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fandomfucker · 1 year ago

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Space-Poly!TJD x Fem!Reader

Request: poly relationship between judgment day and reader. The reader is keeping a secret from their partners. The secret is that she is a little. The reason why she is hiding it is because she thinks that they will hate her and leave her like her last partner did. One day when they are all out and she is home by herself she slips into little space and she is in little space for an hour until they get back and Damian goes to check on her and he walks in on her in little space. She's all freaked out. Damian is the only one who knows what little space is. They all explain that it's adorable and that they love her for who she is. Her main caregiver is Damian but they all take care of her when she is in little space. She has a stuffed tiger named Maengho.

A/N-I want to preface this by saying that this is NOT SEXUAL however it is about little space so if you don't want to read it, don't. I would also like to go ahead and apologize for any incorrect information/misrepresentation, I did research on it and tried my best. Please enjoy and sorry for the wait ❤️

Word Count: 2,051

Reader's POV

Alright, Love. We'll be back later, okay?" Rhea informed me as she held my cheeks between her hands. I nodded and smiled up at her as she bent down to kiss my forehead before grabbing the keys to her truck and walking toward the front door.

Finn, Dominik, and Damian, my other three partners, all filed after her. They all gave me a small kiss and a quick goodbye as the four of them left to go film some Judgment Day promos.

Once the door had been shut behind them and I had seen Rhea's truck speed away down the road, I breathed a deep sigh of relief, a small weight being lifted off my shoulders.

Work had been really stressing me out lately but with my partners all unaware of my strategy for coping with stress, I hadn't been able to do anything about it. But now they were out of the house for at least a little while and I was free to do whatever I wanted.

After going and grabbing one of the little bottles of apple juice we kept in the fridge, I happily skipped back to my own room, immediately heading for my walk-in closet.

Shortly after we had all moved into our house together, I had set up a small space for me to be a little in. Basically, somewhere for me to decompress while acting and having the same overall headspace as a child.

The closet wasn't massive but it was just big enough for me to set up what was essentially a giant pillow fort.

The walls were lined with fluffy pillows, half of them the really big tube ones, and the floor was littered with thick fluffy blankets.

I had only a few stuffed animals but they were all my favorite ones. There were about 12 in total, my favorites of favorites were ones from Build a Bear that I'd made with people special to me, my number one being Maengho. He was a tiger I'd gotten all of my partners to build with me a couple of months ago after we first moved into our house.

Fairy lights hung from the ceiling and walls, creating a homey effect that I adored. I also had a small TV mounted on the wall, above a nightstand type of dresser I stored my little clothes in. It was mainly just Disney Princess nightgowns but I also had some My Little Pony pajama sets and a Rainbow Brite sweater for if I was cold enough or just wanted to be extra comfy.

I had some tutus and dress-up jewelry for when I felt like it, but I just enjoyed wearing pajamas more than anything.

Ripping my hair out of the ponytail I'd stuck it in, I plopped down onto a flower-shaped pillow on the floor, beginning to dig through the dresser for a specific Tinkerbell nightgown I knew would be in there.

Not bothering to stand up, I just changed into the dress while sitting on the floor, opening the closet door only for a minute to throw my regular clothes out into my room.

I grabbed the small remote off the dresser, and turned on the TV, turning it to Disney+. My favorite movie of all time since I was a baby was actually The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh so I turned that on as I adjusted the pillows and blankets around me, making myself comfortable.

Sitting criss-crossed apple sauce, and laying a fluffy pink blanket across my lap, I sat Maengho on my lap before setting my little lap tray that had all my coloring stuff stored in the side pockets in front of me.

Opening up the Lisa Franke coloring book, I flipped to a new page, deciding on a picture of two baby penguins in a basket.

For over an hour, I sat in my closet, fully immersed in my little space as I half-paid attention to the movie, coloring in my penguins with vibrant colors.

I was so immersed in fact, that I hadn't heard the garage door open or the calls from my partners soon after.

The door swung open, making me jump and causing me to draw an unwanted line down the center of my paper.

My eyes were wide with fear as I looked up to see all four of my partners looking at me in the doorway, confusion and concern etched on all of their faces.

Damian's POV

Y/n sat on the floor with a stuffed tiger, wearing a Disney princess nightgown, coloring. We all just kind of stopped in our tracks and stared at her in confusion as she looked up at us.

Her eyes were wide and slowly started to become filled with tears. She curled into herself, hugging the tiger, Maengho I remembered, tightly to her chest as she dragged her blanket up to cover her entire body and half of her face.

The tears started falling as she silently cried. I realized what this all was as I gently crouched down to better get on her level.

She began to bring her knees all the way to her chest and curl into herself even further as I reached out a hand to her. I retracted my hand before I scared her to death and took to just speaking to her softly instead.

"Y/n? It's sweetheart, we're not upset."

