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sarahowritesostucky · 8 months ago

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📖"Hydra Sanatorium"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word count: 4608

Tags: a/b/o, medical institutionalization, cognitive disability, made up kinky medical things, diapers, catheters, enemas, non-con medical procedures, restraints, forced wetting, hurt/comfort, humiliation, kind!Careworker Steve, bratty!Patient Bucky, alpha Steve, omega bucky, dry humping, forced orgasm, masturbation, implied self harm, orgasm therapy, age difference (19/30s), omorashi

Summary: Bucky is a troubled teen coping with the traumatic transformation of late-onset omega puberty. Steve's the care worker who's been developing too much of an attachment.

Wait! I think I missed a previous chapter! Series Masterlist

Chapter 9: Persistent Genital Arousal

Previously:

This may be (and hopefully is) Bucky's last day as a Hydra patient, but that doesn't mean he won't have some group classes and therapies left to attend with the other boys in his cohort that afternoon and evening. Steve will just have to find a way to fill his own time, leave Bucky to his schedule, and hang in there while he gets the ball rolling to secure Bucky's release into his custody.

That afternoon, Steve completes a plethora of paperwork. He submits his recommendation for Bucky’s care, fills out a formal application for custody, and hands in his letter of resignation to Raynor.

He’s completely transparent with her about his intentions, and Christina isn’t just fair in her response: she seems downright pleased. She does call him a traitor for leaving Hydra, but she’s smirking when she says it, so Steve knows he’ll still be getting a stellar reference from her.

He is officially quitting, but Bucky’s still a patient on-ward—with all the services afforded one—for at least the next twenty-four hours. So to avoid interrupting his scheduled therapies and groups, Steve tries to keep himself busy, closing out his cases and saying goodbye to some of his more friendly coworkers. Hydra Sanatorium might not be the nicest or the most well-funded place, but for a county-run institution it’s always done the best it can with what it has for the people who come through its halls. Lord knows Steve has. After five years of working there, doing his best to help the people that he could, Steve hopes he made some sort of a difference. In one case, at least, he knows he has.

Later in the day, he goes looking for Bucky and finds him with the rest of his cohort in the soft room. A lot of the boys are napping, the rest of them engaged in various stimming activities. Steve doesn’t immediately spot Bucky, but the room attendant points him towards one of the nesting pods. When Steve pokes his head through the little circular opening into the cave-like space, sure enough there his boy is: nestled amongst an impressive collection of blankets, throws and pillows.

Inside it smells heavenly, Bucky’s scent built up in the air. All sexually mature omegas experience something called persistent genital arousal, or PGA. It can be more debilitating for some, and it’s definitely more intense at certain points of their cycles, but in general Steve’s heard it described as a low-level thrum of arousal—like what one might feel from touching themselves idly from over their underwear while watching mediocre porn. Essentially, omegas really do always have sex on the brain.

The resultant smell they give off is, of course, one easy identifying marker for any omega out in public, and Bucky is no exception. The nesting pod is already thick with his scent, sweet and cloying, and Steve finds himself breathing in deeply to get more of it as he crawls inside. He smiles when Bucky’s sleepy eyes peek open and register his presence. The boy is beautiful. “Hey,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky lets loose a huge yawn and stretches with a lazy smile, his hair all floofed in different directions and his eyes nothing but puffy, squinty slits. “Stteeeve,” he hums, reaching for him with grabby hands. “Mmm. C’mere.”

How could he ever resist? Steve crawls over and settles next to him, pulling their bodies close together. “Hey you.”

Bucky’s already purring as he wriggles up against him. “Mmm. Hi.” He shoves his face into Steve’s chest and rubs his cheek against his pec, scenting him. “I took’a nap.”

“I can see that.” Steve’s mood is already in the stratosphere, because he’s suffused with Bucky’s scent: happy, safe, content—and yes, mildly aroused—omega. It’s infectious, making Steve’s body respond with all of those same feelings and more. There’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, tucked into a tiny, warm nesting space with his omega.

