sing-song voice. "Good boy."

Then, pulling away his hand along with the tape, he took his time tracing your wrists and anchles, but didn't pull at the bonds. Instead, he inhaled as you tried your best not to exhale and let out a whimper. You tried your best to be good.

"I can't set you free," his voice dipped as he detached himself from you completely leaving you cold and curled up in the same ball. "You have to do it yourself," he pulled out a switchblade and snickered, and the sound of it did make you whimper. "I know you watch my streams, so you couldn't have missed the fan-favorite top escape tips."

After placing it between your bound plams, he pulled himself away from you and out of the car. And before leaving you to cut yourself five times before tearing the tape, he ducked his head in, tilted it and parted with you with one last word of praise: "Be a good boy and don't make me smear your DNA all over that pig." Spreading out his gloved fingers and the saliva still stuck to them, he waved before slamming the door shut: "Goodbye."

[vananice]

.

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Fri 19 March ‘21

Zach Sang’s 25 min of relaxing ASMR wait no I mean celebration of Zayn’s great talking voice wait NO I MEAN his ZAYN INTERVIEW (promised months ago then sadly postponed until NOW) is here!! Zach is such a good interviewer for these guys, you can tell he sincerely loves the music and he asks great respectful questions only, love it. And sure enough, this is a lovely interview and Zayn actually seems totally comfortable chatting and sharing his thoughts. They talk about lots of specifics about the songs on NIL; Zayn says NIL is his fave of his music and that he “tried to go a little deeper into my own personal things,” he said that he recorded the majority of the album at home in Pennsylvania and that yes, it is influenced by being there, that River Road especially is massively inspired by the locale and “I’ve got a very country vibe going on right now with the big beard and the nature, I’m enjoying it, it’s cool.” He says the cover painting is of “the blank expressions you might get when you’re speaking to somebody that’s not listening,” that “my teenage years were very different than I expected them to be and I learned a lot of things … to take things easy and at your own pace.” About Calamity that he often writes poems (zoems) and just takes lyrics out of them later, but friends voted he keep Calamity as is and go for it, that Sweat (the drums specifically) is an homage to Phil Collins, that he’s writing new stuff and will hopefully have something more out later this year, and Zach asks the pressing question we’ve all had: IS THAT A KAZOO ON CONNEXION? Disappointingly Zayn’s answer is only, I don’t really fuck with those fine details, that’s down to the producers. So no confirmation but also: it’s totally a kazoo. And finally this from Z: “I love music, it’s my solace. I love writing, I love being in the studio and being in that space, it’s something I love to do. I feel like as long as I’m alive it’s something I’ll do I’d like to be able to, I’d like people to remain interested for as long as I’m alive, I know that’s a long shot but it’s a long haul, we’re all trying to stay around for as long as we can.”

We got to see Liam today!! I’ve missed that sweet face! He recorded a little video while walking through a park (“on my way to the shops”) to show off his beautiful shaggy long hair and beard to say that he’s just surpassed 5 billion streams and a “humungous massive ginormous thank you to all you guys who are listening.”

Louis tweeted “a lot of these NFT projects are very interesting!” NFTs are unique digital things-- like normally anything online can be duplicated, unlike real objects, this way it can’t (it’s how crypto currency works), or rather: you CAN still copy stuff, just there’s a way to tell the original from the copy (of a copy). People are excited about this because it makes it possible to sell things that previously you couldn’t really charge money for (like unique digital art). The way it’s achieved is unfortunately via the massive and wasteful expenditure of resources though, it’s very bad for the environment; current bitcoin creation alone for example uses more resources than entire countries and the current NFT craze is racing to outdo that. Louis responded to a DM asking about that; “Louis are you aware the average NFT has a carbon footprint equivalent to more than a month’s electricity for a person living in the EU?” Louis says, “I’m aware and it’s something I’m looking to do differently if I do my own project,” then liked a tweet from a company addressing the issue: "Our carbon neutrality pledge is a step toward making NFT digital collectibles and the digital metaverse part of a green, environmentally friendly future.” IDK how realistic that is, but in any case Louis is aware of the issues and the fans’ concerns.

Anyway he also tweeted about football a bunch- because a former Doncaster player was picked for the England World Cup team!! Louis says the player “was at donny when I was training there. Top lad and top keeper,” and “he deserves every bit of success.” And in answer to queries, the official word from Louis’ merch site (responsive as ever, bless that twin) is that they do not plan to restock the album! No CDs! This is likely due to it having been put out by Syco, who no longer exist, but what does it mean in the long run? It’s a major release and I can’t imagine it simply going out of print forever, surely a reprint of some kind will be worked out?

What secrets was Niall hiding in his photodump yesterday? “What are you playing on the piano?” asks a follower, and Niall selected the tweet to, well not answer, but to draw attention to his failure to answer by simply replying with an eyes emoji, like a troll. Then he posted a picture of sunglasses on an electronic piano, but when asked again to spill what was up said only “a pair of sunglasses on a Wurlitzer.” But IS he trolling? “There’s nothing to know hahah it’s literally a pair of sunglasses on a piano!” he protests. He also tweeted “today is a good day!” which ALSO doesn’t tell us anything but you know what, Niall’s out there having a good time and good for him.

Lenny Kravitz tagged Harry in a throwback post of himself in a stunning look- “real men wear boas,” and the deuxmoi / Olivia’s PR team partnership rose to new levels of obviousness with the gossip blog using a supposed blind item about Olivia (you’d think she was royalty, the astonishing number of blind items they JUST HAPPEN to get) to announce a giveaway in partnership with a sponsor brand she is the face of. HARD eyeroll, imagine thinking that blog wasn’t get paaaaid, can’t relate.

[sebbybooks]

Wreck My Daydream

Part Two

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

18+

Tagged🎄

@wayward-mikaelson

Cataglottism

(n.) kissing with tongue

I’m already wet and Sebastian barely even touched me.