She lowered the blanket slightly from her face as she looked at me. Her lip quivered as her gaze shifted between me and the other members of the Judgment Day.

"You're not?" She asked timidly.

I shook my head 'no' in answer, glancing back to the other three to see that based on their facial expressions alone, they had no idea what was going on.

Turning back to Y/n, I spoke to her softly and quietly so as to not scare her any further. "Tell you what, us four are gonna go back down to the living room for a few minutes to talk, okay?" I made a circular motion indicating us wrestlers as I spoke.

"Do you want anything in the meantime? Or do you want me to bring you anything from the kitchen?"

She slowly shook her head at that, speaking so quietly I almost didn't hear her. "We don't have anything here."

I gave a nod in understanding a gave her a small smile before standing back up and turning around to push our other partners out of the way as I shut the closet door behind me.

None of them made any move to leave the room until I started making shooing motions with my hands.

Once back downstairs, I had them all sit down on the couch as I stood in front of them to explain what exactly was going on.

Reader's POV

Curious, I waited until I couldn't hear my partners' footsteps anymore before quietly retreating from the safety of my closet.

It was me and Maengho against the world as I held the top of his head to my mouth and tiptoed towards the stairs. I went down as far as I could, keeping to where they wouldn't see me.

I leaned my back against the wall, holding Maengho tightly as we eavesdropped on my partners and their conversation about me.

"Okay, so it seems to me that Y/n is a little. I don't know her specifics but basically, she gets in the headspace of a child to escape reality." I heard Damian explain to them.

There was silence as the others absorbed that information.

"Wait, shouldn't she be a part of this conversation then?" Dominik asked him.

Damian took a second to think about it before responding. "Yeah, we'll have a larger conversation including her, obviously, but I wanted to go ahead and give you guys a basic understanding of what we're getting into. If anyone has a problem with it they can leave."

"That makes sense, but I'm still in." Finn agreed.

"Me too, but I think the first thing we need to do is take her to the store and get her some food and whatever else she wants. We don't want her to feel uncomfortable and like she has to hide this part of her." Rhea vocalized.

"I second that." I heard Dominik speak up, ever the Mami's boy.

"Let's go then!" I heard Damian exclaim as they then all began to make their way back upstairs to my room.

Panicking, I shot up from where I was sitting on the stairs, making a beeline back to my fort.

However, in my haste to make it back before they realized I'd been listening in on their private conversation, I somehow missed the last step entirely.

My toe caught the edge of it, sending me sprawling across the rough carpet of the second-floor hallway. "Fuck!"

Four sets of footsteps pounded up the stairs and the sound of my name being called in a panic was all I heard.

Feeling a warm hand on my shoulder blade I rolled over with a groan, seeing Damian kneeling next to me. "Are you okay, princesa?"

I managed to nod my head with only a slight grimace before I asked the question that burned me the most. "Are you guys really okay with me being a little? Because I know it's a lot and it's fine if you hate me and my last partner left because of it and-" I was cut off just as my eyes began to fill with tears again.

"Of course, we're okay with it. We just don't know that much about it yet and need to learn." Finn told me softly.

Dominik nodded along, "Yeah, we all love you no matter what. But, first things first, we need to take you shopping."

"I don't have any clothes I like to go out in," I spoke, my voice muffled slightly due to my face being pressed against Maengho. I was a bit taken aback and overwhelmed by the amount of utter love and acceptance they were just immediately showing me.

"That's okay, Love. Do you wanna borrow some of mine?" Rhea asked me. She was crouched in front of me, with one of her hands rubbing my knee soothingly. I perked up at this, my head shooting up to meet her gaze and nodding enthusiastically. She laughed slightly as she stood up and then held out her hand to pull me up as well.

I loved wearing Rhea's clothes any chance I got because not only did they just look cool but they actually fit for the most part, unlike the boys' clothes. And they smelled like her.

Borrowing just a pair of her sweats, I paired it with an old Muppets t-shirt that I had.

After I had finished changing, Damian gave me a piggy-back ride downstairs, having me take a seat on the second to last step of stairs as he put my shoes on for me.

I giggled and kissed Maengho goodbye, not wanting him to get covered in Walmart germs before grabbing Damian's hand and skipping out to Rhea's truck.

I sat in my usual seat, the middle in the second row with Damian and Finn on either side as Rhea drove and Dom rode shotgun.

Once we got there, Dominik, ever the gentleman, helped me up into the cart so I could sit in it as they pushed me around, following my points and vague gestures toward the things that I wanted.

They got me cookies and cream ice cream, paired with gummy bears of course, along with dinosaur chicken nuggets that I had to promise to share with Dom. Rhea had even snuck off at one point to surprise me with bubbles for the bath.

We picked up some other snacks and stuff for me to have when in little space before making our way back home.