“His” omega, because Steve’s already started thinking of him that way. The transition feels almost seamless, feels natural, like maybe Bucky was his long before he knew it. He rumbles in his chest to match the boy’s purr and holds him close. “Missed you,” he murmurs, speaking against the softness of his hair. “How’s your day been?”

They’ve only been apart for a few hours, but after the intensity of their morning together, Steve hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Bucky’s wellbeing all day, even though he knows he’d left him in a good place, mentally. He’d made sure to bring him down from the high of their sensory session, had tenderly changed him and dressed him in warm, soft clothes, checked that his body’s lingering confusion from the therapy wasn’t anything that was going to cause him discomfort or distress during the day. He’d personally escorted him to his life skills group, kissing him on the cheek and promising to find him later, even watching from the doorway for a few long minutes until he could be certain that Bucky was relaxed and taking to the company of others well.

Now, in the safe confines of the nest, Steve kisses his hair again. “Good?”

Bucky does a happy little wiggle. “Mmm, good,” he mumbles, still seeking contact through the way he rubs himself against Steve’s body. “Missed you.”

It’s like he can’t get close enough, like he’s stubbornly trying to dig himself a space inside of Steve. It’s adorable. Steve smiles and rubs his back. “Me too, Honey. I’ve been getting a lot of things sorted out, so that I can take care of you after today. If you want.”

Bucky peeks up at him. “‘If I want?’”

“Yeah.” He knows that this is a talk they need to have, now that Bucky’s sober and fully back in his head. Steve doesn’t think there’s a high chance that Bucky’s going to change his mind, but they still have to discuss it. Because Steve would be a bad person—and a garbage Alpha support—if he didn’t give him the chance to decide for himself now.

And he’s going to have to tell Bucky about the castration issue. As much as Steve hates it, he can’t deny the sheer medical facts. It’ll help Bucky. His body produces too much testosterone as it is, his testes given too much time to develop before he finally presented. They’ve always known that the elevated hormones are part of what contributes to Bucky’s aggression and his struggles. Steve takes a deep breath and forces composure into his voice. “So, my boss asked me to put in my recommendation for you.”

“Recommendation for what?”

“Um, since your folks signed over custody, the state is in charge of you now until you turn twenty-five. That is, unless you find an alpha guardian to take care of you in a personal capacity. But you know, Hydra isn’t really … it’s more of an acute care facility, right? So even if you didn’t have an Alpha, you’d still have to go somewhere else, like a group home or a treatment facility that’s geared toward longer term stays. My boss asked me to submit my assessment of what your needs are and where you should go. It’s called an ongoing care plan.”

In his arms, Bucky tenses up. “My ongoing care?” he repeats, uncertain.

“Yeah Honey.” Steve tries to smile reassuringly. “There are lots of places where you could go to live other than with me, if you wanted. Nice places.”

Bucky’s face crumples in distress and he keens lowly. “But I … I mean, I thought …” His lip trembles. “You changed your mind? Don’t you want me?”

“What?” Steve’s heart sinks at the way Bucky’s looking at him—as if he’s just revoked a promise Bucky had been counting on. “Oh, Honey,” he mourns, pulling him in close again. He cradles his head and kisses over his hair in apology. “No, no bub. I do want you. I was just trying to be fair and give you all of your options. I didn’t want you to feel obligated. Didn’t want you to feel like you had to make that choice to go with me.”

It’s immediately obvious that his words calm Bucky down. The scent of distress dissipates as quickly as it had formed, and their dimly lit nesting pod is once again filled with nothing but cozy, happy omega pheromones. Bucky butts his head into Steve’s chest and grumbles at him for having scared him. “I always want to go with you, Steve. I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

Steve strokes his back. “Okay, okay. I understand.” His hands dip under the soft fabric of Bucky’s top, tracing up the vertebrae of his spine. It feels good to have the connection of their naked skin again. Steve hums and flushes, aware of his cock having a vague but growing interest. It’s all chubbed up in his briefs, tingling with a low level of arousal. And even though he has little intention of doing anything about it right now, it’s still nice to feel when he’s close to Bucky like this. He turns in towards him a little more, pressing him back and down into the nest with his bodyweight. The boy’s legs part for him on instinct and Steve hums, pleased. He slots his thigh between Bucky’s legs and tucks his face into his neck. “I just want to make you happy, Buck,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like you have to do anything other than what you really want. And if it takes you time to figure that out, then you’re allowed to take your time.”