I hardly gave myself a moment to be ashamed or even stir in the crass words I was using even if I had only thought them. Like a diary I suppose there was no need to lie to myself considering it was one hundred percent true. I, Nellie Lennox, was unabashedly met with unending desires that washed away my trepidations that led up to this moment.

In its place I felt this newfound sense of possibilities that I wasn’t actually making an ass out of myself with my sudden confession of feelings for Sebastian. In my defense I didn’t just wake up one morning after having some epiphany as to why I wanted to be with him. The thought of us together made itself at home in the back of my mind.

Almost like a what if. . .

However, I couldn’t help but be terrified of all the ways it could go wrong. What if I had made things weird between us forcing us apart? Life would be a bitter existence if Sebastian wasn’t around in some capacity. For the longest time I tried to find him in different relationships. It is a messed up philosophy, but it almost worked. Whenever things would get too serious it nearly terrified me. I was their someday and they were my maybe. I owed this last relationship that is still so freshly cut more than that.

I owed myself that.

On the unique and rare chance I somehow got lost in a very realistic maladaptive daydream, I’m pretty certain Sebastian wants this too. Just thinking about what he had told me seconds ago made my heartbeat drum to a dizzy rhythm. Imagining myself getting fucked to the beat of it was a completely different type of sensation.

Retraining my focus on the now I could see it in Sebastian’s face all the wheels going around in his head. Confusion? Uncertainty? Regret?

“You don’t get to do that.” I tell him. I felt like I was going to climb out of my own skin if he left me suspended in the silence for a second longer. Sebastian tipped his face closer to mine, our lips gingerly brushing against each other. Perhaps he was feeling ambivalent in regards of his feelings for me? After all this was sprung on him in the middle of the night.

Sebastian shook his head as if he was at war with himself. “I want to.” His voice was strained and dangerously low, like something was causing him utter misery being this close, yet not knowing exactly when to pull away.

“Then why don’t you.” I dared him.

I was growing impatient with this slow burn we had somehow started. I wanted to play with this fire. If I got burned in the end by his touch then so be it. At least I would forever be marked with a reminder of knowing that I at least went after something I wanted with no apology. I wanted to see how far he was willingly to go.

Sebastian removed his hand from the security of being wrapped around me. I feigned a disappointed sigh at the lack of contact. My entire body must have been on autopilot , because I didn’t recognize the position I was in. I practically sat in his lap with one leg wrapped around him and the other one mindlessly dangling over the bed. Of course the mind reader that Sebastian was naturally grabbed ahold of the side of my thigh and wrapped it around his back.

It wasn’t like I was naive to sex or never had my fair share of romantic conquest. Regardless of my experiences I still felt like a gigantic ball of nerves. The way he stared down at me with a heated look in his eyes as if he wanted to posses every inch of me. Hell, I felt like I could come undone from that alone.

The hand that was planted on my back slowly drifted downward trailing the curve of my backside gripping my ass through my thinly silk hunter green shorts that matched the top. Earlier I had berated myself for wearing scantly clad pajamas to bed. Now I am thanking my lucky stars I opted out of the option of wearing a red Christmas onesie that had polar bears wearing scarfs around their necks. They were ones my mother insisted the whole family wear.

If I had I probably would not have been able to feel his erection that was restrained in his sweatpants. Trying to situate myself closer I rocked into him slightly, massaging myself on him. My ears didn’t miss the subtle groan Sebastian let out from the feel of my weight pressing further into him.

His silence wasn’t lost on me and he still hadn’t answered my question so I did it again. I wanted him to say something. My nervousness abated at this point. I twined my arms around his neck, grinding myself against him again and again. All the while Sebastian watched my every movement with a hint of a star struck look in his eyes. The feeling was certainly mutual I was even shocking myself at my behavior.

“Nellie,” Sebastian finally says, voice husky. He usually only ever calls me by my nickname so I was more than sure that he was not fully himself.

“I’m a big girl Sebastian I can handle whatever you need to say.” I tell him, holding in my breath.

“Alright,” he said with uncertainty. “You and me, this, it’s not a good idea.” His tone was barely audible and even more so he sounded hurt. Everything in me froze.

“And why is that?” I asked him more confused than ever. Suddenly feeling absolutely self conscious as I over analyzed every intimate word I just shared with him. I was even more horrified by the fact that I was dry humping my best friend.

He let out a darkly laugh. “It’s pretty damn obvious Nells.” Sebastian says rather ominously.

“...It’s not actually.” For someone that wants nothing out of this, Sebastian was holding on to me like an anchor and I on the other hand just wanted to get away and sink.

Admittedly, I was losing this game of tug a war. There was only so much I was willing to endure even I had my limits. “You’re giving me whiplash Sebastian .” I tell him honestly, “ I’m not like those other girls you go for that are satisfied with you just dangling yourself in front of them like a piece of cake that I can’t have. I meant what I said when I told you I didn’t say it just to hear you say the same.” My voice could only rise so high in pitch.

I definitely didn’t want to wake up the upstairs guest that would love nothing more than to recap this conversation over breakfast. Then like an unexpected bolt of lighting startling you from a distance, Sebastian kissed me.

Sebastian

I am a selfish bastard.

My mind fell quiet when I looked at her. I wanted to swim in the serenity and peacefulness that was this smart, vibrant, sexy, and uniqueness this woman possessed. I only wondered even in the darkness could Nellie see my eyes as plainly as I can see hers. If so could she see the shame reflecting in them? I could feel the nagging weight of my conscience siting on both of my shoulders, arguing back and forth over what I should and shouldn’t do. It was kind of ironic that the devil in my ear insisted that I give in to the angel in my lap.

God knows I waited for her and that I would keep waiting if I had to in this lifetime or the next. It was always going to be Nellie for me. I wanted to tell her all of this, but the longer I held on to this slice of heaven I was given during this random hour. I also knew that this moment was fleeting. I basked in the way she looked at me, the way she held on to me like I was an object of virtue. I also got a sample of what it would be like to lose her the second she began to slip away on her own accord. So, I did what any poor fool would do in my position. I kissed her.