Upon returning home, I changed back into my princess nightgown before giving my partners puppy dog eyes for ice cream, to which they eagerly obliged, just wanting to make me happy.

So, happily, I ate my ice cream, doing wiggly happy dances in my seat as my feet swung back and forth beneath me.

When we had been looking at new furniture for the house, my partners had thought it hilarious to get dining room chairs just tall enough that my feet couldn't reach the floor.

My partners watched on from their own seats at the table, each of them with a smile on their face. They were all so different from my last partner it was insane.

There were still conversations to be had but for now, everything was perfect.

#the judgement day #the judgement day x reader #the judgment day x reader #the judgment day wwe #the judgment day #wwe raw #wwe #tjd x reader #rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #dominik mysterio #dominik mysterio x reader #damian priest #damian priest x reader #finn balor x reader #finn balor

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sorcerersofnyc · 4 years ago

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The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 6/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife’s friend and his friend’s wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Chapter 6: When he wakes up beside you, Zemo remembers the day everything changed.

Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo’s wife’s name is Heike because of comics. Implied alcoholism by Zemo as a means to deal with his guilt. I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact).

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won’t say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

Grief softens, but it never truly leaves.

So when Helmut wakes beside you, he isn’t surprised to find grief there as well. Pain has been a constant companion over the years but today’s grief is nothing but a dull throb in his chest.

He had a dream about his wife again. It wasn’t a sad dream, it didn’t hurt to look upon her face, but his heart ached for her regardless.

In his dream, she was happy, happy to sit and chat in a home that wasn’t quite in Sokovia or Spain, but rather a mix of them both. You were there, too, laughing and smiling alongside her.

She was taking the time to explain something to him, something you already seemed to understand. You both laughed when he failed to get the joke.

With a sigh, Helmut sits up in his bed and turns toward the window.

It’s dawn. The rising sun baths the room in an orangy-pink glow and you sleep soundly beside him. He traces little circles unto your shoulder as he thinks about breakfast, what might he make for you. The answer is obvious, really.

He then turns his thoughts toward his mission, whether or not Sam’s associate would locate Madani soon.

He also thinks about what you may do if he kissed you awake.

He thinks about many things as you sleep beside him.

And as he listens to the steady rhythm of your breath, he thinks that he’s truly happy.

***

You never asked what happened to Vasily Zaev and Helmut didn’t offer.

News of his death never reached any headlines in Spain or any other International News Broadcast for that matter.

There were the occasional rumors of a scandal, many of which were exacerbated by social media, but nothing outside the ordinary.

His demise was attributed to liver failure and he’d given his entire inheritance to a young woman about a quarter of his age. Tragic indeed.

In the weeks that followed that night at the Opera, you took an interest in his work. There would be no more missions like the one with Vasily (none would ever be that easy and he didn’t like to see you so scared,) but there were plenty of opportunities to conduct research.

And on some nights, you’d talk about more than just mission, nights when you shared your hopes and dreams for the future, your past sorrows, and secret anxieties.

He’d sit with you while you worked on your art, bought you flowers when you completed a commissioned project, and asked plenty of questions about some of your more unorthodox means.

Sometimes you’d take breaks together and watch television or read.

It was strange, just like the day you first hugged him, Helmut felt as though the two of you had breached something.

He now knew where you were born, how you became involved in the arts, how you felt the night you met Dominik at Heike’s dinner party, (“I always thought she set us up on purpose, but she always denied that she did.”)

It was those stories, those small, stolen moments that made him see you differently.

So by the time autumn settled and painted the leaves orange, red and brown, you were no longer just a friend his wife had—you weren’t even the wife of a friend that he had.

You were a friend to him as well.

“Have you seen this?” You asked one day, sitting right beside him on the couch. You were so close, Helmut could feel the heat of your body pressed up against him.

“See what?” He asked, though he knew what you would say.

“This article.” You slid your phone closer to him, leaned forward so close that the curve of your bosom pressed against his arm for just a moment before you leaned away. For the sake of your pride, he pretended not to notice.

The articles mattered more than creating an awkward situation.

He learned that you found articles about the Avengers to be the most interesting. Each headline would often read something like: ‘Accountability: Who Pays for the Avengers’ Mistakes?’ or ‘Sokovia Six Months Later’ and ‘‘Banning Ironman? One Minister Holds Firm.’

They were engrossing.

“They say the U.N. may get involved.” You said one day. “What do you think would happen if they did?”

“Something I’d like to see.” Was his thoughtful reply. And it was true; because even with your help, even as you grew closer together, the weight of his promise still bore down upon him.

The weight of his failure still haunted his sleep.

So for every moment he spent with you, he worked ten times harder. He worked late into the night to complete his research, learned everything he could about the Avengers and the Winter Soldier to complete his plans.

He had to work; he had no choice. Because every laugh, every smile, every lingering glance, every reprieve from his grief was a betrayal to that promise he made to his family—because happiness, even for a moment, meant that he had forgotten them.