“Nooo, Steeeve. I want you to be my Alpha. I don’t need to take time. S’stupid.”

Steve scoffs fondly. “Oh yeah?” He searches out the slight swell of Bucky’s bonding glands beneath the skin, closes his lips over the spot, and sucks. Bucky gives a surprised little ‘meep!’ of a sound, then pretty much melts full-body into the blankets. Steve chuckles. “There’s a lot that comes with that, you know. Having an Alpha you’re bonded to is different than just what we do here.”

“Mmm. Yeah. Like you said before, in the bathroom when my tummy was full. You said you could be my for-real Alpha.”

Steve kisses where he’d sucked, the spot now pinked and swollen. “Do you know what that means?” he whispers. “To have a for-real Alpha?” Bucky shivers pleasantly in response to the question, but Steve’s not just asking to get him worked up over it. “Buck,” he prods gently. “C’mon, tell me.”

“Means you’d be in charge a’ me,” Bucky sighs, his scent shifting as he grows more aroused. Beneath Steve, he squirms purposefully against the weight of his body. “I’d live with you, right?”

“Yeah. You’d come live with me and I’d be in charge of you.” Steve nuzzles against him, not missing the way that Bucky’s breath catches in a tiny little sound of pleasure. “Hey now, you might not always like that.” He playfully nips his skin. “There might be times when you’re mad as a hornet at me. That won't change anything. I’ll still be your Alpha. You’ll still have to listen.”

“... Could I still call you Daddy?”

Steve groans and turns his face away from Bucky's neck while the omega giggles at his reaction. “Yeah, Buck. You could.”

“Mmm, and you’ll still call me bub?” he asks, looking up with shining eyes and slightly flushed cheeks. “I um … I kinda always liked that you called me that. Even back when I was new and mean to you and stuff.”

Steve smiles tenderly at him. “I know, bub. That’s why I always did.” He kisses him softly, just once, on the lips. The first time he’s ever let himself do so.

Bucky’s wide-eyed by the time Steve pulls back, looking like a whole new world of possibilities has just been opened up to him. “Oh, man,” he breathes. “Do we get to have sex whenever we want?”

Steve laughs, taken aback. “Buck,” he scolds, but he’s already dipping back down to kiss him again. “Yes. Though I do have to keep a day job, so you can’t go full-on nymphomaniac on me.” Bucky whines and Steve kisses back down to his neck and seals his lips over his tender glands to suck some more. “Mmm, you’re swollen here, Honey,” he murmurs, kissing the spot, thinking that he’ll have to check the kid’s chart to see if he’s nearing estrus. It’d make sense, given how reactive he’s been lately. And, oh god, they’ll definitely need birth control. Steve would love to breed Bucky up, but that’s not something they should take lightly. It’s too soon to pup him, not when so much else is in flux, and Steve still needs to tackle the castration issue with him. There’s a lot to be done. Everything is changing. Steve sucks hard on his glands in one, long pull.

“Oohh,” Bucky moans, both hands coming up to run through Steve’s hair. “Oh, S-steve. Mmm. That feels so good.” He hitches his leg up higher on Steve’s hip, rocking against him, and Steve indulges him by driving his thigh forward to give him more firmness to grind on. Bucky whimpers and jerks. “Oh!”

“Mm hm.” Steve gently scrapes his teeth over the swollen spot on his neck. “I’ll need to bond you, if you’re living in my household long term.”

Bucky whimpers and nods, hips shoving up harder at the feeling of the alpha’s mouth on his glands. “Okay,” he gasps. “Yeah, Steve, do it. I'm ready.” His fingers dig into Steve’s shoulders and he cranes his head further to the side, presenting himself for a bite.

