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hungermakesmonsters · 3 months ago

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Devotion & Desire

Chapter Seven

Plot summary : When you, a lone omega, move in across the hall from alpha Bucky Barnes, he knows that his life is about to get a lot more complicated, but he has no idea just how much you’re going to turn his life upside down. You’re both devoted to fixing your past mistakes, but will desire for something more get the better of you?

Pairing : Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Story Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Forced claiming bites and very subtle allusions to SA (neither are graphically depicted), and some blood/injury mentions. All chapters will contain the usual omegaverse and A/B/O tropes, and explicit smut. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : 😭😭 sorry this too so long. Also sorry for being terrible about replying to comment on last chapter, work has been kicking my ass.

MASTER LIST

Chapter Seven

There was a hollow place in his chest, carved out and left to fill with rot and decay. It had been there for as long as he’d been himself again, the space that used to be occupied by the Winter Soldier, by violence and bloodshed.

Little by little, he’d been trying to fill it, trying to become whole again.

And, for a brief moment, he’d dared to think it was working.

For a few sweet minutes, he thought that hollow inside him might be filled by you and the feelings you’d caused to grow inside of him.

It played over and over in his head; the moment he’d fucked up and ruined everything.

You’d looked so - fuck, he wasn’t even sure what the look was. Hurt. Angry. Betrayed. Scared. All the things he never wanted to make you feel, all the things that made the alpha in him feel sick. He was supposed to protect you, supposed to look after you, and what had he done instead?

He’d tried to claim you without consent. He’d tried to take more than you wanted to give.

That thought caused him nothing but pain of the worst kind, forcing him to realise that Bucky was no different from the Winter Soldier. They both hurt you and neither cared.

Only, that wasn’t entirely true. Bucky did care. Of course he did. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have felt so bad. But reality came a close second to his feelings of self loathing.

Not only had he tried to claim you - wanted to claim you - he’d then abandoned you. You were suffering through your heat and he’d just walked out and left you there. God only knew how you were coping on your own.

Fuck, he hated himself, but it wasn’t enough to make him return to the apartment for another two hours.

Something felt off the moment he stepped inside.

The bathroom door was open, so was the door leading to your room, but your scent seemed weaker than it should be and, before he even reached your bed and found it empty, Bucky knew that you were gone.

You’d run.

He knew that it was all his fault.

He moved back towards the door, already knowing it was too late to try and catch your scent, but he had to try. You were gone. Almost as if you’d never even been there to begin with.

In his panic, he called Sam, and the conversation that followed was a rushed garble of words that, ultimately, resulted in Sam telling Bucky that he’d be there in ten minutes, but Bucky wasn’t prepared to wait. He was going to head back to your apartment and look for you there.

Sam met him outside, already on the phone to Torres, trying to track you down after Bucky found your apartment empty.

Bucky felt like he was crawling out of his own skin, his chest tight with worry as he tried not to think about all the terrible things that could happen to an omega in heat out in the city on their own.

“Torres says a police report was filed outside your apartment building a couple of hours ago,” Sam relayed as Torres continued to speak on the other end of the call. “A taxi driver reported seeing the omega that he’d just dropped off being forced into the back of a car. The taxi driver confirmed picking her up outside the safehouse and that she was in heat.”

“Does he know what kind of car or the direction it went - anything?” Bucky asked.

A smile quickly grew on Sam’s lips.

“Even better, Torres is going through street cameras tracking where they took her...” Sam said, his attention returned to the call, listening as Torres worked. “You’re sure? Okay, great. I owe you one.”

“Well?” Bucky asked before Sam could even end the call.

“Gravesend, Brooklyn. There’s a warehouse. Torres is going to call back with more intel,” Sam answered, already moving towards his car.

“Fuck,” Bucky said, his voice a frustrated growl. “You got the suit?”

“Yeah, it’s in the car.”

“Get the fucking suit, Sam. I’ll meet you there.”

“You sure?”

“The longer she’s with him, the more time he has to hurt her,” Bucky said, already heading for his motorbike

“Should we call it in? Get back-up?” Sam asked.

“No. Not yet. We don’t know he’ll react.”

He started the engine and paused, watching as Sam pulled on his wings, waiting to see if the other man had any further questions.

“You care about her, don’t you?” Is what Sam chose to ask, reminding Bucky of that gnawing emptiness inside of him again.

Bucky didn’t answer, he simply put in his ear piece and peeled away from the curb.

Following the speed limit, he knew the drive could take almost an hour. But Bucky wasn’t going to follow the speed limit.

It wasn’t long before he saw Sam fly overhead and, despite his best efforts, there was no way of keeping up with the wingsuit while weaving through traffic. But the journey passed in a blur - twenty minutes of splitting his attention between other vehicles on the road and how he was going to apologise to you when he saw you again.

Sam tried to make conversation through the earpiece but Bucky wasn’t interested. He was single-minded in his need to rescue you and fix what he’d broken.

By the time he reached the warehouse, as directed by Sam, Torres had managed to give them a pretty good overview of how many ex-Hydra goons were inside and what hardware they had.

It wasn’t well set up, clearly you were the only reason they were even in New York. In some ways that made it better, but also so much worse. Rumlow wasn’t going to give you up without a fight. Add to that the fact that you were still in heat and Rumlow was an alpha obsessed with you...

“Hey, are you even listening to me?”

Sam’s voice broke through Bucky’s internal panic, almost causing him to flinch.

“Where’s your head, Bucky?”

“It’s right here.”

“Oh really? Then what did I just say?”

“You’ll drop in from the roof, I’ll sneak in from the back,” Bucky answered, hoping he hadn’t missed anything.

“Getting her out is the mission,” Sam said. “Dealing with Rumlow comes after.”

“Agreed.”

Before Sam could continue, Bucky started to move, knowing that they’d already wasted more than enough time. You’d been with Rumlow for over three hours and he knew that anything could have happened in that time. More than that, he knew you; he knew you were a fighter, that you liked to get under people’s skin, and he wasn’t sure how Rumlow would deal with that.

He jumped the fence with ease, landing with a cat-like grace, barely making a sound.

The sun was already starting to set and that made things a little easier for him. Bucky channelled years of training and muscle memory, slipping behind one guard and leaving him incapacitated. If Torres’s intel was right, that left another fifteen men, including Rumlow.

“I’m inside,” Sam said through the comms. “She’s definitely here, I can, uh, smell her.”

Bucky’s stomach knotted as he tightened his grip around the throat of a second goon until he went limp in his grasp.

