Zemo’s fingers idly traced the embroidered flowers on the journal’s cover. The small book sat on his propped-up knee as he debated whether or not to open it. It looked well-used and loved- something in there would allow him to grow closer to Celeste. See what makes her tick.
The stitching was uneven in places, and the petals frayed from fingers that had anxiously rubbed them hundreds of times. It had the unmistakable marks of something more than nearly a prop, but of a confidant.
He fiddled with the small red ribbon peeking out from the bottom of the page, having marked the last entry. A small voice in the back of his head told him not to break the little trust he already had with the girl, but he ignored it as he tugged the ribbon up and to the side. The book opened to reveal blank ink scrawled out on ivory pages, her handwriting a mix of rushed emotion and carefully thought-out introspection.
‘Clara was at Dylan’s house today. They’ve been seeing each other since we broke up. It shows a lot about Clara’s character that she would go after her sister’s ex after everything I’ve told her. I have a feeling she’s been getting back into drugs since seeing him.’
Zemo cocked an eyebrow at the short recent entry. This book is something he would have to start from the beginning. He flipped to the first page and smiled at the first line.
‘I think I’m addicted to male attention.’
That, he thought, was the beginning of something good. He read on.
‘As with everything, I blame my dad. I can’t help but live for validation. That’s why I don’t like men- they have power over me and I know I need it. I feel bad for Dylan. I love him so much. But it’s hard to quit the one thing that gave you attention and praise as a child. I only feel worthy through sex and service, and my body. I’m starting to feel like it’s self-harm in a way. It’s like an addiction with no rehab.’
Zemo read in silence, lips pressed into a thin line. He expected something soft in her words, perhaps anxious lists or trivial worries. Instead, he found a confession in every line. Each word dripped with shame and hunger. She laid herself bare to the page in a way she never would aloud.
Her words were raw in a way he hadn’t anticipated. These weren’t merely idle thoughts, but self-assessed wounds pressed to paper. Some still bled as she tried to make herself heard by the paper.
His eyes lingered on the imperfections of her script. Sentences tilted downward when she despaired. Loops tightened and grew smaller when she tried to control herself. He read her not only through her words, but also her penmanship, like a case study laid out before him.
His thumb traced her clean handwriting like a map as he read page after page.
‘Dylan said I’m ’too much’ today. Too clingy. Too emotional. I can feel him pulling away, and it scares me. I feel like a child scrambling not to be left behind as I try to hold on tighter to nothing. It’s humiliating. I don’t even know who I am without him holding me together.’
‘Everyone else seems to just know how to live. I feel like I’m improvising everything badly. I wish there were a manual for being a person.’
‘I wish I were dead.’
The starkness of the last words wasn’t poetic or softened by a metaphor or context. They sat alone on the page, blunt and unhidden.
Zemo’s eyes lingered on the sentence until the ink blurred together. He felt a twinge, not of pity, but of recognition. He had lived with that same darkness; he knew the way it whispered as the night grew too long.
But unlike him, Celeste had no fortress around her grief, no discipline to contain it. She bled it straight onto paper, raw and unhinged with the knowledge that no one would see it.
But Zemo did. He saw it.
Celeste wasn’t merely insecure or foolishly young. She was fragile and desperate- the kind of soul who could not bear her own weight unless someone held it for her. In that moment, Zemo understood with terrible clarity that this was not simply a girl he might guide. This was a girl he could own.
He let out a breath through his nose as he shut the book. Deep in thought, he tapped his fingers on the cover. He should not feel pleased, but he did. It confirmed what he already began to suspect: Celeste was made for guidance and ownership. She was floundering without it. She tried to find it with this ‘Dylan’ character, who obviously wasn’t cut out for the part. Zemo, however, was.
He leaned back against the headboard, staring at the journal in his lap as he allowed himself a moment of stillness. A girl so desperate to be seen, so naked and exposed in her need, and yet she had no idea how transparent she left herself. He did not merely hold her journal in his hands, but her pulse, her fears, the blueprints of her thought process. It wasn’t about simply learning about her; it was now possession. This was the unguarded Celeste, the one no one else had seen. And now he held her in his hands.
That little voice of conscience stirred again, telling him he was digging too deeply into something fragile and sacred. But Zemo’s mind already worked several steps ahead.
This was something Celeste would never admit to on her own. Not for years, perhaps not ever. But now he held the key.