Steve chuckles, the sound morphing into a groan at the end as he denies himself and moves his face away. “Mmm. Not right now, silly. You need to be in heat for that to stick.” He gives him a peck on the lips. “Besides, it’s supposed to be something special.”

“Special?”

“Mm hm.” It kind of breaks Steve’s heart that Bucky doesn’t know this, though he supposes the kid couldn’t possibly have had many positive exposures to A/o relationships, growing up with the family he did. Steve kisses him again, explaining, “We’ll make it nice. Relaxing. Bonding is something special we’ll do in private.” They may currently be sequestered in this dark little space, but Steve sure doesn’t count a communal nesting pod in a state-run Sanatorium to be the appropriate place for such an important, intimate act.

He crawls off of Bucky and moves over to the side, sitting up in the mounds of soft nesting materials with his back against the pod’s wall. “C’mere.”

Bucky happily crawls over to sit in his lap. He straddles him, and Steve’s hands settle at his hips. Steve smiles at the bright teal clothes the kid is wearing now. After their sensory session that morning, he’d helped Bucky to get changed, and teal pants with a tangerine top was what the omega had wanted to wear. “All these years of navy blue,” Steve teases. “And it was just you being stubborn, huh?”

Bucky huffs and squirms, but he doesn’t deny it. “I always liked the colorful ones. I just never picked ‘em because I … I didn’t want to be this way,” he admits softly, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Didn’t want to be just another omega. Dumb and drooling in my rainbow patterned sweatsuits.”

“Bucky,” Steve chides. “That’s not nice. The other boys on-ward don’t deserve that kind of talk, do they? ”

Bucky flushes and looks away. “No,” he mumbles. “M’sorry. Didn’t mean it.”

Steve sighs. Just because Bucky wants to be with him doesn’t mean that the kid’s suddenly going to be well-adjusted. He's got so much internalized omegaphobia from being raised by his asshole parents, it isn't even funny. Steve gives his waist a squeeze and tells him, “Hey: you’re still going to have to go to some therapy, bub. I hope you realize that. Just because you’re leaving here doesn’t mean there won’t be rules and discipline. It doesn’t mean you don’t still have issues you need to work on.”

Bucky grumps about that a little, but eventually he nods his head in understanding. “What rules?” he asks shyly. “‘Discipline’?”

“Mmhm. That mean consequences if you act up. I’ll never be harsh with you, Honey, but being someone’s Alpha also means correcting their misbehavior.”

“Like … like spanking?”

“It could be, yeah.” Steve personally believes in gentle domestic discipline for omegas, so long as it’s administered fairly. He watches Bucky’s reaction carefully. “How does that make you feel, hm? If you knew you might get spanked if you did wrong?”

Bucky squirms a little in his lap before he’ll admit, “I dunno. Maybe embarrassed but … kinda nice, too.”

Steve tilts his head to try and catch Bucky’s eyes. “Nice?” he prods.

“Yeah. Kinda.” Bucky pouts and shrugs. “I dunno. I guess it just, um … it makes it seem like you care about me. Like you’re enjoying takin’ care of me.”

Steve’s heart warms, and he kisses Bucky’s forehead. “I do, baby. I care about you a whole lot, okay?”

“Okay.” Bucky sits there thinking it over, sucking his lip into his mouth and releasing it repeatedly. “What are the rules gonna be?”

“Oh, well … I don't know them all yet, but we'll figure it out. Just be good in general, I guess. Don’t make messes, don’t be rude to people, listen to what I tell you to do. That sort of stuff. My place is in Flatbush, not too far from here. You’ll have to be good, stay there when I go to work. I’m looking at changing jobs, so we might have some time together to start off at first, but then you’ll need to mind yourself when I’m away.”

"I'll be good," Bucky promises, sounding adorably determined. It makes Steve smile.

"I know, bub." He strokes the side of Bucky’s head, running his fingers through the soft curls that he’s come to love so much. “We’ll make you an area in the apartment to nest up real nice, just the way you like it. And I can get some stimming tools if you need ‘em, for during the day. I don’t want to see you ignoring your needs like you have been.” At Bucky’s hips, he digs his fingers in meaningfully, crinkling the plastic of the diaper beneath. “And these,” he says, arching a knowing eyebrow when Bucky peeks up at him. “You still need to wear them.”