All he could think about was getting to you, barely noticing anything or anyone that got in his way. He forced open the door and managed to drop another one of Rumlow’s men. It felt like he was losing himself, giving himself over to the part of him that was still the Winter Soldier. He didn’t care if he hurt anyone, didn’t care if he took it too far.

“Bucky, upstairs. I’ve found her, she’s not -”

The sound of gunfire echoed through the warehouse, the element of surprise finally wearing out. Bucky took off at a run, heading towards the stairs.

“She’s what, Sam?” He asked, worry filling his tone.

A goon appeared from a doorway, only to find a vibranium fist slammed into his chest, knocking him backwards and halfway through the room he’d been leaving. His other hand was already reaching to unholster his gun.

He headed up the stairs, onto the walkway, heading towards the sounds of fighting.

When a knife flew towards him, it was instinct alone that had Bucky catching it mere inches from his face.

“Good to see you again, Soldier.”

The voice caused the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck to stand and his features twisted into an angry snarl as Rumlow stepped out onto the walkway.

“Where is she?” Bucky asked in a barely contained growl, throwing the knife to the ground.

He took in the sight of Rumlow, his heart threatening to stop at the sight of blood on his shirt.

“She’s exactly where she’s supposed to be,” he answered.

Rumlow started to step forward, closing the distance and Bucky did likewise. Bucky lifted his gun, getting off a couple of shots but, in close quarters, it was easy for Rumlow to knock the gun from his hand.

Both men quickly threw fists, both hitting their mark. Bucky staggered back, momentarily shocked by the power behind Rumlows hit.

The gauntlets. They were making him stronger.

Rumlow needed a second to recover, but both were toe to toe again in a matter of seconds.

This time Bucky feinted, swinging his fist but changing to a knee at the last second, slamming Rumlow into the railing. Then came the punch, super soldier strength, forcing Rumlow to take a step back.

Rumlow retaliated, bringing his foot down against the side of Bucky’s knee, forcing him to stagger backwards to regain his balance. But, for Bucky pain was secondary, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for getting to you. He needed to save you.

He drove forward again, landing a blow to Rumlow’s kidney before grabbing his shirt and forcing him back against the railing, managing to lift him off his feet.

That was when it hit him, the cloying and sickly scent that was all over Rumlow - it was you, but not the you that Bucky knew. There was something wrong with the scent, something unpleasant, something sour. It reminded him of distress and despair, of pain and suffering.

“What did you do to her?” Bucky demanded.

Rumlow laughed. “Nothing she didn’t deserve.”

He took advantage of Bucky’s momentary lapse in concentration as he worried about you. Rumlow kicked out again, this time wheeling Bucky around so that he was the one pressed against the railing.

“Can’t believe you came all the way here for another alpha’s omega,” Rumlow grit out, reaching for another knife and driving it into Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky let out a grunt that was more anger than pain as he let go of any sense of restraint.

“She’s not yours.”

He pushed Rumlow backward before lifting him off his feet again and slamming him into the railing, over and over, ignoring the crack of bones and the rattling sound every time Rumlow gasped for breath. The other alpha went limp in his arms and Bucky lifted him, about to drop him over the side of the railing and to the ground thirty feet below.

“Bucky!”

Sam. It was Sam.

The voice pulled Bucky from his anger.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” Bucky dared to ask, the question catching even himself by surprise.

“I’ve got back-up on the way, they’ll take him to The Raft, he -”

“He doesn’t deserve that.” Bucky snapped, his eyes fixed on Rumlow’s face, on the blood bubbles that formed at the corners of his lips every time he tried to draw breath

“You’re right, he doesn’t,” Sam said. “But you don’t deserve to have his death on your conscience, and there’s an injured omega through there who needs you.”

It was all he needed to hear to let Rumlow go, letting him drop onto the walkway, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to move with the damage that Bucky had inflicted. In the distance he could already hear the sirens. Rumlow would pay for what he’d done, just not in the way that Bucky would have preferred.

But Bucky still didn’t know exactly what Rumlow had done, and that thought had him quickly moving past Sam, following the scent that was you but not you into a small room. Another scent soon filled his nose; the coppery tang of blood.

You looked so small, huddled in the corner of the room on a small camp bed, a bloodsoaked scrap of fabric pressed to your neck.

“Mouse?”

He was at your side in an instant, though you seemed unable to fully focus on him. Your lips parted but no words came out.

“Come on, I’m going to get you out of here,” he told you.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and lifted you, ignoring the knife wound in his shoulder and the blood soaking through his shirt, quickly carrying you out of the room and out of the warehouse where the sirens were getting louder.

“It’s okay,” he told you, over and over, even though you’d lost consciousness at some point. “I’ve got you. I’m sorry, mouse. I’m so sorry.”

“Bucky...” you managed in little more than a soft sob.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. You’re safe, mouse. Just hold on to me.”

You did as he asked and wrapped your arm around him as tight as you could while keeping the cloth pressed to your neck.

For the second time that day, he lost himself to the blur of it all as you were quickly loaded into an ambulance and the EMTs started to work on you. They wouldn’t let him travel to the hospital with you, but Sam quickly made sure he was pushed into the back of a second ambulance to have his stab wound dealt with.

------------

Your eyes opened and for the briefest moment, you felt nothing but relief; your heat was over and the pain in your abdomen was finally gone. But once your eyes started to focus and you realised where you were, you started to remember.

The monitor at your side started to beep wildly as you desperately tried to sit up.

Hospital.

You were in the hospital.

The cold, sterile smell filled your nose and it was almost enough to make you vomit.

There were hands on your shoulders and voices trying to settle you, but none of it got through to you. You wanted to sit up. Get up. Run.

The beeping seemed to get louder and more frantic. Your neck hurt as you tried to move and you found yourself clawing at the bandages, too panicked to remember what had happened to you. Breath caught in your chest as you struggled, desperate for freedom, desperate to escape the new hell that you’d found yourself in.

You heard someone say something about sedation and, after a few seconds, things started to get blurry and you quickly slipped into darkness.

The second time you woke the panic set in slower, your mind finally clear enough to think, to remember. You were in the hospital. You were safe.

Well, at least a little safer than you had been.

You’d never liked hospitals and the letters OEC painted on the walls did nothing to help settle you.

Months of your childhood had been lost in rooms like the one you currently found yourself, hours and days spent being made to feel weak. Broken.

When your hands dared lift to your neck again, it was gingerly and with the sort of hesitation that came from not knowing if you really wanted to know. Fingers brushed over gauze and bandaging and the slightest pressure had you wincing.

Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to fight back the memories that began to flood back. Brock had tried to claim you. He’d bitten you. Over and over, trying to force you to submit.

You wretched, only just managing to lean over the side of the bed in time, bringing up nothing but fluid. At some point someone else entered the room and there was soon a bucket held out for you until, finally, your stomach completely emptied itself.

The doctor helped you settle back in bed and quickly took your temperature.

“Your heat symptoms have finally abated,” she said, sounding quite happy about it.

“How - how long have I been here?” You asked, your voice raspy and dry.

“You were brought in two days ago,” she explained, pouring you a glass of water and handing it to you, “we had to operate immediately and, because of your heat, we had to keep you sedated yesterday to allow recovery.”

Operate? It was still so fuzzy, it was always harder to remember things that happened during your heats, but this felt like something else. It almost felt like you didn’t want to remember, like some part of you already knew that you were better off not remembering.

You took a slow drink before you spoke again, your throat feeling like it was full of sandpaper.

“What’s wrong with me?” You finally dared to ask, causing her to stop dead beside your bed. “What - what did he do to me?”

The doctor set you with an uncomfortable look which caused your stomach to coil and tie itself in knots. Bad news. It had to be bad news.

She took a breath while you tried to ignore the tears that were prickling at the corner of your eyes.

Not bad news. Awful news.

“When you were brought in, you’d suffered severe trauma after rejecting several forced claiming bites” she said slowly, gently. “There was extensive tissue damage around your throat and neck, particularly over your mating gland. The surgeons did everything they could, but they were unable to repair the damage that had been done to your gland and, ultimately, they had to remove it.”

She continued talking a little while longer but her words were nothing more than a static hiss in your ears as the memories started flooding back.

He’d tried to force a claim on you, over and over, his teeth at your neck, tearing at skin. You’d refused him, denied him. You remembered bleeding. You remembered the pain, begging him to stop.

(You remembered Bucky holding you, carrying you to safety.)

“My... gland?” You said. “It’s gone?”

“I -” she took a slight breath, “- I’m afraid so.”

“What does that - I mean, how can I -” you tried desperately to understand what you wanted to ask, to understand what had been done to you and how it was going to affect you going forward.

“There’s no easy way to put this,” again she hesitated for a beat, “without your mating gland, you will never be able to be claimed or mated.”

The words left you feeling numb, even though some part of you didn’t really understand why. You’d never wanted to be claimed, never wanted to mate. You’d always tried so hard to reject the omega side of you but, now, you felt broken.

“But,” the doctor continued, her tone perking up a little, as if she wanted you to know it wasn’t the end of the world, “you’ll still be able to have a normal life; you’ll have your heats, you’ll still be able to bear pups. Though you may find your scenting is affected...”

Again, your mind drifted away from what she was saying, watching as her lips moved but not hearing a single word. Soon enough your gaze was drifting away from her, looking at the wall, at that garish OEC sign, hating that you were there.

You hated everything in that moment, every little thing that had led you to that point in your life. It felt like everything was unravelling and you had no idea how to stop it.

Your eyes snapped back to the doctor in time to catch her question.

“The alpha who came in with you is still in the waiting room, would you like to see him?”

Still? He’d been sat out there for two days?

------------

“You don’t have to stay,” Bucky said, for at least the fiftieth time that day.

Since being patched up and checked over, Bucky had remained in the hospital waiting room, only receiving the barest of updates about you. He knew that you’d been taking into surgery straight away and that you’d been taking into recovery a few hours later, and they’d told him that you’d been kept under sedation so your heat symptoms didn’t cause complications, but that was all.

He had no idea the extent of your injuries or how effective surgery had been.

Of course, he understood that he wasn’t next of kin, that he was really nothing to you, but it frustrated him no end not knowing if you were really okay.

Sam had been home to sleep, and he’d tried to get Bucky to do the same. But there was nothing that anyone could say or do to get Bucky to leave that chair. He wouldn’t leave you, not again.

(Never again.)

“How about I stay and you go get some rest?” Sam countered. “I can call you if anything happens?”

“No,” Bucky answered, not even considering it. “I’m not leaving her.”

“You’re going to be no good to her if you make yourself ill, Bucky,” Sam answered back. “Just because you’ve got that cyborg brain doesn’t mean you don’t need to rest.”

Normally he’d roll his eyes at Sam’s dumb jokes, maybe even say something pointed in response, but Bucky was tired. More than that, he was worried.

“This is my fault, Sam. I can’t just leave her.”

“It’s not your fault, Bucky. You’re not the one who hurt her and beating yourself up over it isn’t going to help anyone, least of all her.”

Bucky shook his head. “I fucked up, Sam. I lost control. I tried to claim her when she didn’t want it and that makes me no better than Rumlow.”

In the time that they had spent in the waiting room together, Bucky had explained rather loosely what had happened between you and him, but it was clear to Sam that there was so much more to it.

“You stopped when she told you to. Rumlow didn’t,” Sam stated. “That’s a big fucking difference, Bucky.”

“I left her - she was in the middle of her heat and I -”

“You did what you thought you had to do to keep her safe.”

“But she wasn’t safe, was she? If she’d been safe, none of this would have happened.”

Bucky got to his feet and started to pace, not sure what else he could do with all of his nervous pent-up energy. Sam let out a sigh, knowing that there was nothing that he could say or do to stop Bucky from spiralling right now. He needed time to work through it, but he wasn’t going to allow himself that time until he knew for certain that you were alright.

Sam just hoped that moment would come sooner rather than later.

“They’ve finished processing Rumlow at The Raft,” he decided to change the subject. “After all the shit he’s pulled, he’s never going to see daylight again.”

“It’s still more than he deserves.”

“You still pissed I stopped you from killing him?”

“Yes,” Bucky snapped before pausing a beat. “No.” Then; “I don’t know.”

“That’s not you, Bucky. You’re not that guy.”

Not a killer. Not the Winter Soldier.

(But would the Winter Soldier have let this happen to you? No. The Winter Soldier would have kept you safe.)

“Maybe I -” Bucky started and stopped as the door to the waiting room opened and your doctor stepped inside.

Sam got to his feet, moving to stand beside Bucky.

“She’s groggy, but she’s finally awake,” she said.

“How is she?” Bucky asked.

The doctor took a breath before answering, deciding how much she was able to share.

“She’ll live. Thanks to you two,” she answered. “She’s recovering from the surgery well and there were no complications. Though she is going to have to remain under observation for at least the next couple of days.”

“Can I see her?” Bucky asked.