He reopened the journal and skimmed more entries. Some were written in frantic, uneven pen strokes as she poured out every fear of abandonment and independence she held deep inside her. Others were neat and careful as though trying to impress the blank pages.
One line in particular caught him off guard:
‘I think I need someone who won’t run when I force them. Someone who won’t get tired of holding me when I thrash. Someone who can out-stubborn me.’
He smiled faintly. It was as if she wrote that for him to see.
‘Don’t need too much. Don’t cry in front of people. Don’t text first. Don’t embarrass yourself. Be small. Be manageable.’
She listed rules for herself and how she struggled to hold herself to them. Apology after apology addressed to no one in particular. Self-hate and loathing over her mistakes. Fantasies of living a different, ideal life.
Zemo gently closed the book with finality for the night. His thumb smoothed the embroidered flowers one last time before sliding the journal onto the nightstand.
He lingered there for a beat, staring at it under the shadow of the lamp. The intimacy of it all was intoxicating. More intimate than a kiss, more binding than a promise. This was the closest he had been to her yet, and she would never even know.
When he would return it, Celeste would never know he had been there. But he would know, and with that knowledge, he could shape her, coax her into that structure she craved without her ever having to ask for it.
And if she resisted? He had already seen her weakness spelled out in her own handwriting.
‘Addicted to male attention.’
He could be her drug.
His lips curled faintly. That wasn’t a problem, he thought.
With the lights now off, Zemo lay back against the pillow. A satisfied smile still ghosted his mouth. Tomorrow, he would speak to her differently- not as a colleague, not even as a friend, but as a man who now knew where to press. Celeste wouldn’t suspect a thing.
—
Celeste arrived late to the mission planning meeting.
Sam, Bucky, Zemo, Joaquin, and the goddamn Secretary of Defense sat around the large conference table, waiting for the young intern to eventually show. Patience ran thin as Sam repeatedly called and texted her phone, trying to buy time for the youngest member of his team.
“Something’s gotta be up,” Sam mumbled, dialing her number for the third time. “Kid practically lives here; she’s never been this late.”
Thirty minutes past the designated start time, and Celeste burst into the conference room. Her bag hung lazily off one shoulder, and she wore the same sweatshirt as yesterday- despite the 90-degree heat. Her red-rimmed eyes darted around the room as she took a seat, drawing concern more than the previous annoyance.
“Sorry,” Celeste mumbled out, taking out her own written report from her bag and placing it on the table in front of her. “I’m so sorry.”
Zemo immediately clocked something off alongside the others. She looked like she had spent the past two hours fighting with a bear- hair slightly tousled, eyes wide, and Zemo swore he saw a mark on her hand when she reached into her bag. This wasn’t the usual well-put-together Celeste they were used to.
Sure, she was a panicked intern most of the time. But never like this.
Celeste stayed quiet for most of the meeting, only giving small nods and eye contact to show she was still listening. Her job for the upcoming Canada mission was to make sure equipment stayed online and intact and that communications stayed secure. Easy and predictable, she thought, as long as everything went according to plan.
Bucky shifted in his seat next to her, leaning over slightly and whispering in her ear. “Everything good?”
Ah. So she probably looked as shitty as she felt. She ran a shaking hand through her hair with a fragile smile, gently raking it back and trying to contain any loose strands. Looking over at Bucky, she tried to force her smile to be more convincing yet subtle as she nodded.
Like a liar.
Not entirely satisfied with the answer, Bucky straightened up while still giving Celeste an unconvinced side eye. She shrank further into her seat, feeling every eye focused on her and her mistakes. Desperately not wanting to cry in front of everyone like she did on the bus, she anxiously ran her tongue alongside the backs of her teeth.
Thankfully, the meeting ended before her tears could fall again. Once the government officials left, Celeste hid her face in her hands to try and hide her embarrassment.
It had been a hard morning. Her and her sister, Clara, fought over Celeste not watching the kids enough, not bringing home enough money, just overall not keeping up her end of the deal. The fight had gotten physical, with Clara pulling at her hair and clawing her arms, forcing her out of the house late and unprepared for the day. Clara threw her bag out of the door after her, more than likely breaking her laptop as it landed on the cement sidewalk.
No one dared to speak first. The tension in the room rested heavily on everyone as they all knew something was wrong with Celeste, but didn’t know how to address it. Sam, ever the leader, addressed the team first.
