Several impossibly long and frustrating days later, Zemo wakes up shackled face down to the bed again. He can tell by now without even looking that the Black Panther is sitting next to him, stroking thin lines of red up and down his back. “You have finally been returned to me,” the Panther says, puncturing the statement with a particularly vicious dig from the claws. Zemo whines, blinking sleep from his eyes. WOW what a way to wake up! Zemo like, pinned down and getting scratched up, that’s a deliciously trashy mental image.
“Having trouble understanding?” the Panther asks, disdain thick in his words. “Did you sleep through the whole trip here, and forget that you’re to be executed this morning?” *swoons* Oh gods.
He wants to ask how it’s happening, but he hasn’t been given permission yet to talk. He whines again instead. *smiles slowly* Yessssssssssssss …
[he takes a second to tighten it with his teeth, double checks the one he added around his neck] [which, that’s a reminder] Oh gods YES
The Panther has dragged him off the bed, to attach a collar to his neck. He leads Zemo down vaguely extravagant corridors on a leash. He is silent while they walk, and he jerks harshly on the leash whenever Zemo stumbles on legs grown unused to so much walking. WHOA WHOA WHOA *flails with delight* Oh wow. Zemo getting yanked around on a collar … that’s gonna keep me warm at the bottom of this dumpster.
He means to prolong it, but the courtyard where he was beheaded rises swiftly into view. Zemo trying and failing to prolong his fantasies is great. Eager little trash prince.
The raised platform still sits at the center of the courtyard. The block, though, has been replaced. A wooden structure rises above the crowd, and rope hangs from the center. Yesssssssssssssssss!
His hands are still tied behind his back, and the Panther positions him at the center of the platform. “A king must always keep his word,” the Panther says, removing the collar so that he can slip the noose around Zemo’s neck. The rope is abrasive against his skin, catching on the pulse of blood through the fragile veins in his neck. This. This. This is all I ever wanted. Good gods. I’m gonna faint. For days. Oh my gods.
The Black Panther backs up, indecipherable black eyes boring into Zemo. That’s not quite He is still in front of Zemo, has just placed the rope around his neck, but there is something else in his hands. I love Zemo self-editing his fantasies. It really works for this.
“I will keep my promise,” he says again. “Will you keep yours?” “Yes,” Zemo says, when he sees what else the Panther holds. “Yes,” he breathes, his whole body going soft and pliant as the canvas hood slips over his eyes. “I’ll be so good,” he says, the words little more than damp exhalations that warm the small pocket of air inside the hood. He is ready. I’m dead. You killed me. I can’t. I can’t even. Good GODS. Holy hellfire. I can’t. Oh my GODS. I’m trying to be coherent and all I can manage is vintage keyboard smash akjljkljdlkjafjafafajdlfkajlf Just … a hood … a hood he wants … that T’Challa puts ON HIM … and the sensual little details about what it feels like and I just can’t, I can’t even handle myself right now.
He is ready he is ready he is coming, hard, the rope snapping tight around his neck and wrists bruising with how hard he grips his hands together to keep them locked behind his back. I just about fell off my bed the first time I read that line. And the second. And the third. Just … perfect. Absolutely perfect. I’m sure he was a lovely dancer …
This was incredible. Thank you SO MUCH. This is the best trash. The most rottenest, disgusting, vile, perfect trash I could have ever hoped for. More trash than I could have hoped for. Thank you SO MUCH!
Re: Fill: The Edge of a Knife [5/?]
Several impossibly long and frustrating days later, Zemo wakes up shackled face down to the bed again. He can tell by now without even looking that the Black Panther is sitting next to him, stroking thin lines of red up and down his back. “You have finally been returned to me,” the Panther says, puncturing the statement with a particularly vicious dig from the claws.
Zemo whines, blinking sleep from his eyes.
WOW what a way to wake up!
Zemo like, pinned down and getting scratched up, that’s a deliciously trashy mental image.
“Having trouble understanding?” the Panther asks, disdain thick in his words. “Did you sleep through the whole trip here, and forget that you’re to be executed this morning?”
*swoons* Oh gods.
He wants to ask how it’s happening, but he hasn’t been given permission yet to talk. He whines again instead.
*smiles slowly* Yessssssssssssss …
[he takes a second to tighten it with his teeth, double checks the one he added around his neck]
[which, that’s a reminder]
Oh gods YES
The Panther has dragged him off the bed, to attach a collar to his neck. He leads Zemo down vaguely extravagant corridors on a leash. He is silent while they walk, and he jerks harshly on the leash whenever Zemo stumbles on legs grown unused to so much walking.
WHOA WHOA WHOA *flails with delight*
Oh wow. Zemo getting yanked around on a collar … that’s gonna keep me warm at the bottom of this dumpster.
He means to prolong it, but the courtyard where he was beheaded rises swiftly into view.
Zemo trying and failing to prolong his fantasies is great. Eager little trash prince.
The raised platform still sits at the center of the courtyard. The block, though, has been replaced. A wooden structure rises above the crowd, and rope hangs from the center.
Yesssssssssssssssss!
His hands are still tied behind his back, and the Panther positions him at the center of the platform. “A king must always keep his word,” the Panther says, removing the collar so that he can slip the noose around Zemo’s neck. The rope is abrasive against his skin, catching on the pulse of blood through the fragile veins in his neck.
This. This. This is all I ever wanted. Good gods. I’m gonna faint. For days. Oh my gods.
The Black Panther backs up, indecipherable black eyes boring into Zemo.
That’s not quite
He is still in front of Zemo, has just placed the rope around his neck, but there is something else in his hands.
I love Zemo self-editing his fantasies. It really works for this.
“I will keep my promise,” he says again. “Will you keep yours?”
“Yes,” Zemo says, when he sees what else the Panther holds. “Yes,” he breathes, his whole body going soft and pliant as the canvas hood slips over his eyes. “I’ll be so good,” he says, the words little more than damp exhalations that warm the small pocket of air inside the hood. He is ready.
I’m dead. You killed me. I can’t. I can’t even. Good GODS. Holy hellfire. I can’t. Oh my GODS.
I’m trying to be coherent and all I can manage is vintage keyboard smash
akjljkljdlkjafjafafajdlfkajlf
Just … a hood … a hood he wants … that T’Challa puts ON HIM … and the sensual little details about what it feels like and I just can’t, I can’t even handle myself right now.
He is ready he is ready he is
coming, hard, the rope snapping tight around his neck and wrists bruising with how hard he grips his hands together to keep them locked behind his back.
I just about fell off my bed the first time I read that line. And the second. And the third. Just … perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I’m sure he was a lovely dancer …
This was incredible. Thank you SO MUCH. This is the best trash. The most rottenest, disgusting, vile, perfect trash I could have ever hoped for. More trash than I could have hoped for. Thank you SO MUCH!