There was no other way to justify his actions. In what other way could he be happy in a world where his family was dead?

He hoped to find the answers at the bottom of a bottle, but scotch, whiskey, brandy, and vodka, couldn’t provide a balm for his soul. Not the way your smile did.

So clearly drinking was his only option, the safest option, because he couldn’t let his thoughts linger on you.

He couldn’t compromise his mission.

But then one day, in mid-November, something changed.

Helmut read the headline for an article he knew would suit your fancy, but you didn’t come down for breakfast to discuss it with him, nor did you open when he knocked on your door.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” you told him—but you never came.

You left your room around noon but you barely spoke a word.

Helmut should have been happy for the opportunity to work, the chance to focus without you stealing his gaze, but he couldn’t ignore the lump that formed in the back of his throat when his thoughts drifted to you.

Over the past 7 months, you encouraged him to talk about his feeling, to open up more—but it seemed you weren’t interested in doing the same.

You left the house a word to him.

So Helmut waited for you to return:

He conducted his research and decrypted more files.

He brewed a pot of coffee.

He prepared lunch.

Had a glass of whiskey.

He checked his phone for messages but found nothing from you.

He reorganized your spice cabinets, bringing the most used containers to the front.

He checked his phone again.

Had a glass of whiskey.

And finally, when evening arrived and you still hadn’t come home to him, Helmut went into your room without permission.

He was careful not to disturb your things, (even if he wanted nothing more than to pick your stray socks off the floor,) and looked around the space.

There were books and magazines neatly stacked across every surface, their genres ranged from art and fashion to relationships and grief.

He lingered on that last title before turning his attention to a paper on your nightstand. The page was wrinkled, spotted, and ripped in many places, but he knew what it was before he even held it in his hands.

It was the letter Dominik kept in his pocket, the one he held on to so tightly, the one he had with him when he died.

He frowned, and his eyebrows knit together in concern for you.

You were grieving, and your grief had taken you backward, back to the promise of a simpler time. The letter was filled with the musings of budding love, a love that had grown and flourished before the cruelties of life intervened.

Helmut understood the unpredictable nature of grief, how it came and went without reason or regard, how days or even months could go by before it returned in full force.

So he set the letter down with a sigh and left your room as quickly as he came. You arrived home 20 minutes later.

“Hello,” He greeted you by the door.

“Oh—hi.” You paused by the door, a bag of groceries in hand. He followed you into the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked.

“No, I’m… I got it.” You placed the bag on the counter, unloading a bag of flour, eggs, and a box of powdered cocoa.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” You said, but then pause when you opened the spice cabinet. Your movements slowed before you stilled completely.

“Helmut? Did you…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s just… I…”

Helmut didn’t know it at the time, but Dominik would organize your cabinets when he returned from duty. It was his way of telling you he was home if you weren’t there to greet him.

It was that gesture that broke you.

You placed both your hands over your mouth but even that couldn’t force back your cry. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, “I’m sorry—I’m ok,” you lied, but it only seemed to make you cry harder.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Helmut spoke softly. With a hand on your shoulder, he turned you around to face him but you only shook your head. "Let me help you.”

It took a few more moments of coaxing, but once you calmed, you told him everything.

“His… his birthday is next week.” You said, and it didn’t take a genius to know who you were speaking of. “He wanted me to bake a cake.”

You set a yearly reminder to try new recipes a week in advance, a reminder you’d gotten that morning. “Sometimes I look down at my ring and I still can’t believe it. That’s I’m a...that I’m a widow.” Your voice shook around the word and you sniffled again.

Helmut walked you over to the table, helped you sit on a chair, and poured you a glass of Chardonnay.

“… I never wanted to move to Sokovia—did he tell you that?” He did, but Helmut thought it best not to interrupt you. “I wanted to be with him but I never would have considered it before I met Heike… but I loved him, Helmut, I loved him so much and he promised I’d be happy. There are days when I wake up and-” You didn’t finish that sentence, but he thought he knew what you’d say. There were days when you’d wake up and wonder why you were saved, why your loved ones died and you survived. He didn’t know if you remembered, but you told him this before, on the day he first brought you to Spain.

“… He used to wonder if he made a mistake,” Helmut started, “If he’d done you a disservice by asking you to move when his duties kept him away.” He released a bitter laugh at the memory. “He asked me once if he were selfish.”

“What did you say?”

“That he was.” Helmut shrugged, remembering the look of resignation that crossed his friend’s face, a look you then mirrored exactly.

Helmut put his hand on your shoulder.

“He was selfish, but he didn’t make a mistake… your happiness wasn’t wasted and he’d want you to be happy again.” After all, you didn’t fail Dominik. You hadn’t given him a false sense of security, a promise of safety away from the fighting—Not like he had with his own family.