“Let’s all just get ready to fly out at noon today,” he waved his hand to dismiss everyone, but kept an eye on Celeste. “Celeste, you stick behind for a second.”
Her hands fell from her face with a sigh as she watched everyone leave the room. Zemo hesitated slightly, remaining in his seat until Sam shot him a glare. Celeste watched him as he left and closed the door behind him.
“I understand if you want to fire me,” she said quietly, staring straight ahead of her at the wall to avoid any eye contact with her boss. “I always kinda ruin everything.”
“I don’t care that you’re late,” Sam said, his voice low and serious. There was a concerned undertone to it, which Celeste mistook for anger. “I just want to know what happened.”
“Nothing happened-”
“Bullshit.”
Finally, Celeste slowly turned to look at him. She looked like a tired, kicked puppy with her wet eyes and pale face. Her eyes met his briefly before flicking back down to the table.
“Clara and I got into it bad this morning,” Celeste finally said, her voice barely a whisper. “Kids stayed home sick, and I couldn’t watch them. She kinda… got physical and kicked me out.”
Sam’s face softened as he uncrossed his arms. He knew Celeste and her sister never got along, with Clara only keeping her around as a free babysitter and an extra headcount for welfare benefits. But the kid coming to work all bruised and beaten and crying wasn’t a usual outcome with their arguments.
“I expect to go home after the mission and find all my shit trashed or sold.” Celeste gave an uncomfortable laugh as she rubbed the back of her neck.
He ran a hand down his face with a sigh. It was always something with the sisters. Sam rose from his chair, gathering up the reports, and walked toward the door. “You don’t deserve that, kid. You hear?”
Celeste pressed her lips tight as she fought the wobble in her chin. “I mean- maybe I do. I mess everything up anyway. At home, here, everywhere. Sometimes I just…” Her voice cracked. “… sometimes I wish I were dead. It’d be easier for everyone.”
That stopped Sam in his tracks. His hand paused on the door handle as the words landed like a grenade. His eyes widened slightly as his voice softened. “Don’t say that, Este.”
She tried for a smile at the old nickname, but it was still watery and quick. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t mean it like-” Her hands fluttered hopelessly before landing in her lap. “… I don’t know what I mean.”
Sam lowered his eyes as he took in a breath. Celeste’s words landed heavily on him, leaving him unsure of what to do or even say in this scenario. “Just… take care of yourself, okay? Take a nap or something before we head out.”
He left the conference room without waiting for Celeste’s reply. The girl stayed seated for a beat, wallowing in the silence and her own self-pity. After a few deep breaths to avoid breaking down into sobs yet again, she headed to her office.
The broom closet office felt like the only place Celeste could breathe. She closed the door softly behind her, resting her forehead against the cool wood for a moment before collapsing into her chair.
Her bag slumped in the corner, zipper half-open and its contents spilling. She didn’t even have to check to know her laptop was cracked. Clara always knew exactly where to hit her.
Tugging the bag onto her lap, Celeste reached into the open front pocket and grabbed her orange pill bottles. She didn’t have time to take her medication before leaving for work due to reasons, but figured now was better than ignoring them for a day. The last thing she needed was a manic episode or anxiety attack on top of this shitty day.
She took each pill one by one with the flat Dr. Pepper leftover from the previous night. It tasted like shit against her unbrushed teeth. She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and stared down at her bag, debating whether or not to assess the damage to her computer.
Deciding that she should fix it before going on the month-long excursion, Celeste unzipped the back pocket and pulled out the black laptop. A crack spiderwebbed across the corner of the screen, jagged glass threatening to splinter if she pressed too hard. The hinges looked loose, too, barely holding on as she nudged them open.
“Damn it,” she whispered, running her thumb along the damage. Her pulse ticked up in frustration- she couldn’t afford another laptop. She couldn’t afford anything.
She set the laptop on her desk, tugging out the small screwdriver kit she kept for emergencies like this, and eased out some screws with shaky fingers. The motherboard and CPU appeared fine, the damage seemingly only with the display and the outer shell. But even then, she didn’t have time to fix it before noon.
Celeste pressed the screwdriver against the hinge, trying to keep her hands steady, but her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling. The harder she tried to concentrate, the more her eyes blurred from lack of sleep.
As she finished screwing the device back together, a quiet knock at her door made her flinch. Before she had the chance to answer, it opened.