Bucky looks mortified, but he does eventually give a reluctant nod. “I know,” he grumbles. “I wasn’t gonna argue about it.”

“Oh really?”

“Mm mn.” He’s blushing and avoidant, bites his lip and tries to wiggle away, but stills when Steve holds fast. He sighs. “I mean I guess I don’t hate ‘em so much.”

“No?”

“Mmn. Not … not when it’s just in private,” he admits. “Sometimes they even make me feel kinda, I dunno, kinda safe. … And when you take care of me with ‘em. That part feels really good.”

Jesus. Steve grips him harder and rumbles deep in his chest, praising him for his honesty. “That’s good, Honey. That’s what they’re for.”

Bucky’s physical level of need for the diapers isn’t actually all that high. He has the same small, spastic bladder that most omegas do, and he suffers from the typical pattern of stress incontinence. Most of his wetting occurs when he’s upset, aroused, or asleep. He could feasibly attempt daily life without them, though accidents would happen. But beyond the practical, it’s the emotional impact of wetting that’s so huge for someone like Bucky. That’s why consistent diapering has always been part of his therapeutic program at Hydra. It’s one routine that Steve intends to maintain once he’s got Bucky home and living with him. “It’s nothing to be worried over,” he reminds gently. “Remember what we talked about?”

Bucky sniffles and nods. “... S’normal,” he recites, voice tiny. “Lots of omegas wear ‘em.”

“That’s right,” Steve praises. “And Alphas don’t care. We like taking care of you. We like seeing you feeling safe, and knowing when it feels good for you.” He sees the color rise in Bucky’s cheeks and hums knowingly. “It’s okay when you enjoy the feeling, bub. Like how you did this morning? That’s totally okay.” Bucky whines and squirms a little, and Steve shushes him. “Hey now: I mean it.”

He uses his grip on Bucky’s hips to rock him in his lap a little, and Bucky squeaks and grabs onto his shoulders, pushing into the motion reactively before he can shame himself out of it. Steve hums, pleased. He leans in and takes Bucky's mouth in another, coaxing kiss. That seems to be the key to disarming the boy. He moans and gives another uninhibited roll of his hips. He keeps going, grinding against Steve’s crotch and panting quietly.

Steve smiles and holds him while he rocks. Ever since he ducked into the nest, he’s been able to smell the general level of arousal that Bucky always carries with him. But now it’s heavier, the distinct scent of new slick and a more urgent sort of need coming to the forefront. All Steve’s talk of discipline and acceptance and care has gotten Bucky worked up. He hums encouragingly as the omega stims himself against his lap. “Aw, Sweetie. There you go. That feel good?”

“Ah, uh huh,” Bucky pants quietly, eyes going a little muzzy as he starts to lose focus. “Oh, Steve, ff-feels good, nnngh …”

“Good. That’s all I want, honey. Just want you to be happy and feel so good. Don’t need to worry about a thing, okay? Cause I’m your Alpha and I like you just like this. Rocking in my lap, doing what feels nice, just being a sweet n’ happy omega for me.”

Bucky chirps in a way that he rarely does, his hips juddering forward hard. “Oh! Steve I … I have to …” He squeaks and tosses forward, burying his face in Steve’s neck and whining plaintively.

Steve tuts and wraps his arms around him, still guiding him in the rocking motion. “What’s up, bub, huh? You have to go?”

Bucky nods fast against his shoulder. “Nnn! But, but …” He shakes his head back and forth, trying to fight it. “Nngh …”

“Okay, okay Honey. You see? This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Steve wraps his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and grabs him in a firm scruff. He slides it up into his hair and pulls, using his grip to guide him back a little. Bucky yelps and meets him with wide eyes. “Shhhh,” Steve hushes, shoving his other hand down inside the front of Bucky’s pants. Bucky’s eyes go even wider. “It’s okay, bub,” he soothes, hand cupping the bulk of the padding and rubbing. “I know you just don’t get it. And this is me showin’ you. Cause I’m gonna keep you right here, and I’m not moving my hand until you let go for me.”