“She -” the doctor hesitated, “- she’s refused all visitors.”

“No, I need to see her. I need -”

“I understand your frustrations, but ultimately it’s the patient's choice, and given that she’s here because of injuries inflicted by an alpha -”

“That’s why I need to make sure she’s okay,” Bucky tried again, not even trying to hide his frustration.

“Bucky...” Sam said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You need to give her time. She’s been through a lot.”

“I just -” his eyes flitted to the doctor who didn’t look like she was doing to change his mind. “You’re right,” Bucky conceded, not wanting to think about what Rumlow might have done to you and how you must have been feeling.

It turned his stomach inside out to think that you were less than a hundred metres away and he couldn’t get to you. Bucky ached to hold you in his arms again, to apologise for fucking so much up. More than anything, he wanted to confess to you, to tell you that it had never been about biology. It had always been you. He wanted you.

The doctor took a beat, her eyes moving from Bucky to Sam and back again.

“Normally this would be the part where I call the police to report crimes committed against an omega but...” she trailed off, looking at Sam. “Is that necessary with Captain America here?”

“No,” Sam answered. “Everyone involved has already been dealt with.”

“Good, no alpha who’s capable of doing that to an omega in heat should be allowed to walk the streets,” the doctor said.

For a moment Bucky had to wonder just how much she’d seen in her time working in the OEC, and he found himself reminded of everything you’d said about being an omega. Finally, he was starting to understand what it was really like for you. And, more than anything, he wanted to change it.

“Could you tell her that I’m sorry?” Bucky asked. “Tell her that I’m sorry I fucked up.”

------------

Sorry. What part was he sorry for?

You didn’t have the heart to ask the doctor to check for you and, besides that, you were certain she had more important things to be doing than playing messenger between you and Bucky. Whatever he had meant by the comment, you were sure he wasn’t sorry about what you wanted him to be sorry for. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

Bucky was an alpha.

Perhaps not the most traditional alpha, but you were almost certain that he had no idea why you’d run from him.

No, he wasn’t sorry about that, wasn’t sorry about reducing you to nothing more than a good little omega. He was sorry that you’d been hurt and, really, even you understood that wasn’t Bucky’s fault.

When the doctor delivered his message, she told you that he was still in the waiting room if you changed your mind and wanted to see him.

He was there the next day too.

And the next.

On more than one occasion you found yourself in tears, still devastated and reeling over what had been done to you. You almost broke, almost asked them to let Bucky in so that he could hold you and tell you that everything was going to be alright.

(It wasn’t. You already knew that it wasn’t.)

You mourned lost opportunities and things that might never have happened - things you’d never really wanted or expected in the first place.

So many times you’d wished not to be an omega and, now, it seemed like you weren’t even that.

And the real irony was Bucky, sitting out in the waiting room, not knowing that you’d been ruined, that you’d never belong to him now. You could already picture it, the pity in his eyes if he saw you again; the poor little omega.

The more time you were given to sit with your new reality, the worse you felt about it, the numbness of shock finally giving away and leaving you to feel the full extent of your trauma. You became despondent to the point that a psychiatrist was sent to assess you.

She asked about you, about your life, and about what had happened to you and, as you always did, you gave half the story and heard all of the things you expected to hear in response; it wasn’t your fault, you shouldn’t blame yourself.

You knew she was right, but knowing it and feeling it were two different things. It felt like it had been your fault. If you hadn’t let your guard down with Bucky, you would have stayed in the safehouse, you would have been able to finish your heat with him, and then you would have been able to leave, able to avoid Rumlow.

Instead you’d let yourself believe that there was something more than biology at play, you’d let yourself hope that he cared, that he saw you as more than just an omega. You’d allowed him the perfect opportunity to hurt you without him even realising it and all because you didn’t want to be a good little omega.

On the sixth day in the hospital, you were brought a bowl of Cookie Crunch cereal, the nurse telling you that the alpha in the waiting room had told him that it was your favourite. Whatever had been holding you together in that moment finally broke and you started to sob uncontrollably, hating that Bucky could care so much without knowing it was too late, and hating even more that he’d come to know you better than anyone had in years in just a few months.

He knew you.

He cared about you, in his own way.

And that just made your heart ache more, knowing that it was too late. Even if you could get over what had happened between you, why would Bucky ever want a damaged omega like you?

Still, every day you would ask if he was in the waiting room and it wasn’t until the eighth day that you were told that he’d left and hadn’t come back.

He’d finally given up on you.

It should have come as a relief knowing that he wasn’t still out there, hoping for a future that was impossible. He’d get over it, get over wanting to claim you, have you as his good little omega. And he deserved to because, as much as you might have hated him only a few weeks ago, you knew now that Bucky was a good man. A better man than you deserved.

You decided to leave the hospital that night, checking yourself out against the doctor's advice. You had no idea where you were going to go or what you were going to do, all you knew was that you couldn’t stay there, couldn’t keep wallowing in your own trauma and self-loathing. You wanted to push it all away and bury it down, just like the first time you’d escaped from Rumlow.

Your apartment was still paid up until the end of the month so, you supposed, that would be the best place to start, even if it meant trying to dodge Bucky while you found somewhere else to live.

It was late when you got home.

His scent lingered in the hallway and caused your legs to tremble beneath you, and your heart gave an uncomfortable squeeze when you realised that your door had been repaired - someone had cared enough to make sure your apartment and your things were kept secure. It wasn’t something you expected and it made you think about what he’d told you, about how people cared.

You cast a longing glance at Bucky’s door, wondering if he was in there, if he was sleeping, if he was suffering through nightmares of finding you covered in blood. Part of you was desperate to go to him but you knew it was too late to say or do anything, too late to change anything. The time for talking had passed and none of it mattered anymore. You couldn’t be what Bucky wanted and he couldn’t give you what you needed.

If you were lucky, you’d be able to save you both the heartache of having to face each other again.

End Note : 😭 I can't believe this story is almost over. I think the next chapter will be the last. I don't know if it'll need an epilogue, but we'll see. Hopefully the next/last chapter will be up by the end of November (it should be quicker to write that this one, I'm just hella bad/slow at writing action). Also I'm really tired so so I'm sorry if any dumb typos slipped through

As always, reblogs/comments/likes/asks are always appreciated. Thanks so much for reading, hope you have a great day!