At first, you looked as though he said something outrageous, something you couldn’t quite believe. But then you nodded, releasing your emotions with a shuddering sigh.

“You’re right… he would want me to, want us both to…”

He sat beside you for the rest of the night. He’d listened to you talk and then when there was nothing left to say, he sat with you in peaceful silence, your head against his shoulder.

And on his birthday, Helmut helped you bake a cake.

You stood in the kitchen together, mixing batter and flouring pans. The sweet scent of your creation spread and the home you shared was filled with joy and warm memories.

By the time you finished, you were exhausted, so he offered to take you to the best restaurant in the city.

It was the least he could do for you.

When you arrived, Helmut told the hostess of your reservation—Zemo, a party of two—and she checked his name off a long list that he somehow managed to get ahead of. The hostess noticed your wedding bands, and as she stepped away from the podium, she said,

‘De esta manera, el señor y la señora Zemo.’ Right this way, Mister and Misses Zemo.

Your eyes growing to the size of dinner plates as you turned to him, but he kept his gaze settled on the hostess, his jaw set closed.

It was an honest mistake, one he’s sure others made before, but to hear it said aloud was baffling. He intended to correct the young lady, but she gestured for you to follow before he thought of what to say.

If he said you were friends, others would presume you were having an affair. Normally, the opinions of others wouldn’t concern him, but he didn’t want anyone to think badly of you.

“That was weird,” you said. “I forgot people must think we’re…”

“Should I have corrected her?”

“It was an honest mistake, nothing worth embarrassing her over.”

And that was that.

You both agreed to treat it as a joke, to have fun with the idea because the alternative, explaining how you came to be together, was much worse.

And besides, Helmut thought while taking in his second cocktail, it wasn’t exactly hard to feign some level of attraction to you; you looked beautiful that night. He liked the way your formal clothing fit around your curves, and the way your heels gave shape to your legs.

He felt immediately guilty for that, however, and followed that guilt with another sip of his drink.

But that night wasn’t the only time someone mistook the two of you for a couple. Like meeting someone whose face one begins to see everywhere they go, he began to notice it more and more.

When he signed for your packages the delivery person would look at his ring and never bother to ask for familial confirmation. The old woman at the bakery would smile a secret, knowing, smile when he asked for two pastries to take home with him. The list of culprits went on and on. Everywhere he went people saw his ring and they’d assume he had a wife at home—that you were his wife at home.

On a gloomy day in January, you convinced him to visit an art gala with you. You made a group of friends around the area but one fell violently ill after a trip to New Jersey. You didn’t want to go alone so he agreed to put his work on hold for the evening.

You lead him to a room of abstract paintings and his attention was torn between the open bar and dizzying array of dark shapes pressed across the underside of a canvas. He couldn’t appreciate the work the same way you did, but he tried.

As he looked for what you described as ‘the emotional turmoil conveyed by the paint strokes,’ you drifted to the next piece and a gentleman approached you.

He was tall, with neatly trimmed hair and a clean-shaven face. The man seemed to recognize you from somewhere and offered his deepest condolences for Sokovia.

“Thank you,” you nodded.

“It was a genuine tragedy, a modern-day Pompeii.” His words gave you a reason to pause, which he seemed to take as permission to wax poetic about Sokovia’s demise in some futile attempt to prove his intellectual prowess.

“Yes, well, thanks for that.” You continued on politely. He didn’t seem to notice the exasperated edge. He opened his mouth to say something else, to perhaps touch you on the shoulder, and Helmut made the immediate decision to ensure that didn’t happen.

“Драга,” Dear, he called as he approached you, placing his hand on your lower back. “I’ve brought you a drink.” Helmut offered you the cocktail from the table, one he was about to drink himself before the man made you uncomfortable. You smiled, a look of relief on your face.

The man was no genuine threat, probably just a lover of art, but something in the way he looked at you, the way his gaze drifted from your face to your wedding band and the instant look of shame that overtook his (admittedly handsome) features, gave his intentions away—and Helmut didn’t like his intentions at all.

“Хвала ти љубави,” Thank you, my love, you replied with the mischievous smile you adopted whenever someone mistook you for being his wife. It was a playful flirtation, one that meant nothing.

Helmut greeted the man with a simple nod, pretending to have been oblivious to his blatant flirting, before guiding you away.

“I never would have thought to compare the destruction of Sokovia at the hands of an Artificial Intelligence to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius near Pompeii. How truly genius.” He said in a mocking tone.

“Stop that,” you nudged him, hushed laughter in your voice.

“I hope that isn’t what passes as flirting these days.”

“Flirting? He wasn’t flirting.”

Helmut struck you with a judgemental look. You tilted your head in contemplation.

“He wasn’t flirting,” you repeat. “It was just weird, that’s not really a topic most people bring up at parties.” You finally slowed your steps and you looked at a statue in the center of the room. It was clearly meant to represent a couple, but their abstract forms created a tangle of limbs that hurt his eyes to look at.