Really, he’s sure he’ll have Bucky naked and straight up wetting in the middle of sex in the very near future, but for now this’ll do. They are still in the hospital, after all, and this is still a communal nesting pod they’re in. If nothing else, Steve knows that the orderlies would not appreciate the mess.

Bucky gulps in a huge shaky breath and nods frantically, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes as he gets overwhelmed. “Okay, okay,” he pants, grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders fiercely while his squirming gets frantic. “Oh god, S-ssteve …”

Steve kisses his forehead, murmuring non stop praise and love at him. Finally, Bucky tenses up and goes stock still. “Theere it is,” Steve coaxes, jostling his hand as he feels the warmth start to spread. Bucky moans and loses control completely, going limp as a noodle against Steve’s front and panting as he loses control. “Good boy.” Steve keeps murmuring it against his skin, giving pulses on the swollen crotch of the diaper with one hand and petting up and down his back with the other. “Good boy. That’s my good boy, Bucky. So good.”

Bucky doesn’t go all embarrassed, after. He stays a little dazed, in his head, chirping and humming at Steve when he encourages him to come out of the nest. They walk together to the bathroom, and Bucky does speak on and off when prompted; little 'yeah's and 'no's' and ‘okay’s. So he’s not quite non-verbal, and he’s definitely not in a fugue or a fit of any sort. No. He’s just a soft, contented, aroused ball of very happy omega.

In the bathroom on the changing bed, Steve is hardly surprised to find a pool of slick and a chubbed up little cock underneath the diaper. “Would you look at that,” he chuckles, going about cleaning him up. Bucky starts to whimper afterwards as he’s lying there, clean but exposed and untouched. “Please,” he begs, proving that he can, in fact, speak. “Please Steve?”

“Of course, Honey.” He wasn’t planning on denying him, poor thing. Steve smooths his hands over Bucky’s inner thighs, right up to the crease of his groin. He brushes his fingers over his half hard penis, back and forth a few times, just teasing it lightly. “How do you want me to make you cum?” he asks, only anticipating that Bucky will either ask him to touch his cocklet or else use penetration. He is not prepared for the kid’s breathless request of,

“Suck me, please.”

He freezes, taken aback. Oral sex—giving or receiving—is not permitted between Alpha Supports and their patients on the ward. Steve’s not precisely sure why, when digital and device-aided penetration is done every single day, but at some point in history, some guy writing the rules drew the line at oral. Anything that could be easily twisted to gratify the Alpha support rather than the omega patient is strictly forbidden. Steve has actually never given head to an omega before—patient or otherwise.

But he’s suddenly, achingly hard at the thought of doing so. “Oh, Honey ...” he hedges. “I don't know if ...” He grimaces at the pleading look on Bucky’s face, the anxious, wanting pinch in his brow, and finds himself throwing all his reservations aside. Fuck it, he thinks. He’s been professional long enough. Bucky’s going to be his by this time tomorrow, anyways. “Okay, Baby,” he says, giving in and rubbing over the boy’s belly with one hand. “Okay. You want that? Want to feel Daddy’s mouth on your sweet prick?”

Bucky keens and nods, “Yeah, please.”

“You ask so sweet,” Steve praises, sinking down his body, trailing kisses from his neck to his chest, down to his belly and the base of the sweet little cocklet he’s got between his legs. Steve tells him how pretty it is as he kisses it, mouthing over the softness. It’s only half hard, never really getting rigid, but it's still more to play with than the average omega has. Steve pulls him into his mouth and sucks until he gets an orgasm out of him. Bucky shudders hugely, his little prick squirting a tiny bit of useless seminal fluid, but nothing more. Steve pulls off, rubbing his inner thighs soothingly as he comes down from it. “Good?” he asks.