It wasn’t exactly suave or how I imagined it would go. My mouth sort of crushed against her unmoving lips in a rushed and unskilled manner. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what I was doing, I certainly could do a hell of a lot better than this. An yet, it was still like I predicted it would be, filled with pure unadulterated pleasure. Nellie’s lips were sweet and warm, exactly how I imagined forbidden fruit to taste like.

A perfect mixture of firm and softness that drove me wild. She flattened her hands on my bare chest as if to brace herself. Nellie pushed herself away, but her face was still so close to me. She didn’t speak and neither could I. I forced myself to look up at her and hoped that she could see I would do everything in my power to earn her forgiveness. That it was a mistake I will make right somehow.

“Nell,” I let out an exasperated breath. “ I have a need for you that goes deeper than just lust and I know that it will never truly be sated. The killer thing is I’m already at risk of losing you before I even had you.”

Nellie stared hazily up at me.“You already have me.” She whispered, our lips still grazing. Those four simple words set off a firework in me. This time when I kissed her our mouths came together like we needed to feed off of each other’s oxygen in order to survive. I’d suffer if I didn’t have it.

My mouth was greedy for hers, and I could imagine she felt the same. The moment I felt her lips slightly part open to let me in, less than a second our tongues slid together in a torrid and sensually slow pace. We kissed like a couple of eager teenagers. My heart threatened to leap from my chest when the tip of Nell’s tongue moved across my bottom lip. She tastes like gingerbread , mixed with some other divine flavor that I can only assume is Nellie. She arched herself closer into my chest and I could feel the points of her hardened nipples through her top. I seized the opportunity to press her body close because I needed more.

I wanted to feel the heat of her soft skin on mine. She returned her arms back around my neck tightly holding me in place as she angled her head kissing me back with the same ferocity. Deeply, and oh so thoroughly by the way she sucked on my tongue. I had a rough grip on her ass keeping Nellie steady as she straddled me. I was so damn hard for her. If my dick could get even harder it was bound to. Nellie did that thing again where she grinds down on my erection and I cursed at myself to not combust. I grabbed ahold of her hips guiding her to move faster, harder.

I kept telling myself to savor her, fucking take my time with this moment. I couldn’t just rip those tiny little shorts off and sink myself into her over and over until we’ve both had enough. But even then I would always need more of her. I wasn't a sentimental man, with Nellie I at least wanted to try. I wanted my first night with Nell to be a little less spontaneous than this. It wasn’t like I came prepared for festivities filled with endless fucks. Plus the added fact I couldn’t let things get too carried away especially since she still didn’t know what I have done.

Yeah, I am a very selfish bastard.

I didn’t want this to end. I wanted my mouth to explore every single part of Nellie. I wanted the taste of her to live on my tongue. I wanted to go as far as she and my consciousness would allow me.

“I need to touch you.” I panted, between every nip and kiss I left on the delicate area of skin under her jaw.

“You’re already touching me.” She says with a soft laugh, which was a melody to my ears. I was but at the same time I wasn’t. I needed to rid Nellie of any barrier that prevented me from branding her skin with my touch.

“This…off.” I tug gently on the bottom of her tank top before returning my hands to rest on her thighs, caressing them as I sucked on her neck for dear life. Going back and forth between grazing her neck with my teeth then licking over the area to soothe any imprint I’ve left.

Nellie crisscrossed her arms reaching for the hem of her top gracefully pulling it over her head. She purposely fell backwards onto the mattress aiming her shirt at my face. For as long as I’ve known Nell she was never one to be shy in her own skin.

“Imagine how unsexy that would have been if I hit my head on the headboard.”

“As long as you didn’t hurt yourself I would have just pretended that I didn’t see a thing.” I teased.

“Ah, to think they wonder where all of the good men have gone.” Nell scrunched up her nose pretending to be lost in critical thought.

I cock my head to the side. “Mm-hmm. Are you mocking me?”

“What if I am?”Her plump wet lips spread into a smile.

It was miracle I caught a word of what she said to me. I swallowed a groan as my eyes drift over the area of her body that was naked from the waist up. Nellie was clearly a stolen painting from the Louvre that I had no intention of returning. All I could do was stare.

With her legs still draped around me, my hands slide up the curve of her torso passing her ribs. I sensed that she was watching me, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off of her just yet. The pads of my fingers traced over to her breast and my mouth practically watered at the sight of them. She was ethereal.

“Don’t suddenly go mute on me Sebastian.” She let out a shaky breath.

I’ve heard her say my name a thousand times. Hearing her say it in this state created a feeling of warmth that filled my chest. I could only begin to imagine the different ways I wanted to hear her call out my name. My gift, my best friend, my Nellie. Those last words had a sting to them even as I thought them. Deep down I knew that was never going to be true.

I eased all the way down my tongue traveling around the dip of her navel. Creating a path up the center of her abdomen. I knew that Nell was extremely ticklish. The slightest form of contact would automatically turn her into a ninja. From the way she was pressing herself back into the mattress I knew she was trying her hardest not to flee. Of course I found it rather enticing so I made sure to spend extra time over the areas of her exposed skin I knew to be the most sensitive. Brushing the tip of my nose between her breast my mouth finally latched on to what I’ve been waiting for.

“So fucking beautiful.” I say as I graze my mouth over the stiff peak of her nipple. I was in awe over the ability that they simultaneously could feel hard yet felt extremely soft. I dragged the tip of my tongue around the bud of it in a languid movement before sucking it in deep. I loved listening to the sounds she made while I sucked and devoured as much as I could fit into my mouth. I wanted to hear a symphony of the noises that escaped from Nellie.

Going for one after the other not wanting to miss out on either. Nellie kept a limp hand pressed into my hair keeping me close as if I dared to stop.

Writhing underneath me Nellie gasped,“Touch me.”

Now she understood what I meant. My own body felt betrayed by my decision. I literally ached from pain and pleasure. Truthfully I wouldn’t opt for a better scenario than this. I would be more than gratified with giving Nellie an orgasm or two.