It was then he decided he hated contemporary art.

You took a sip of your drink—his drink—and turned to him. Your eyes met briefly, and you smiled, your eyes sparkling with mischievous glee.

“Let’s see what’s in the next room, душо,” Honey. You exaggerate.

“Of course, драга, lead the way.” You hooked your arm around his and you explored the rest of the gallery.

Eventually, you reached the main lobby where you set your empty glass on a table with dozens of others. An orchestra played a mix of soft melodies and something he thought to be tunes from an action movie. The music found it’s underscore in the murmurs of the guests who indulged themselves in cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.

He watched them for a moment and a dark feeling filled his belly.

This was the life he should have been living—perhaps not at a gaudy contemporary art gallery but something just as fabulous and amazing. This was the life you deserved to live.

Had it not been for Ultron, for the Avengers and others like them, he’d be enjoying this life between missions and military tours.

He might have even retired early, lived his life in bliss.

He felt angry, distraught, and disappointed all at once. So many dangerous thoughts spun around in his head and without even thinking, he looked at you. In his moment of grief and self-pity, he looked toward you to anchor him.

Your eyes landed on the couples swaying back and forth on the polished floor of the gallery. He noticed how close you stood to him, how your arm wrapped around his, the way your hand rested on his forearm.

He took a breath and he made himself smile.

“Would you like to dance, драга?”

“I’ve seen you dance, Helmut. I don’t.”

“You wound me.” He said, pulling you toward the others anyway. “You’ve yet to see me waltz.” (Or perhaps you did, at his wedding or your own, but it wasn’t the time to bring that up.)

He unraveled his arm from your and slid into position, pulling you close.

“You remember the steps, don’t you?” He asked because you had far less practice waltzing than he did. You nodded, but your eyes proved less certain than the gesture implied. “Don’t worry, I’ll lead.”

And he did.

Helmut led you through the steps of the dance, a simple box step he mastered many years ago.

“I think people are looking at us,” you whispered.

“They can take notes,” he replied. You were the only person in his gaze.

You anchored him; your kindness, your friendship, your playful banter, and your outlandish sense of design. With you he felt like less of a failure, his grief softened and he could see a clear path forward in your eyes—an alternate path if he was strong enough to take it.

But the U.N. taking actions against the Avengers seemed all but inevitable then. Helmut knew he could use their plans to his advantage, but it also meant he was running out of time.

Still, part of him wanted to surrender to your gaze, but the other part, the part that won, held firm. He tried to look away but then somehow ended up noticing the soft curve of your mouth and the fullness of your lips.

When the orchestra stopped playing, your dance slowed to a stop. But you couldn’t stop staring at each other, both cursed with the knowledge that something between you had changed.

***

Thanks for reading! Next time we'll get to see what happens when your flirtation with Helmut is no longer a game.

Feedback is very much appreciated. Please tell me what you think! This was a fun chapter to write.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 years ago

Text

2019 Hugo Award finalists announced

The 2019 Hugo Award nominees have been announced; the Hugos will be presented this summer at the 2019 World Science Fiction Convention in Dublin, Ireland.

Normally, I find that I've read and reviewed a huge slice of the year's finalists, but this year is different; I've done a lot less reading lately, partly because I wrote two books in 2018 and partly because the new EU Copyright Directive ate my life for about 10 months in the past year.

I was a little sad to be so far behind the curve when I saw the new list, but then I realized that this meant that I had a bunch of really exciting books to add to my to-be-read pile!

One notable inclusion: the Archive of Our Own fanfic archive -- a project of the Organization for Transformative Works (for whose advisory board I volunteer) -- is up for "Best Related Work."

Congrats to all the nominees!

Best Novel * The Calculating Stars, by Mary Robinette Kowal (Tor) * Record of a Spaceborn Few, by Becky Chambers (Hodder & Stoughton / Harper Voyager) * Revenant Gun, by Yoon Ha Lee (Solaris) * Space Opera, by Catherynne M. Valente (Saga) * Spinning Silver, by Naomi Novik (Del Rey / Macmillan) * Trail of Lightning, by Rebecca Roanhorse (Saga)

Best Novella * Artificial Condition, by Martha Wells (Tor.com Publishing) * Beneath the Sugar Sky, by Seanan McGuire (Tor.com Publishing) * Binti: The Night Masquerade, by Nnedi Okorafor (Tor.com Publishing) * The Black God’s Drums, by P. Djèlí Clark (Tor.com Publishing) * Gods, Monsters, and the Lucky Peach, by Kelly Robson (Tor.com Publishing) * The Tea Master and the Detective, by Aliette de Bodard (Subterranean Press / JABberwocky Literary Agency)