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you-need-not-apply · 3 months ago

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Torres Strait is seperate due to the last poll I did having an other option that was used purely for that

#ausgov #auspol #Australia #poll #polls #australian #Aussie

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darquitectura · 11 months ago

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Raimon Torres y Pierre Colin, Casa Ses Voltes (Sant Josep de sa Talaia, Ibiza, 1964)

#raimon torres #pierre colin #ibiza

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falcemartello · 1 year ago

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TECNOLOGIE PERSUASIVE

Possono le tecnologie modificare le nostre abitudini? Possono certe tecnologie spingerci a modificare le nostre abitudini, le nostre necessità, i nostri bisogni?

Si possono, possono farlo in maniera pervasiva. Le tecnologie non sono “neutre” chi le progetta sa benissimo quali modificazioni le tecnologie producono nella vita degli esseri umani.

Adesso grazie alle neuroscienze chi progetta tecnologie sa come manipolare le persone attraverso stimoli percettivi, emozionali, sensoriali con comprovata efficacia.

Grazie alla neuropsicobiologia tramite le tecnologie digitali e le loro interfacce chi detiene il sapere e la conoscenza di tali artefatti e li produce più se vuole stravolgere le nostre esistenze, spingerci a prendere determinate decisioni, ad assumere certi stili di vita ed anche a conformarci a determinate regole.

Non è che fosse necessario il digitale e la neuropsicobiologia per progettare tecnologie persuasive: pensiamo al Pan Opticon di Jeremy Bentham.

Spiega Focault : “Egli proclama una reale invenzione della quale dice ch’è «l’uovo di Colombo». E, in effetti, Bentham propone ai medici, ai penalisti, agli industriali, agli educatori proprio ciò che essi cercavano: egli ha trovato una tecnologia di potere capace di risolvere i problemi di sorveglianza.”

Focault descrive la struttura, la tecnologia architettonica teorizzata da Bentham:

”Poiché il principio era: alla periferia, un edificio a forma di anello; al centro, una torre; nella torre sono aperte larghe finestre che danno sulla facciata interna dell’anello. L’edificio periferico è diviso in celle, ciascuna delle quali ne attraversa l’intero spessore. Queste celle hanno due finestre: una aperta verso l’interno, che corrisponde alle finestre della torre; l’altra, che da verso l’esterno, permette alla luce riattraversare la cella da parte a parte.”

A questo punto, con tale struttura panottica è “sufficiente allora mettere un sorvegliante nella torre centrale, e in ogni cella rinchiudere un folle, un malato, un condannato, un operaio, o uno scolaro. Per un effetto di controluce, si possono vedere dalla torre le piccole sagome prigioniere nelle celle della periferia, che si stagliano nella luce. Insomma si inverte il principio della segreta; la piena luce e la sorveglianza captano meglio dell’ombra, che in ultima analisi proteggeva.”

Non è importante che il sorvegliante sia al suo posto è sufficiente che il malato, il prigioniero, il lavoratore sappia di poter essere continuamente sotto osservazione in maniera da essere indotto, spinto ad assumere comportamenti “conformi” a quelli che chiede il “padrone”.

Ma con l’avvento del digitale, delle tecnologie a schermo, con l’arrivo dei social network, dei robot e dei bot, dei sexbot umanoidi e delle voci suadenti degli assistenti artificiali il gioco della persuasione ormai è prassi e l’inganno e la manipolazione sono le armi con cui drogare ed indottrinare la società dei burattini di carne umana.

La manipolazione dolce che fa leva sulle nostre debolezze è molto più potente del manganello. Ma al giorno d'oggi il Potere non si accontenta più, perciò le usa entrambe. Gli uomini non sono mai stati così controllati e controllabili nella storia dell'umanità. Scordiamoci la favola della democrazia, mai e poi mai siamo stati sudditi a tal maniera senza neanche averne contezza.

Francesco Centineo

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tom-whore-dleston · 2 years ago

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Home is Wherever I'm With You

Pairing ▹ roommate!Joaquin Torres x f. reader

This fic contains ▹ fluff, some angst, implied smut, idiots in love, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, smoking weed, hospitals, mention of gunshots, a lot of pancakes

Word Count ▹ 2k

Summary ▹ Oh, home, let me come home | Home is wherever I'm with you

Notes ▹ Finally got around to completing my submission for @the-slumberparty’s Across the Universe (week 4) challenge. This fic is inspired by this moodboard from an old sleepover. Feel free to listen to the playlist for extra vibes! This is unbeta'ed so I take full responsibility for all the errors. Remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed! 😊

You didn’t understand the phrase “home is where the heart is'' until you moved in with Joaquin Torres.

This living arrangement happened by chance, a chance that you were grateful to have stumbled upon. After deciding it was time for you to leave the nest, you found a place for rent that also had a few other roommates. One of them being Joaquin.

You met Joaquin and the other roommates before moving in with them. Luckily, you all hit it off right away and settled in fairly quickly. But you found yourself really close to Joaquin. He was the one roommate that had a similar schedule to yours. You both would wake up late in the morning before heading to work, and then come home in the darkest hours of the night.

The first time you discovered how late Joaquin returned home from work was the night your friendship began. After coming home from a long day, you decided to treat yourself to a batch of pancakes. The rest of your roommates were heavy sleepers so you rarely disturbed them. Since you were occupied with the pancakes, you didn’t hear Joaquin come through the door. He waltzed into the kitchen upon smelling the pancakes and crept up behind you.

“I bet those would taste amazing with bananas,” Joaquin commented nonchalantly. You whipped your head around, swatting the spatula in his direction and accidentally coating his nose with batter.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” You gasped, attempting to clean the mess from his face. “I thought you were an intruder. I didn’t mean to hurt you…or cover you in pancake batter.”

Joaquin snickered. “Don’t worry, you didn’t hurt me at all. But I admire your self defense skills. I think that will give me motivation to keep the bathroom clean.”

You joined in his laughter. “I think I made enough for you if you’d like some pancakes. You might have to slice your own bananas, though.”

With that, you and your roommate shared the short stacks while getting to know one another better. This ritual of late night snacks after work persisted until the conversations grew louder to the point of accidentally waking one of your other roommates. Since that incident, you and Joaquin decided it would be best to meet one another at the 24 hour diner down the street.

Over time, your roommates moved out one by one until you and Joaquin were left to hold down the fort. The two of you living together consisted of movie binges on the weekends, checking out the monthly farmer’s market, dancing while cleaning the perimeter of the house, and taking walks along your street during sunset. Slowly, but surely, you were falling deeply in love with Joaquin.