“Miss Celeste.”
She spun around in her chair quickly, the screwdriver clattering to the floor. “Oh! Um, hi. Sorry. I was just- just trying to fix it. My sister kind of, you know. I’ll be done in a second, I swear.” Her words tripped over each other as she spoke, her cheeks heating up as if she were a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I just have to replace the screen, maybe tape up the hinges a bit-”
Zemo stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. His eyes scanned the few loose screws, the cracked laptop, and then Celeste’s pale, restless face. “Sam instructed you to rest,” he said calmly, “Not to play mechanic.”
Celeste twisted her fingers in her lap, offering up a small, guilty smile. “I know, I know. I was going to- I just thought if I could get this done really quick, then it wouldn’t be hanging over me, yeah? I’ll nap after. I promise.”
The silence was steady and unyielding, so Celeste filled it with more anxious babbling. “I mean, it’s not too bad, right? The screen’s cracked, but it turns on. I can just-”
Zemo crossed the room and plucked the laptop from her desk with a smooth finality. He tucked it under his arm as Celeste half-rose from her chair, hands fluttering toward him. “Wait! Oh, no, it’s okay, I can fix it, really! I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You will not fix it.” His tone wasn’t cruel, but it left no room for any argument. “You are shaking, little one. And you look tired.”
Celeste’s breath hitched, fingers twisting harder in her lap as nails bit crescents into her skin. Her eyes darted between Zemo’s face and the laptop tucked under his arm.
“But- if I don’t fix it, no one will. And then on the mission I’ll mess everything up, and you’ll all hate me, and Sam will fire me-” Her voice sped like a runaway train until it finally cracked.
“Celeste.”
The single word was enough to cut through her spiralling. Zemo never referred to her by name alone. His voice wasn’t loud but sharp in its precision. Celeste froze, throat bobbing as she swallowed what felt like a brick.
He stepped closer, setting the laptop deliberately on the high shelf behind him, well out of her reach. “Your old partner, Joaquin, will fix it. Efficiently. You, however-” Zemo’s gaze softened ever so slightly as it swept over her trembling hands and bloodshot eyes- “will rest.”
“I-I can’t,” she whispered, rubbing at her face. “If I close my eyes, I’ll just… think too much. And if I don’t get everything ready, I’ll be a liability. I don’t want to ruin everything again.”
Zemo crouched slightly so he was level with her in the chair. The movement startled her- no one ever got that close when she was so flustered. He held her gaze, unyielding to her deer-in-headlights look. “You will not ruin anything. Not under my watch. I will not allow it.”
Her lips parted in an attempt to speak, then pressed shut again when no words would come out. She nodded quickly, though her shoulders still trembled.
“Good girl,” he murmured, the words sliding out smoother than silk, almost unnoticed. He rose and offered a hand toward her. When she hesitated for a moment too long, he simply placed his palm over her wrist, steadying it as it quaked. “Come. My office has a couch. You will rest there, where I can ensure you actually sleep.”
Celeste’s first instinct was to protest, but her body betrayed her. The idea of curling up somewhere with someone else taking responsibility pulled too hard at her. She let him guide her.
By the time he settled her onto the leather couch in his office, tucking a folded throw blanket beneath her head, her lashes had already grown heavy. Zemo lingered only long enough to watch her curl into herself before leaving to fetch her laptop.
When he returned twenty minutes later, she was out cold- finally surrendered to exhaustion, lips parted in soft breaths. For a long while, Zemo only stood there, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She looked younger like this, stripped of all the trembling apologies and frantic words. The journal’s words echoed in his mind. Addicted to male attention. Someone who won’t run.
He crossed the room with measured steps and knelt beside the couch. Carefully, he drew the blanket higher over her shoulder, tucking the edge beneath her chin. A stray curl had fallen across her face, and his fingers hovered in hesitation before brushing it back. His touch lingered a second longer than necessary against the softness of her skin.
“You see, little one,” he murmured low, his voice threading through the quiet like smoke, “when you are tired, you surrender so easily. It will not be long before you learn to do so while awake.”
Her brow twitched faintly at the sound, though she didn’t wake. Zemo allowed himself a rare smile, faint and fleeting. He stayed crouched at her side for longer than he intended, studying every flicker of her lashes, the way her lips parted around a soft sigh. Vulnerability clung to her like perfume, both irresistible and dangerous.