Best Novelette * “If at First You Don’t Succeed, Try, Try Again,” by Zen Cho (B&N Sci-Fi and Fantasy Blog, 29 November 2018) * “The Last Banquet of Temporal Confections,” by Tina Connolly (Tor.com, 11 July 2018) * “Nine Last Days on Planet Earth,” by Daryl Gregory (Tor.com, 19 September 2018) * The Only Harmless Great Thing, by Brooke Bolander (Tor.com Publishing) * “The Thing About Ghost Stories,” by Naomi Kritzer (Uncanny Magazine 25, November- December 2018) * “When We Were Starless,” by Simone Heller (Clarkesworld 145, October 2018)

Best Short Story * “The Court Magician,” by Sarah Pinsker (Lightspeed, January 2018) * “The Rose MacGregor Drinking and Admiration Society,” by T. Kingfisher (Uncanny Magazine 25, November-December 2018) * “The Secret Lives of the Nine Negro Teeth of George Washington,” by P. Djèlí Clark (Fireside Magazine, February 2018) * “STET,” by Sarah Gailey (Fireside Magazine, October 2018) * “The Tale of the Three Beautiful Raptor Sisters, and the Prince Who Was Made of Meat,” by Brooke Bolander (Uncanny Magazine 23, July-August 2018) * “A Witch’s Guide to Escape: A Practical Compendium of Portal Fantasies,” by Alix E. Harrow (Apex Magazine, February 2018)

Best Series * The Centenal Cycle, by Malka Older (Tor) * The Laundry Files, by Charles Stross (most recently Tor.com Publishing/Orbit) * Machineries of Empire, by Yoon Ha Lee (Solaris) * The October Daye Series, by Seanan McGuire (most recently DAW) * The Universe of Xuya, by Aliette de Bodard (most recently Subterranean Press) * Wayfarers, by Becky Chambers (Hodder & Stoughton / Harper Voyager)

Best Related Work * Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works * Astounding: John W. Campbell, Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein, L. Ron Hubbard, and the Golden Age of Science Fiction, by Alec Nevala-Lee (Dey Street Books) * The Hobbit Duology (documentary in three parts), written and edited by Lindsay Ellis and Angelina Meehan (YouTube) * An Informal History of the Hugos: A Personal Look Back at the Hugo Awards, 1953- 2000, by Jo Walton (Tor) * www.mexicanxinitiative.com: The Mexicanx Initiative Experience at Worldcon 76 (Julia Rios, Libia Brenda, Pablo Defendini, John Picacio) * Ursula K. Le Guin: Conversations on Writing, by Ursula K. Le Guin with David Naimon (Tin House Books)

Best Graphic Story * Abbott, written by Saladin Ahmed, art by Sami Kivelä, colours by Jason Wordie, letters by Jim Campbell (BOOM! Studios) * Black Panther: Long Live the King, written by Nnedi Okorafor and Aaron Covington, art by André Lima Araújo, Mario Del Pennino and Tana Ford (Marvel) * Monstress, Volume 3: Haven, written by Marjorie Liu, art by Sana Takeda (Image Comics) * On a Sunbeam, by Tillie Walden (First Second) * Paper Girls, Volume 4, written by Brian K. Vaughan, art by Cliff Chiang, colours by Matt Wilson, letters by Jared K. Fletcher (Image Comics) * Saga, Volume 9, written by Brian K. Vaughan, art by Fiona Staples (Image Comics)

Best Dramatic Presentation, Long Form * Annihilation, directed and written for the screen by Alex Garland, based on the novel by Jeff VanderMeer (Paramount Pictures / Skydance) * Avengers: Infinity War, screenplay by Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely, directed by Anthony Russo and Joe Russo (Marvel Studios) * Black Panther, written by Ryan Coogler and Joe Robert Cole, directed by Ryan Coogler (Marvel Studios) * A Quiet Place, screenplay by Scott Beck, John Krasinski and Bryan Woods, directed by John Krasinski (Platinum Dunes / Sunday Night) * Sorry to Bother You, written and directed by Boots Riley (Annapurna Pictures) * Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, screenplay by Phil Lord and Rodney Rothman, directed by Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey and Rodney Rothman (Sony)

Best Dramatic Presentation, Short Form * The Expanse: “Abaddon’s Gate,” written by Daniel Abraham, Ty Franck and Naren Shankar, directed by Simon Cellan Jones (Penguin in a Parka / Alcon Entertainment) * Doctor Who: “Demons of the Punjab,” written by Vinay Patel, directed by Jamie Childs (BBC) * Dirty Computer, written by Janelle Monáe, directed by Andrew Donoho and Chuck Lightning (Wondaland Arts Society / Bad Boy Records / Atlantic Records) * The Good Place: “Janet(s),” written by Josh Siegal & Dylan Morgan, directed by Morgan Sackett (NBC) * The Good Place: “Jeremy Bearimy,” written by Megan Amram, directed by Trent O’Donnell (NBC) * Doctor Who: “Rosa,” written by Malorie Blackman and Chris Chibnall, directed by Mark Tonderai (BBC)