You knew you had strong feelings for him when you both decided to buy a bookshelf for your ever growing book collection. While building the bookshelf, you jammed the hammer against your finger, causing you to shriek in pain and the rest of your body to go numb. All you remembered before blacking out was your roommate rushing to your side and carrying you out the house bridal style. A few hours later, you woke up in the hospital with a cast wrapped around your finger and a relieved Joaquin holding a bouquet of roses and baby's breaths. The smell of the flowers and his sweet, handsome face instantly brought you comfort.

“Shouldn’t you be at work right now?” You asked upon noticing the time on your bedside.

“I told Sam what happened and he ordered that I stay here with you.” You gave him a sad look, feeling bad that your clumsiness caused him to miss out at work. Joaquin smiled, patting your hand. “Don’t worry, Sam is understanding.” The softness of his hand against yours sent butterflies to your stomach. Your heart began to swell as if it would explode inside your chest from all the feelings you were experiencing in that moment. His touch, his smile, his affection for you. It was all clear to you then. You were in love with Joaquin Torres.

After returning home from the hospital, Joaquin spent the entire week by your side, making sure you were taken care of. Sure, you were a grown up and could care for yourself, but you appreciated how your roommate reminded you that you don’t have to be alone in the healing process. He would sing softly while tending to your finger and let you smoke some of his weed to ease the pain. Once you started feeling better, you and Joaquin finished building the bookcase together and he offered to read one of his favorite stories to you.

One day while Joaquin read to you, Sam called him, notifying him of an emergency assignment and was expected to leave right away. The night before he left, you and Joaquin crashed on the couch after getting high and watching an alien documentary on Netflix. You fell asleep before he did, and, naturally, your body curled up next to his as you dozed off. He listened to your snores for a few minutes before planting a tender peck on top of your head. Before he knew it, Joaquin drifted off to sleep.

You woke up alone in the living room, searching for Joaquin. Instead, you were met with a note on the coffee table.

Sorry I couldn’t give a proper goodbye. You looked so peaceful sleeping, I would have been a horrible friend to wake you up. I’ll see you in a month!

-J

While your roommate was away on mission, you spent your days sulking and missing him. You tried to go on with your routine as if he was still there, but things felt empty and meaningless. The pancakes from the diner didn’t taste as fluffy when you ate alone. The music you listened to while cleaning the house didn’t lift your mood the way it did with Joaquin. His favorite stories didn’t sweep you away to another world the way it did when he read them. The flowers around your house died faster, even though you tended to them the same way you always had. You didn’t even bother taking walks or going to the farmer’s market by yourself. It was the longest month you had ever experienced in your life.

Meanwhile, Joaquin could not wait to fly back home to you. The days were long and draining, and it seemed as if he and Sam were constantly running into dead ends. What kept him motivated during this difficult mission was a photo booth strip he kept of you and him at the summer fair. Even though looking at the pictures made him miss you dearly, he was hopeful of the day he would reunite with him.

“Is that the roommate?” Sam inquired from behind Joaquin’s shoulder. The Falcon’s cheeks warmed up and he began smiling like a smitten school boy. Joaquin didn’t need to say anything for Sam to know what was on his mind.

“So, are you ever going to tell her you love her?” Captain America added with a quirked eyebrow.

“I’ve been wanting to. I just get nervous.” Joaquin peered down at his combat boots. “She’s my best friend, Sam. I don’t want to ruin that.”

“Ouch, and after all we’ve been through, I thought I was your best friend.” Sam’s joke led to Joaquin letting out a small chuckle. “No, but seriously, you will feel much more free once you just tell her.” The younger lad nodded, imagining all the best case scenarios of confessing his love for you. His daydreams of you were cut off by the gunshots that echoed in the distance.

The end of the month finally rolled around, yet there was no sign of Joaquin. Anxiety took over your body as you wondered why he hasn’t come home yet. Part of you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but your sadness made your mind wander to anything and everything that could have gone wrong. You dragged yourself to work as you have been doing for the entirety of Joaquin’s absence. While you worked, you stared at the matching photo booth strip pinned to the wall of your office. A hot tear streamed down your cheek, longing to see Joaquin’s face and hear his voice again.

After work, you came home, ready to settle into your comfy bed. You sighed loudly as you hopped out of your car, slamming the driver’s door shut and locking it behind you. All of a sudden, your eyes landed on a motorcycle that you haven’t seen in over a month. Then, you saw light coming from inside the house. Could it be?

You ripped off your work pumps, bolting into the house barefoot in hopes that your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you. As you entered through the front door, the delicious scent of bananas and vanilla filled your nostrils. Your heart bursted at the seams upon the sight you found in the kitchen. Joaquin was humming along to your favorite song while drizzling a stack of banana pancakes with syrup. As if sensing your presence, he beamed a sparkling smile while turning to face you.

“I came home an hour ago to an empty home. Figured you were still at work and you’d probably be hungry when you come back.” He paused, glancing at the plate on the counter. “I made sure to add bananas this time.”

Your lips trembled as you fought the urge to cry. You wanted to run and jump into his arms, feel his warmth bring you back to life, kiss the lips you have been aching to taste for an entire year. All you could do was drop your bag and heels by your side as you succumbed to the tears that fell from your face. Joaquin took that as his signal to step closer to you. He caressed your face, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“I missed you,” you croaked, finally embracing him tightly. Your hearts beat in sync with one another, as if that was the way the universe wanted it.

“I missed you too.” He stroked the back of your head before making space to gaze into your glossy eyes. “It’s hard to be away from the girl I am madly in love with.” You couldn’t help but let out a tearful giggle at the words that left Joaquin’s mouth. It felt as if all of your wildest dreams were coming true. Yet it was only the beginning.

“Being The Falcon requires me to travel the world so often, and to see places I’ve always wanted to visit. But none of that matters to me because despite where I go, I find myself wanting to be wherever you are instead.”

“I love you, Joaquin.” You started to close the space between you and him. The tips of your noses brushed together, the heat from your breaths mingling like your feelings for one another.

“I love you, too, cariño.” With that, he finally pressed his lips against yours. You kissed one another with a passion that no one could snuff out. His lips were sweeter than the pancakes that were long neglected on the counter. Joaquin lifted you up and you immediately wrapped your legs around his waist as he led you to the couch where you both professed your love throughout the rest of the night.

When you both woke up the next morning, bare bodies intertwined under the thin blanket, you felt a sense of belonging. It was unfamiliar to the two of you, but it was a feeling you accepted with open arms. You and Joaquin were both hopeful of the future that you were ready to build together like the bookcase filled with stories you hoped would become your reality. After locking eyes for what seemed like eternity, Joaquin kissed you with fervor, and you picked up where you left off from last night.