Still leaving featherlight kisses across her chest. With one hand I reach down and brushed along the dip of Nellie’s hip, then began to tug away at her shorts. To my surprise she was bare underneath. This was a new and uncharted territory we were crossing.

Tell me to stop, say that this is just the wrong time, tell me we would never work. Those words never escaped me, the sound of the goddamn doorbell intervened for her. My movements hesitated then shortly I picked up on inaudible chattering out in the hall. Nellie turned her head in the direction towards the door which I hoped like hell was locked. “Maybe we should go see what’s going on.” Her eyes widened.

“Or we could stay here and not shame the fact that I was two seconds away from wrapping your legs around my face while I tasted the slickness between your thighs. ” Nellie released a ragged breath and I meant every word.

To my dissatisfaction we were composed in under three minutes. I felt a strange sense of comfort and pride seeing that ever so often I’d catch Nellie looking in my direction smiling like she had some big secret she was bursting to tell. Which only made me feel like an even bigger asshole. The walk downstairs was surprisingly noisy. Someone had plugged the Christmas tree back up and there was a chilly wind breaking in as the front door came to an immediate shut.

Nellie’s parents were both moving around in a fast pace trying to find new spots to put a couple of suitcases. I had to swallow down a chuckle at the sight of their bold choice of pajamas. Nellie had already beaten me to the bottom of the staircase just as I rounded the corner of the spiral stairs.

“Cousin!” Vanessa squealed rushing over towards Nellie, who excitedly embraced her the same. They exchanged a few excitable words to each other that I tuned out. I was busy focusing on the six foot son of a bitch with a puppy dog expression on his face standing awkwardly behind them.

“Now you know Nells Bells you can’t have Christmas without good ole St. Nicholas can you?” She winked at a stone faced Nellie who just looked straight ahead at her ex boyfriend Nick. “I hope it’s okay I brought him over with me. I saw him at the airport dozed off in a chair.” Vanessa whispered as she leaned into Nell, like she just earned a gold star. Soon as Vanessa’s wild dark brown eyes caught ahold me I knew my bubble was about to pop.

“Something told me I was off the naughty list this year.” Vanessa bit at her glossed up lips and made a beeline towards me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She smelled like an overtly sweet perfume that tortured my sinuses. “Did you forget how to work a phone or what? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days. I miss you.” She cooed.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nellie watching the two of us. This was my punishment.

[threeamfics]

Here it is, my very first self-indulgent fic on this site. I prefer writing in first person POV but I’m gonna tag this as a reader fic since I tried to make it possible for anyone to self-insert. Enjoy!

Word Count: 6k

Summary: I used to loathe Baron Zemo. I never thought my feelings could change so much in a single day.

Tags: angst, fluff, gender ambiguous MC, first person POV, soft Zemo

TW: blood, mentions of suicidal thoughts

The Monster, the Once-Was Father

Zemo laid there on the hard floor, struggling to breathe. I wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to help him. He was a murderer, a manipulator, a criminal, a heartless monster.

But only an hour ago he’d been telling me what his son had looked like. Zemo had described, in loving detail, the silly things his son would sometimes do. I’d seen a rare smile on Zemo’s face while he lamented those times from before the disaster in Sokovia. It forced me to recognize the man beneath the monster, as unwilling as I was to see it.

So now, despite the many reasons I still had for hating him, I reached out to help him. It was not “Baron Zemo, the monster” who I reached out to, but “Helmut Zemo, the once-was father.” I did my best to keep this in mind as I pressed my hand against the bullet wound in his abdomen to temper his blood loss.

“Breathe evenly,” I instructed him under the sound of more gunfire. The anarchists who’d shot him seconds ago wanted their killing blow, but I kept myself crouched low on my knees behind our makeshift barricade. Sam and Bucky were elsewhere, hopefully searching this empty building for a way to flank the anarchists. None of us had anticipated this ambush.

With his eyes squeezed shut against the pain, Zemo nodded, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Keep doing that,” I said to him. A bullet skimmed the top of our barricade. Instinctively I bent myself lower, closer to Zemo. My hand felt warm with his blood. “But we can’t stay here. When I say run, you need to run with me. Understand?”

This time Zemo opened his eyes and looked at me with resolve when he nodded. I knew then that this hadn’t been his first time getting shot in combat.

I looked down at his wound. It was off-center, possibly non-lethal so long as the bleeding could be stopped. But there was nothing I could do about that in the middle of a firefight. I knew there were medical supplies in the car, but I had to get down there first. I silently begged for the distraction we desperately needed.

Then the shooting stopped. I heard one of the anarchists shout, “Behind us!” And the shooting began once more, but the bullets flew in the other direction. Sam and Bucky must have successfully flanked them.

I grabbed the lapels of Zemo’s coat and began pulling him up, forcing a pained growl through his clenched teeth.

“Run!” I commanded him. In an instant he was on his feet, as was I, and we raced out of the room before the anarchists could notice. I led our escape and looked back now and then to make sure Zemo was right behind me. I hadn’t expected him to handle himself this well with such a bad injury, but then again, nothing about him could be considered predictable.

We made it through a few corridors and halfway down a set of stairs before Zemo finally stopped to let out a guttural moan. I skidded to a halt and turned to look up at where he stood on the steps. He was hunched over the bannister, his features twisted in agony.

“We can’t stay here,” I gently urged.

Zemo looked like hell, with his cheeks reddened and his hair disheveled. “Give me a moment,” he managed to say between gasps for air.

I looked around to make sure no anarchists had caught up to us yet. “We may not have a moment. And the sooner we get somewhere safe, the sooner I can stop that bleed.”

Zemo didn’t move. He stood there, breathing heavily, quaking. With a soft sigh I climbed the stairs to stand at his side, and I ducked underneath one of his arms. He watched me, bemused.

“Come on,” I said, anchoring him to me by his arm around my shoulders. I tugged him forward, giving him no choice but to comply and lean his weight against me. The descent down the rest of the stairs proved difficult enough that I slipped my other arm beneath his coat and around his waist, where I grabbed him by the belt to steady him. Zemo placed his free hand upon mine there, perhaps out of reflex, or maybe as plea to not let go. Both our hands were slick with his blood.