He should have stood, should have left her to rest. But his hand lingered, fingertips ghosting over the fabric of the blanket where it brushed her shoulder. Zemo leaned in just enough for his breath to stir the stray he’d tucked back. “You are not a liability,” he whispered, more to himself than her. “You are mine to shape. Mine to keep steady.”
The words dissolved into silence. He finally rose, straightening his jacket with a deliberate tug, masking the brief slip in his composure.
Ok so, I love fictional stories that feature magic.
It’s my favorite genre to read.
After things went south with HP, which was my favorite magical universe for years and years, I recognized a VOID within myself that needed to be filled.
I was pretty neglected as a kid and I hardcore latched onto HP as my personal safety net all throughout middle school and high school. I read the books over and over again non stop. I watched the movies over and over.
I got really into a podcast called Harry Potter and the sacred text and it was my favorite thing for years.
I had to stop listening to that though. I stopped interacting with the HP world entirely.
I still love Daniel Radcliffe though and I wish I could see him perform on broadway because he’s so cute and talented.
Anyway.
Back to filling The Void.
Things I have find that have helped:
1) Discworld
The universe is expansive. It’s the best fantasy satire I have ever encountered. It’s very British. It’s very witty. It’s silly but also heartfelt and will occasionally stab directly into your soul into that one place you never thought anyone would be able to touch.
There are a lot of books in the Discworld universe so you have a huge selection of places to start from.
If you want YA vibes you can even start with the Tiffany Aching series which features a young teenage witch training with Granny Weatherwax.
It was the last series Terry Pratchett wrote before his death and I want to reread it but it’s very emotional for me.
You could also try starting with the witches series in the “regular” Discworld books (it’s like a set of self contained series inside of a larger universe.) I would recommend starting with equal rites if that seems like your thing!
If you like wizards start with color of magic, but every time I’ve recommended that to someone it hasn’t gone over well. Warning: you must have a high tolerance for puns.
If you liked good omens and you’re like “wow death seems like a great character and I would love to follow the storyline of the anthropomorphic personification of death discovering more about humanity and himself in the process” then start with Mort! Death is one of my favorite Discworld characters!! (I love his granddaughter Susan the most though).
There is also the watch series that follows the adventures of Sam Vimes, who is in charge of the police force in Anhk Morpork, the city that is the Discworld equivalent to England in the 18 and 19th centuries. Terry packs a lot of really interesting and insightful social commentary into these book. That series begins with Guards! Guards! Other characters in this series are a trans dwarf, a lady werewolf, a troll (silicone based life form), vimes wife, Sybil, keeper of dragons, Lord Vetenari and several other misfits.
If you like social commentary but you want to watch someone manipulate their way to the top and inevitably have things collapse into chaos then you may way to check out the books that feature Moist Von Lipvig. He’s extremely mercurial but ultimately means well most of the time. This series starts with Going Postal which is a Discworld twist on the postal service.
And then there are several stand alone books that don’t fit into any of those series directly but are still based in the Discworld universe.
There are a ton of different books to choose from! It’s fantastic!
2) The Magicians
I loved the books. I loved most of the tv series until they deviated from the book plot too much and I lost interest.
It’s like HP meets narnia for horny gay college students.
Main character is a very sad boy who finds a group of friends and they go on adventures. It’s a good time. It’s like if the characters in HP were all sleeping with each other and dropping f bombs and doing magical drugs. So you know, the dream.
3) Discovery of Witches
I hyper fixated on this series for several years and there is another book coming out this summer and I am SO EXCITED.
Main character is named Diana (like the goddess) and she is a “reluctant witch” who really just wants to be normal but her life has other plans. She’s got a doctorate from Oxford in the history of science and teaches at yale. Her speciality is studying alchemy.
She grew with her two gay aunts. (Parents died tw).
Love interest is Matthew, who is centuries old vampire scientist/poet/lover/mason/chess master.
Yes, it’s a vampire /witch crossover story!!!
We love to see it!!!
There are hybrid babies involved!!!!
Also Diana is 33 when the story starts and it’s great because it’s rare to have a female protagonist who is closer to my age.
4) Lord of the Rings
This one feels obvious and self explanatory but I may elaborate further when I have time.
——
I may update this list as I discover more.
I also want to add dune and wizard of earth sea and a wrinkle in time.