He was home, and so were you.

Navigation | Fanfic Masterlist | Joaquin Torres Masterlist

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kavalyera · 3 months ago

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𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 ?

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Two friends meet again as kindred in an unfamiliar world

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : oc x oc, can be read as romantic or platonic, use of filipino words, emotional comfort

An embrace was painful, and living beyond that—knowing that one has a second chance was even more painful. David didn’t want to be embraced. He didn’t want to become this, he’d much rather die in the fire than become whatever the Anarchs and the Camarilla thought him about to be.

His motorcycle set aside, and David is looking over the Pasig on the Binondo-Intramuros Bridge. He has a short while before he’s back on the run again, on the run from everything. The Camarilla, the Anarchs, and his fellow clanmates.

He wasn’t—in his own thoughts—meant to live this long.

How long has it been since his embrace? Seven years maybe. Maybe eight. Time passes by with no reason and David doesn’t care much about it anymore. He’s grown past being that kalye kid that they say keeps fighting. Maybe he’ll turn back to God if God listens. Maybe he’ll listen, the Father almighty is just like his own father. Powerful, neglectful, significant in the eyes of others. He’s been abandoned in more ways than one—

“Oks ka lang, pre?” You good, bro? Asks another voice that’s all too familiar. David almost flinches when a hand touches his back, resting near the back of his neck. It’s almost instict to fight or run.

“Marianne?” David looks up at her and there she is again. Marianne. Mary. Marie. Anne. Mars, as their classmates once called her from elementary to senior year of high school. She hated that nickname, it was “too overused” she frequently said.

“I’m May.” She sits down next to him on the edge of the bridge, her forearm resting on her knee and the other foot dangling off the bridge, her sandal seemingly about to fall into the river but it doesn’t.

“Why are you here?” David asks.

May looks at him, taking his red tinted glasses and the world is clear and bright again. Manila in the night. There was her again, wearing his glasses and had seemingly changed herself. She was different, but still so familiar.

“I heard you died. I didn’t want to miss your funeral, you know?” May replies back with. “I went there, they told us your body was burned. I cried a lot, I remember our math teacher from grade-ten was there. Sir Oscar, yata.” Sir Oscar, I think.

“Miss niya ako?” He misses me? David asks back in return. “Di ako naniniwala sa ‘yo.” I don’t believe you. David smiles. Of course he knows Sir Oscar.

Sir Oscar was always a good man. David couldn’t bring himself to visit the old man past his retirement. He didn’t want to bring chaos to an elderly man’s life, he had a wife and kids. Well, his kids were grown and were in different places. His wife was dead, the man was living in peace, close friends with the teachers he called his coworkers still.

“Of course he misses you, whenever no one was raising their arms he called you back then ‘cause he knew you’d always get the answers right.” May says. “I thought you died.”

“Well…” David looks at her.

Does he really want to tell her what he’s become? In an instant, he was in agony, sharp burning engulfing him whole. His arm, he remembers, felt so cold from the burning sensation that it hurt. He was a tough boy, everyone knew that. But at that moment, David cried. He felt tears as pain washed over him. He was not tough at that moment.

“I heard you were making a name for yourself.” May says. “Tondo made you their Baron.”

David’s eyes shoot up to her back from the black waters of the Pasig river in the night. She knew of Barons, she knew of the Anarchs, she knew of the Camarilla.

“Hm?” David asked back for her to clarify.

“I got embraced.” May said. “Gangrel, or however you say it.”

“Oh, right.” David nodded slowly.

Cars passed by behind them. Manila was glimmering as the lights from buildings seemed to twinkle like stars in their warm, golden lights. Some were cold lights, cold and harsh.

“I’m a…” David rolls his hand. “Brujah.”

May snorted. Then she laughed. They both laughed. David found himself laughing with her and suddenly they were high school students again coming back home after a long day of quizzes, shit-talking, and writing lecture after lecture in their notebooks.

“Mangkukulam?” A sorcerer? God, David wishes. It’s probably much better than feeling the urge to resolve everything with his fists.

“I wish.” David shakes his head. “That’s Tremere, I think.”

“Ah.” May clicks her tongue, tilting her head to the side. “How have you’ve been?”

“On the run, and stuff.” David says. “I don’t…”

He’s not sure. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t like kindred life. Everyone else seems different, like they’ve settled into this reality of theirs fairly easily and David, even with being crowned Baron of Tondo, he still doesn’t seem to know what he is or what he wants exactly. He doesn’t know what to do, he’s alone, he’s afraid. He knows those three facts all too well.

“I’m not sure.” David says.

“Ohhh….” May replies back with. “On the run, why? What happened? They didn’t tell me anything, they just told me they made you Baron of Tondo.”

“De Silva doesn’t have an official blood hunt on me yet but it’s clear she wants me dead.” He puts it simply. Crossing her path is a death sentence on its own.

The entirety of Manila is a Camarilla paradise. Every kindred coaxed into submission by the higher authority, forced into obedience through fear and lies. David is fighting a losing game, he knows that. Fighting against a city with monsters much older is a loss.

“But why are you still here?” May asks.

David thinks. Why is he even in Manila? Everything was without a label and yet everything was tying him down to Manila.

“I need to try.” David says. “Try and fight. I’m not going to let Prince de Silva have total control. I’m not gonna let her have that peace of mind.”

May looks at him through his red tinted glasses, before she rests her head on David’s shoulder. “I’ll join you. You don’t have to do it alone.”

thank u sm for reading ueue ! ^_^

#first time writing my vtm ocs why am i scared im mischaracterizing them i literally made them😭😭😭#i wanted to write emotional hurt comfort #take this #im probably gonna write whump with vivienne lmao #oc: david ramos #oc: may fernando #manila by night #🪐evrenwrites #vtm oc #vtm ocs #vampire the masquerade oc #vtm #vampire the masquerade #clan brujah #clan gangrel #brujah oc #gangrel oc

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alldancersaretalented · 6 months ago

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WCDE National Title Results 2014

WCDElite Titles:

Mini Female:

Kailey Quinn, DP

Jasmine Jade, First Dance Project

Bailey Sok, DP

Mini Male:

Landon Spurbeck, Allegro PAA

Joshia Kim, DP

Teddy Mielke, SAS Dance

Junior Female:

Lauren Yakima, NDSoD

Kendall Boston, Allegro PAA

Keely Meyers, Danceology

Junior Male:

Jamaii Melvin, Dance Empire

Reggie Valdez, DP

James Ades, Allegro PAA

Teen Female:

Londyn Alexander, International CPA

Addison Moffeet, Club

Effie Tutko, Allegro PAA

Teen Male:

Lennon Torres, DC Scottsdale

Timmy Blankenship, Kinesis

Graham Feeny, Company C

Senior Female:

Hayden Hopkins, Westlake

Addie Byers, Intermix

Isabela Medina, Dance Empire

Senior Male:

Christopher Lucas, The Studio

Matthew Rogers, Danceology

Noah Field, NDSoD

#dance #west coast dance explosion

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wawamouse · 4 months ago

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Oz Rewatch 3: S6E01: Dead Man Talking

Plotlines

Jeffrey Keane guest narrating

McManus creates his gay and stupid meditative maze after attending a “new age seminar”; McManus opens a box left behind by Augustus, discovering his book and sharing it with Said and Redding

Pancamo comes out of the hospital an regroups with Morales

Redding has been in mourning over Hill; Said tells him to get it together

Solitary case review day; Omar falls ill in Solitary and is hospitalised; Miguel is recommended to be let out; McManus forces Miguel and Chico to make up

Rebadow is still depressed about little Alex; McManus transfer him to a library job; Stella arrives as the new librarian

Kirk arrives on Death Row; Mukada returns to Oz and initially refuses see Kirk; Kirk wants an exorcism, angering Mukada further. Monsignor comes to see Mukada about SA accusations by Kirk and Mukada is temporarily suspended from the priesthood

Suzanne is putting on Macbeth;

Shupe flashback; Ryan threatens Shupe about giving testimony to Cyril’s lawyer but Shupe isn’t a credible witness

Peter Schibetta accuses Ryan of killing his father; he goes to see his wife; Schibetta comes to join the play and says some stuff about the Evil Eye; Meehan talks to Ryan about becoming a better person; Meehan dies in the middle of the night

Beecher is now in Unit J for his safety until his parole hearing; Schillinger is released from Solitary and returned to Unit B; Winthrop wants to move up from prag status by killing Beecher’s father; Mr Beecher visits Beecher and then Keller to help with his case; Winthrop kills him as he is leaving

Mayor Loewen arrives at Oz amidst chaos outside and inside; SORT discovers Mr Beecher’s body

Sister: Did his brother die yet? It’s been six months since last season apparently… Me: You think they’re not going to milk that out?

Sister: What, he can’t hear that screaming?

Sister: Jesus, lady, is no time sacred?!

Sister: He looks like he's been getting facials. Me: W-what? Sister: Chico’s skin looks better this season, and his hair is nicer looking. They both seem younger this season, too. Less greasy overall. Miguel finally can afford sleeves. Ooh, fancy. Cotton~ Impressive.

Sister: Hate makes one bald. Me: Did you say ‘hate makes one bald’? Sister: Yeah, he shouldn’t do that. He’s going to stress and lose all his hair. Just let them be… Don't try and get in their way!!

Sister: She definitely got fired from her last job.

Sister: Back from Jurassic Park…

Sister: Didn’t they already have this conversation last season? …Do you think they’ve been doing this same song and dance every night for the last six months? 'Cause, I mean, surely the Father prays every night… Me: I like to imagine that whenever there are time jumps in this show, they all just stand there in spooky stasis and nothing actually happens.

Sister: (drumming on knees eagerly) Let’s see that wife! I wanna see the wife! Is it Shannon? Me: Girl, Shannon is not in this place. Sister: (booing because there’s no Shannon) (booing because Schibetta’s wife never gets a close up)

Sister: Put him in the play. Handsome Man. Handsome Man #2.

Sister: (snorting deeply) I don’t know what he’s talking about. [Ryan] has the same poopy face with everyone.

Sister: (tutting) No wonder Shannon left him…

Sister: Who shall be his roommate now? Schibetta? Me: (wistful sigh)

Sister: Didn’t that guy used to have hair?

Stray thoughts

I wonder who told Peter about Ryan killing Nino

We rewinded to investigate the color of Meehan’s shitty underwear because Sister could’ve sworn it was red so she thought it was another eating glass story line

We also rewinded to check out Peter’s wife

Sister: The priest storyline and the mayor storyline are very topical… disgraced mayor Eric Adams… the Archdiocese (of Los Angeles) announced they were paying that billion dollar settlement for sexual abuse…

Torres is played by an MMA fighter named Frank Shamrock??

Sister says she’s willing to take on guardian angel duties for Schibetta but she’s still on the fence because she’s “not sure he’s learned his lesson” and she “can’t be representing losers—what will that do to my reputation”?

Final Thoughts

Sister: Cyril’s got a very strong demon voice now… Probably because he’s rooming next to Satan.

Sister: I’m surprised [Howell] hasn’t gotten an STD yet

Sister: I didn’t get to see [Schibetta]’s wife’s face fully, which made me sad. Although she kinda looked more like his mom from what I could see…

Sister: Someone was trying to be crafty with that [scene where all the Solitary inmates say their little piece at the window]. Like Chicago… Did they announce before this season that it would be the last? Me: Oh, huh. I'm pretty sure they knew. Sister: Because I feel like they’re trying to be more cinematic… And they got like a higher budget or something. Like Chico and Miguel both have better clothes. And Chico looks better. Me: So based on this episode, do you have any predictions on where the storylines will go? Sister: I mean, I don’t know it can go where it shouldn’t have gone in the six months that supposedly passed… They didn’t really have anything for Said this episode… He was just doing his spiritual thing… And [Redding] was still grieving six months later, which was juxtaposed with Rebadow and his budding romance this season to carry on his family name, haha. I don’t know, did that librarian seem hostile to you? I feel like it was supposed to be romantic tension, but she kind of seemed like she was planning on killing him. Me: Any thoughts on Kirk and Mukada and the Satan thing? Sister: I’m just surprised that they haven’t found the Reverend yet. And he even mentioned the dude disappearing this episode but there still wasn’t any follow up like “yeah, where did he vanish to?” Also, when they were doing the Solitary voting thing, I feel like someone wasn’t voting very seriously. Like only Sister Pete was a dissenting vote against Schillinger getting out? McManus didn’t vote against him? Me: Any thoughts on the play? Sister: I wanna see what their budget it is. Because they had a really large background and paint is expensive… And they were doing props? Me: Well, they were probably using tempera paint… And those big school tubs are probably like $20. Sister: Yeah, but they have multiple colors… I guess we’ll have to see what other props they get… (gasp) What if the skull is real?! Me: (for the nth time in our viewing conversation) They’re not doing Hamlet!!

#oz hbo #oz rewatch

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