Eventually we made it outside, where the sun beat brightly against the paved streets and sidewalks. It was out here that I realized Zemo’s blood had run down the length of his leg and was dripping off the cuff of his pants, leaving a trail behind us.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“What?” he rasped. Then he followed my gaze. “...Ah.”

I needed to get him somewhere safe without any anarchists tracking us down. Everywhere I looked, however, there was only wide open space, and in very public view.

And then I heard Sam calling out to me. I patted Zemo’s arm as a signal to let go. He hurriedly shifted his weight off me, allowing me to slip away, and I rushed to meet Sam and Bucky as they made their own escape from the building.

“Zemo was shot back there,” I explained, breathless, “I need to—”

Sam interrupted by tossing a set of car keys at me. “Go,” he urged. “Take him. We’ll be all right, I promise.”

I caught the keys, but I hesitated to leave. That car was the only escape we all had. “I can’t just—”

“I’ll send you the coordinates for our next safe house,” Sam cut me off again. The resolve in his eyes was apparent.

I looked at Bucky, who jerked his chin in the direction of the car. “Go on. We still need the information Zemo’s holding hostage from us, so don’t let him die.”

They were giving me no choice but to leave them. They could handle themselves, I reminded myself, but it still wrung my heart to turn my back to them. They ran one way, and I ran the other, back to Zemo, of all people in the entire world.

When I returned to Zemo, he was lightly swaying where he stood. I stopped long enough to look at his face. He’d become alarmingly pale in such a short time. His hair, normally so tidy, now hung loosely above his eyes, dampened with sweat. I tried to hold his gaze, but he seemed barely able to focus on me.

“Take this off,” I told him, pushing the fur-collared coat off his shoulders, knowing it would only be in the way later. As Zemo shrugged it down his arms, I noticed a handgun tucked inside the shoulder holster he wore underneath the coat.

I frowned at him and said, “When did you get your hands on a gun?”

Zemo only answered with a frail but roguish smile. I shook my head, vexed by him. He was unbelievably crafty. Gathering his coat in my arms, I told him to shed the holster, and I collected that from him, too.

“Into the car,” I commanded, leading him toward it by the hand and steadying him each time he stumbled. It was a miracle he didn’t collapse until after he’d crawled onto the backseat, where his body finally gave out. I tossed the coat and holster to the floor of the car before circling around and practically throwing myself into the driver’s seat. And then we were speeding away.

I drove us toward the outskirts of the city where I knew more condemned, abandoned buildings would be. Occasionally I glanced at the rear view mirror to check on Zemo. He laid in the backseat, too tall to fit comfortably, and though his face was turned away from me, I could see his fists clenched white-knuckled against the pain. I pressed harder on the gas.

The few minutes it took to reach the outskirts felt like forever. I pulled up to the first dilapidated building I saw, some sort of old storefront. Hopefully there weren’t any other unfortunates already using it for refuge. I yanked a medical bag out of the glove compartment and threw it over my shoulder before leaping from the car.

“Come on, round two,” I said after wrenching the back door open. Zemo didn’t respond. I reached in to grab him by the front of his maroon sweater, and he weakly groaned as I pulled him into a sitting position.

“Just a little further,” I pressed. My hands were on his shoulders, tugging him, trying to coax him from the backseat. I could see where his blood had soaked into the seat’s fabric.

Zemo ran a trembling hand through his hair. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, and sweat glistened on his forehead. I took hold of his face between my hands.

“Zemo!” I shouted, and his dark eyes locked on mine at last. “On your feet, okay? Just a bit further!”

It was then, as I noticed all confidence had vanished from Zemo’s face, his eyes fraught as they stared into mine, that I realized just how vulnerable he looked, and how concerned I actually felt for him. He could die here, and I didn’t want him to.

“Come on, just a little further,” I urged again.

Zemo swallowed with difficulty and nodded. Slowly, carefully, he slid from the car to his feet, and I ducked under his arm to guide him again. I could feel his entire body shaking against me as we hobbled our way into the building.

The storefront had evidently been some kind of café once upon a time. A handful of tables and chairs remained scattered around the room, each one layered in dust from disuse. It was all I could take note of however, for we only made it a few feet inside before Zemo’s legs gave way. He slid from my grip and collapsed onto the hardwood floor.

Falling to my knees beside him, I dropped the medical bag, ripped it open, and spilled its contents to the floor. With quick hands I separated out the supplies I knew I would need and brushed aside the rest. Then I turned back to Zemo, who was still on his stomach, breathing hard against the floor.

“Work with me,” I instructed as I tugged at his shoulder. He obliged and pushed himself onto his back.

“Apologies,” he whispered up at me.

I almost dropped what was in my hand. He was the one dying, and yet he was apologizing to me? For a minor inconvenience?

I banished the thought. There was no time for that right now. If Zemo lost any more blood, there would be no chance of saving him.

I untucked his sweater to reveal his pale, taut abdomen, and the wound that marred it. The bullet had pierced him to the right of his naval, just below his rib cage. Hopefully it would leave no debilitating damage.

“The bullet is still inside,” I explained, keeping my voice as steady as possible. The medical kit came with two syringes of localized anesthetic. I held one up to him. “This will dull the pain a bit, but it’s still gonna hurt like hell.”

I watched Zemo’s face for any signs of fear. His eyes only hardened, and he nodded for me to proceed. After uncapping the needle with my teeth, I injected the anesthetic into the muscle of his side, though I must’ve jabbed a little too hard since it earned a wince from Zemo. I took note to be gentler.

Blood continued to pour from the wound. There were no towels in the medkit, so I hurriedly removed my own sweater and pressed it against Zemo’s skin to soak his blood. The cold air around us easily penetrated the thin fabric of my undershirt, but I barely noticed it.

“You don’t want me to live, do you?” Zemo suddenly spoke. His voice rasped with pain and fatigue.