Best Professional Editor, Short Form * Neil Clarke * Gardner Dozois * Lee Harris * Julia Rios * Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damian Thomas * E. Catherine Tobler

Best Professional Editor, Long Form * Sheila E. Gilbert * Anne Lesley Groell * Beth Meacham * Diana Pho * Gillian Redfearn * Navah Wolfe

Best Professional Artist * Galen Dara * Jaime Jones * Victo Ngai * John Picacio * Yuko Shimizu * Charles Vess

Best Semiprozine * Beneath Ceaseless Skies, editor-in-chief and publisher Scott H. Andrews * Fireside Magazine, edited by Julia Rios, managing editor Elsa Sjunneson-Henry, social coordinator Meg Frank, special features editor Tanya DePass, founding editor Brian White, publisher and art director Pablo Defendini * FIYAH Magazine of Black Speculative Fiction, executive editors Troy L. Wiggins and DaVaun Sanders, editors L.D. Lewis, Brandon O’Brien, Kaleb Russell, Danny Lore, and Brent Lambert * Shimmer, publisher Beth Wodzinski, senior editor E. Catherine Tobler * Strange Horizons, edited by Jane Crowley, Kate Dollarhyde, Vanessa Rose Phin, Vajra Chandrasekera, Romie Stott, Maureen Kincaid Speller, and the Strange Horizons Staff * Uncanny Magazine, publishers/editors-in-chief Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damian Thomas, managing editor Michi Trota, podcast producers Erika Ensign and Steven Schapansky, Disabled People Destroy Science Fiction Special Issue editors-in-chief Elsa Sjunneson-Henry and Dominik Parisien

Best Fanzine * Galactic Journey, founder Gideon Marcus, editor Janice Marcus * Journey Planet, edited by Team Journey Planet * Lady Business, editors Ira, Jodie, KJ, Renay & Susan * nerds of a feather, flock together, editors Joe Sherry, Vance Kotrla and The G * Quick Sip Reviews, editor Charles Payseur * Rocket Stack Rank, editors Greg Hullender and Eric Wong

Best Fancast * Be the Serpent, presented by Alexandra Rowland, Freya Marske and Jennifer Mace * The Coode Street Podcast, presented by Jonathan Strahan and Gary K. Wolfe * Fangirl Happy Hour, hosted by Ana Grilo and Renay Williams * Galactic Suburbia, hosted by Alisa Krasnostein, Alexandra Pierce, and Tansy Rayner Roberts, produced by Andrew Finch * Our Opinions Are Correct, hosted by Annalee Newitz and Charlie Jane Anders * The Skiffy and Fanty Show, produced by Jen Zink and Shaun Duke, hosted by the Skiffy and Fanty Crew

Best Fan Writer * Foz Meadows * James Davis Nicoll * Charles Payseur * Elsa Sjunneson-Henry * Alasdair Stuart * Bogi Takács

Best Fan Artist * Sara Felix * Grace P. Fong * Meg Frank * Ariela Housman * Likhain (Mia Sereno) * Spring Schoenhuth

Best Art Book * The Books of Earthsea: The Complete Illustrated Edition, illustrated by Charles Vess, written by Ursula K. Le Guin (Saga Press /Gollancz) * Daydreamer’s Journey: The Art of Julie Dillon, by Julie Dillon (self-published) * Dungeons & Dragons Art & Arcana: A Visual History, by Michael Witwer, Kyle Newman, Jon Peterson, Sam Witwer (Ten Speed Press) * Spectrum 25: The Best in Contemporary Fantastic Art, ed. John Fleskes (Flesk Publications) * Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse – The Art of the Movie, by Ramin Zahed (Titan Books) * Tolkien: Maker of Middle-earth, ed. Catherine McIlwaine (Bodleian Library)

John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer * Katherine Arden (2nd year of eligibility) * S.A. Chakraborty (2nd year of eligibility) * R.F. Kuang (1st year of eligibility) * Jeannette Ng (2nd year of eligibility) * Vina Jie-Min Prasad (2nd year of eligibility) * Rivers Solomon (2nd year of eligibility)

Lodestar Award for Best Young Adult Book * The Belles, by Dhonielle Clayton (Freeform / Gollancz) * Children of Blood and Bone, by Tomi Adeyemi (Henry Holt / Macmillan Children’s Books) * The Cruel Prince, by Holly Black (Little, Brown / Hot Key Books) * Dread Nation, by Justina Ireland (Balzer + Bray) * The Invasion, by Peadar O’Guilin (David Fickling Books / Scholastic) * Tess of the Road, by Rachel Hartman (Random House / Penguin Teen)

https://boingboing.net/2019/04/02/dublin-worldcon.html

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