I had to stare at him for a moment before I could form a reply. “Obviously I do. Why else would I be saving your life?”

“You’re saving me out of an obligation to Sam and James.” Zemo studied the ceiling now, avoiding my eyes. “And of a moral obligation to preserve life in general. But if you could discard all of that, and only act on what you believe is the logical choice, then you would let me die for what I’ve done.”

I didn’t want to discuss this. He was wrong about me, that was for certain. But the things I’d been wanting to say to him ever since meeting him in Madripoor, when Bucky had first asked for my help, came rushing to the forefront of my mind. I’d been so intent on saving Zemo from this damn bullet that I momentarily forgot everything I hated about him. And now, he just had to go and remind me.

“You tried to destroy the Avengers,” I nearly growled at him as I grabbed a pair of forceps. “And you did it because you decided on behalf of the entire world that it was necessary.”

“It was,” Zemo insisted. “Power corrupts. It blinds. They could no longer see their own flaws, and because of their power, those flaws became dangerous to the very people they were trying to protect.”

I removed my blood-soaked sweater and plunged the forceps into his wound. Zemo’s words were interrupted by a low groan through his teeth, but he didn’t stop. “Stark created Ultron. Rogers harbored a deadly super soldier. All with good intentions, yes, but each with collateral deaths. They needed to be torn down before—”

I purposely wrenched the forceps too harshly when clamping them around the bullet, forcing another sound of pain out of Zemo. This time he didn’t continue. Instead, he threw his arm over his eyes, hiding his reddening cheeks. His trembling free hand clenched the fabric of his own sweater.

I instantly realized how petty it was of me to harm him in this kind of situation, no matter how much his words angered me. A heavy sigh blew from my nose. “You say all of that, and yet we desperately needed the Avengers when half the world got dusted.” I extracted the bullet and tossed it to the floor. “They were disbanded when all of that happened, because of you. There’s a chance they could’ve stopped it if they’d been together. Say whatever you want, but your arrogance played a role in the worst catastrophe that’s ever happened to us.”

Zemo said nothing. His chest rose and fell with shuddering breaths. I could see the strain in his clenched jaw.

I injected him with the second dose of anesthetic, and with the few tools I had, I set to work on closing the wound. “They still saved us in the end,” I said. “They brought everyone back and stopped that space army from invading. Despite everything you did to them, the Avengers persevered. Thank god your plan to get rid of them failed miserably.” I paused to concentrate on stitching for a moment, and then I murmured, “I was dusted, you know? I wouldn’t be here if not for them.”

It was then that Zemo finally moved his arm from his face and looked at me. I avoided his eyes, concentrating on his injury, but I could feel him studying me.

When he spoke, his voice was soft and raw. “I was spared, but I remember that day vividly. I was in my prison cell. The guard had come to deliver my meal, as he always would. It was so much like clockwork that I did what I’d always done every single day— stood at the door and waited for my meal to be handed through the slot.

“Only this time, the tray of food clattered to the floor. The guard had dropped it. I remember how it looked when he raised his hand, only to see it blowing away, like smoke. And then the rest of him scattered into ash. The worst part was, he hadn’t even screamed. He was simply gone.”

Zemo audibly swallowed. “I knew I wasn’t dreaming. Something terrible was happening. From the confines of my cell, I tried to see if anyone else had suffered the same. I caught a glimpse of more dust down the hall. Likely another guard. I started to hear other prisoners screaming through the walls. There was nothing I could do but wait for it to happen to me.

“But it never did. I sat on the bed for hours, wondering when I would disappear, and yet I remained. I didn’t learn what had happened until four days later, when one of the prison workers finally informed me. Even then, all they could tell me was that a battle with cosmic forces had taken place in Wakanda. We had lost. And whoever had been victorious was the one who’d done this to us.”

Silence then filled the room. I’d finished his stitches, and all that remained was to clean and bandage the wound. I silently mulled over his words as I continued working.

“I did consider it,” Zemo finally admitted. “That it had been partially my fault. But at the time, I refused to accept such a thing. What I’d done was necessary, and that was that.”

His words made me bristle. “Do you still think that?”

“I want to.” Zemo laid a hand over his eyes. “For so long after the destruction of my home, I thought of nothing but revenge. Everything I did from that moment on, I did for my lost family. Tearing apart the Avengers was for them.

“And then half the world became dust. I’d wanted to prevent further tragedies, and yet the very opposite happened. And I don’t want—,” Zemo’s voice broke, and his grimace deepened. “I don’t want to believe that the one thing I did for my loved ones was the wrong thing to do.”

I was very gentle now as I cleaned his stitches. My heart had begun to ache. I looked over at him, and though he attempted to hide his eyes beneath his hand, I could see much more than physical pain in his face. And to think, I’d hated him so much only moments ago.

Zemo’s other hand still tightly clenched the fabric of his sweater. I reached out to place my own hand upon his. I could feel him trembling.

“There is so much more you can do to love and honor your family’s memory,” I said quietly. “And it’s never too late to start.”

Zemo didn’t say anything, and he didn’t show his eyes. But, after a moment, I felt his hand relax, and his fingers threaded through mine. The small gesture made me smile.

“I still have to finish fixing you,” I whispered, surprised by my own unwillingness to let go. Zemo released my fingers, and neither of us said anything more as I bandaged his wound to the best of my ability.

Once I was satisfied with my own work, I pulled his sweater back into place and pushed all the supplies aside. I then positioned myself by his head, and, very tenderly, I moved his hand away from his face. Zemo’s eyes, rimmed red with fatigue and emotion, met mine. For a second I found myself lost in them. There was a rich vibrancy in the brown of his eyes, framed delicately by long, dark lashes. I didn’t want to look away.

But I remembered why I was here, and I checked the pulse in his neck with my fingers. It was worryingly slow. What he needed was a shot of adrenaline, but the medkit had nothing like that. We would just have to hope his body could recover itself.

“Am I going to make it?” he asked, a faint smile playing at one corner of his mouth.

“Too soon to say, unfortunately,” I answered. No sense in lying to him. I placed my palm against his forehead to check his temperature. “You’re not too warm though, so that’s good.” Without thinking, I ran my fingers through the locks of his disheveled hair to smooth it, and only caught myself after the fact.

“You look like hell,” I joked, trying to play off my action.

“I hear dying can do that to a person.”

I let out a small laugh, and Zemo smiled.

“I don’t think I can stay awake,” he then said, and his face fell. I could tell he was exhausted.

“Yeah, well, your body could probably use the rest. Go ahead and sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Zemo nodded, his eyes already closed.

I went hunting around the abandoned building and, beyond all luck, managed to find a suitable blanket in a cluttered closet. After beating the dust from it as best I could, I returned to find Zemo asleep right where I left him. Breath came from him slowly and evenly for the first time in a while. I covered him with the blanket. The sun would set soon, and nighttime would chill the air even further.

The cold was finally getting to me, I realized. My limbs had begun to shiver now that I wasn’t concentrating solely on Zemo. My sweater, however, had become useless after soaking in so much blood, and I’d only been fortunate enough to find one blanket. There was only one option left.

I found myself retrieving Zemo’s long coat from where I’d tossed it into the back of the car and, with a sigh, I slipped my arms in and shrugged it on. It was actually comfortable, and definitely warm. I made sure to grab the pistol from Zemo’s holster and stuffed it into the back of my jeans before returning inside.

Now all that was left to do was wait. I pulled a chair up to the window and sat myself down, mentally preparing for a long night. The chill air made me bury myself deeper into the coat until its fur collar reached my nose. It smelled good, I realized. Really good. And I hated to admit that because it meant Zemo smelled good. Despite the uncertainty over how it made me feel, I continued to deeply inhale the scent of him.

It kept occurring to me that Zemo’s life could slip away at any moment as he slept, so I looked back every few minutes to make sure I could still see him breathing. He always was, and I was always relieved.

I wondered what Sam and Bucky were doing. Did they make it out? Were they searching for a new safe house? I could text Sam and suggest this place, but the surrounding area was too much of an unknown factor. It was best if I simply waited and left it up to them. In my mind I begged them to stay safe.

At some point I fell asleep in my chair. Allowing myself to drift off while keeping watch was irresponsible, but I must’ve been far more exhausted than I realized. When I opened my eyes, it was suddenly nighttime outside.

None of the street lamps were powered, and none of the other buildings showed signs of electricity. The only source of illumination was the full moon as it rose above the horizon. Its pale light washed over the streets outside and filtered through the window, turning the room around me into shades of gray.

It was by the light of the moon that I saw Zemo sitting not far from me in his own chair at the window. He was wrapped in the blanket I’d found, and he looked rather alert as he watched the world outside.

“Hey,” I greeted in a whisper.

Zemo turned to me and his face softened. “Good morning,” he replied, his voice low and still a bit raspy. “Though, I say that less than literally.” He gestured at the night sky and smiled.

“How are you?” I asked, wanting to get straight to the point. “How do you feel?”

“Still tired, still in pain, but I think I’ll be all right. I was able to get up and walk over here well enough on my own.” Zemo indicated the blanket. “Thank you for this, by the way.”

I shrugged, implying it was no big deal, then realized I was still wearing his coat. “You probably want this back, huh?”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “keep it for now. It’s quite cold in here. And... it looks quite good on you.”

I didn’t want that to make me blush, but it did, and Zemo smiled a lopsided smile. At a loss for words, I looked away.

And then something occurred to me. Something that I’d picked up on during other conversations with him, especially when he would speak of his family. How everything about him seemed to be rooted in the past and not the present. So, as I stared out the window, I cautiously said, “If this had been up to you, would you have chosen to die?”

The atmosphere became uncomfortable after that. I feared I’d crossed a line, but he had done the same when he’d suggested I would have let him die under other circumstances. I wanted to know his answer.

After a long and tense stretch of silence, Zemo quietly spoke. “Yes. As you were helping me, there were moments when I wished you would fail so I could finally see the end. Years ago, on the day I tore apart the Avengers, I tried to put a bullet in my head. The merciful then-Prince of Wakanda stopped me, and I sat in my prison cell every day wishing he hadn’t. Death, to me, has always felt like an inevitability that wasn’t approaching fast enough.”

His answer was difficult to hear. I could feel tears welling in my eyes. Nobody, no matter who they were or what they’d done, should have to feel such hopelessness.

“But,” Zemo continued, and the way he stressed the word made me look over at him. “Now that I am sitting here, watching the moon on this peaceful night...” Looking into my eyes, he added, “with you... I feel only the urge to thank you for saving my life.”

For a second I was stunned. Then I couldn’t help but grin. I caught a tear from the corner of my eye before it could fall, and I murmured, “You’re welcome.”

He seemed content with that. In fact, with as calculating and sharp-witted as Zemo often was, he seemed more relaxed now than I’d ever seen him before.

“When we get back on our feet,” he said rather amiably, “I’d like to make some of my favorite tea for you. How does that sound?”

“It sounds lovely,” I replied, and I meant it. I buried myself deeper into his coat, inhaling the scent of him, hoping he wouldn’t notice what I was doing. But the movement made me realize something was missing. I reached for the back of my jeans.

“Oh— !” I exclaimed.

Zemo lifted his brows at my sudden outburst. Then, he understood.

“You’re looking for this,” he casually remarked, pulling the gun out from under his blanket. “Apologies, but I do need it for myself.”

I folded my arms, unable to keep the annoyance from my face. “Are you gonna use it as leverage on me?”

Zemo placed the gun onto the windowsill. “Absolutely not. It’s merely precautionary.”

I wasn’t surprised that he’d snuck the gun away from me, but it bothered me nonetheless. “So you’re still as shifty as ever. Has anything you’ve said in the last few hours even been real, or was it just more manipulation toward some end goal you have?”

Now Zemo was the one who looked insulted. “Not a single word I’ve said to you has been a lie. In fact, you’re the only person in the world I’ve spoken these truths to.”

That hit me hard. I sheepishly looked away, remembering the undeniable intimacy of everything he’d told me. “I shouldn’t have said that,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Zemo sighed. “I know it’s difficult to trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either. But please trust that these last few hours have been very real for me, and I have meant every second of it.”

I looked at him once more and was captured by his gaze. There was something genuine in his dark eyes, something vulnerable, something pleading.

Zemo gave me a sad smile and said, “I don’t often have the luxury of living in moments that feel real anymore.”

All of my doubts suddenly melted away, and I knew exactly what I wanted. Pride and hatred had left me long ago.

I stood from my chair and closed the distance between us. Zemo kept his eyes on me, curious but unguarded. I reached out, beckoning for his hand, and when he obeyed, I brought his hand to my mouth, buried my nose in his palm, inhaled deeply, and I kissed him there. All traces of tension left me in the moment my lips met his skin.

Zemo watched as I turned his hand over and placed a gentle kiss upon each knuckle. I looked at him, wordlessly asking for permission to keep going, or for him to stop me if he didn’t want this.

His answer was swift and immediate. The hand I was kissing slipped away from me, and then Zemo was standing, taking my face into his hands, and he claimed my lips with his own. The blanket fell from his shoulders into a heap at our feet.

I couldn’t believe how much I’d been wanting this. His scent was even more intoxicating than his coat, and he tasted wonderful. I parted my lips as we kissed so I could taste him even further.

But then he moaned hard against my mouth. The sound was so strained that I broke away, startled. Zemo was grimacing, and his hands dropped from my face to hold his side.

I hid my disappointment. It wasn’t his fault, after all. “You need more rest,” I insisted gently.

With a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh, Zemo lowered his forehead onto my shoulder, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him there.

“I’m pretty sure what you have is called a traumatic injury,” I teased, “and you need to take care of it. Besides, we’re both still covered in blood. Not exactly romantic.”

“I don’t mind,” Zemo said, his voice muffled against me. He turned his head and began to kiss my neck. My skin had been chilled by the night air for hours, and the sensation of his soft, warm lips was lovely. My fingertips dug into his shoulder blades. I felt his hands on my waist, and he tugged me forward, bringing my body closer to his.

“This truly does look so satisfying on you,” he whispered against my ear just before pulling his coat off me. I let it fall to the floor and threw my arms back over his shoulders.

“Zemo,” I murmured as a tender protest, knowing we shouldn’t do this when he was so badly injured.

But Zemo took it a different way. With a sigh he began to suck at the skin of my neck. A whimper escaped me as my body tensed deliciously, and my fingers tangled in his hair. I realized it was the first time I’d spoken his name with such affection. I repeated it, no longer protesting, and he lightly nipped my neck with his teeth. It made me press my body flush against his, and I could feel how much he wanted me. I wanted him, too.

The reality of the situation fully dawned on me then, and I couldn’t help but giggle in spite of everything.

Zemo skimmed the tip of his nose along my jaw to my ear and said in a low voice that made me shiver, “What’s so funny?”

“You,” I answered truthfully. “You and me. I just never expected this.”

After one last kiss to my temple, Zemo stopped, and he lifted his head to look at me. There was apprehension in his eyes now. I didn’t want him to misinterpret my meaning, so I pulled him back to me and captured his mouth with my own.

I was kissing Baron Helmut Zemo, the man who almost destroyed the Avengers. The man who manipulated Bucky like a pawn. The man who was usually three steps ahead of everyone around him. But he was also the man who’d lost everything he’d ever loved, and maybe that was why I felt him surrender himself into me so easily, so eagerly.

I grasped his chin with my thumb and pulled his mouth open so my tongue could finally explore him. He made a soft sound, but didn’t pull away. I felt his hands run under my shirt, up my back, across my chest, all over me, as I tasted every inch of his mouth. I wanted more of him. I wanted all of him.

But he’d been shot not even twelve hours ago. I forced myself to break away from him once more.

“We have to stop,” I whispered. “Your stitches are gonna tear if you get too excited.”

Despite the pain and fatigue that was evident on his face no matter how hard he tried to hide it, Zemo still managed to grin the first real, full smile I’d ever seen on him. It took my breath away.

“All right,” he said. “You win.”

“In fact, you should be lying down, not keeping watch at the window.”

“You know what I think?” Zemo asked, giving me a fiendish look. “I think you should join me on the floor.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Someone needs to be lookout.”

“If they knew our location and were coming for us, they would have come by now.”

He wasn’t giving me any room for argument. Sighing, I grabbed the blanket from where it had fallen. “Need help getting down there?” I asked.

He responded by holding out his hand. I grabbed it and steadied him as he lowered himself as carefully as he could. When he finally laid flat, he let out a groan.

“It’s not comfortable down here at all,” he muttered. “And yet, now that I’m here, all I want is to sleep.”

I laughed and followed suit, stretching myself out on the floor beside him, and I spread the blanket out over us both. “Try to rest. I’m staying right here.”

Zemo rolled onto his good side toward me, and he buried his face into my hair. I felt him plant a kiss there. He then spoke something very softly in words I couldn’t understand. I assumed he was speaking Sokovian.

“What does that mean?” I politely asked.

He chuckled. “Someday I will translate it for you.”

I pouted up at him. Zemo kissed my hair once more.

“I promise it was only good things.”

“I believe you.” I took one of his hands into mine and entwined our fingers. There were old callouses on his, softened from the years he spent in prison. I kissed the back of his hand.

“I could’ve sworn you hated me with all your heart yesterday,” Zemo said. His deep, rumbling voice was pleasant against my ear.

“I did,” I admitted. Lowering his hand, I looked into his eyes. His gorgeous brown eyes. “I don’t anymore.”

And he kissed me, deeply, lovingly. Everything had changed in a matter of hours, and I was thankful.

“Now go to sleep,” I said after we broke apart. “You seriously need it.”

The smile Zemo gave me set my heart alight. “As you command,” he whispered.