Bucky shudders and nods, smiling dreamily. “Thank you, Alpha,” he breathes. “We can do that all the time?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, Honey. There’s nothing off limits anymore once I take you home with me. You can touch me and ask me to touch you any way you like. Whatever you’re curious about.” Steve is well aware that, outside of his treatment on-ward, Bucky is very sexually inexperienced. There’ll be a lot of firsts, once Steve brings him home.

Bucky's eyes have slipped closed, and Steve takes a moment to stare. He pets his belly, trailing his hand down to the boy’s wet little cock and further down to his balls. He plays with the soft skin, considering him. Bucky’s shrunk up some in the past three years, but he’s still bigger than he should be. Steve imagines what he’ll look like, after the procedure. There’ll be a bare space there, room to press and stimulate him. Steve's never had much of a preference with male omegas, finding both the little pocket of looser skin left after a castration and the tiny, coin purse sac of an intact omega to be attractive, in their own ways. But he can’t deny that he likes the aesthetics of a cut omega.

“Bucky?” he says softly. “There’s something I have to talk with you about, something we’re gonna have to do eventually. And I don’t want you to be scared, so hear me out, okay?” He waits until Bucky opens his eyes, a little wrinkle of worry forming between his eyebrows.

“What?” he asks.

Steve cups his sac and rubs it gently. “Here,” he murmurs. “You’ll need to have these removed, Sweetheart. Do you know about that?”

Bucky tenses. “What? N-no,” he looks pleadingly up at Steve. “Why?!”

“It’s something they’ve had written down in your chart for a while,” Steve admits. “I’ve avoided bringing it up until now. We had more short term parts of your treatment plan to work on, and I didn’t want to upset you. But I’m going to bond you, Sweetheart, and I gotta take care of you. This is what all your doctors have been recommending.”

Bucky keens miserably. “I don’t want to. Please. Please don’t make me.”

Steve hushes him, rubbing his belly and cupping his balls. “It’s such a simple procedure, Sweetheart. Lots of omegas are cut. Your body had a little too much time to develop. Remember how we talked about that?”

Bucky whimpers and nods uncertainly. “Y-yeah.”

“You’re bigger than most omegas down here,” Steve tells him gently. “Your body’s making hormones that you don’t need. It gets you all confused. That’s part of what makes you get so angry sometimes.”

Bucky whimpers. “Will it hurt?” he asks tearfully.

It’s such a naive question that it makes Steve’s heart ache. “No, Honey,” he soothes. “Not very much at all. You’ll just go to sleep while they do it. And then you’ll have nice pain medicine to keep you comfy while you heal. We’ll get you nested up at home. You’ll probably sleep a lot. You can watch movies and eat as much ice cream as you want,” he coaxes. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Bucky sniffles. “I don’t wanna.”

“I know, I know. It’s new and scary, but it’ll be so simple, I promise. I’ll be right there to take care of you, okay?”

Bucky sniffles for a few more minutes, but then he nods meekly, giving in. “Okay,” he whispers. “You’ll be with me the whole time?”

Steve bends down to kiss him. “The whole time,” he assures. “You’re such a good boy, Bucky. It’ll be okay. Do you trust me?”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to nod this time, and Steve rumbles low in his chest, pleased. “Good boy,” he praises. “Once you’re healed it’ll feel nice,” he promises. “You’ll have an easier time getting pleasure from here.” He touches Bucky’s hole gently, circling the rim. “Release will be easier.”

Bucky’s still nervous, Steve can smell it on him. But he calms down enough for Steve to get him in a fresh diaper and dressed again. He can hardly believe the conversation went the way it did. If Steve had attempted to talk about this during Bucky's last stay on-ward, he's nearly positive he would've had a meltdown on his hands. But Bucky accepted it so easily.

“So proud of you, bub,” he praises. “Come on. Let’s go get you some lunch, huh?”

By four fifty, he’s said goodnight to Bucky and promised to be back the very next day, when he’ll see him discharged from his stay on-ward and bring him home. He clocks out and takes the train to a specialty omega shop up in Queens, where, along with a bunch of nesting supplies, he purchases Bucky a nice collar to go home in. It’s pricey and has all the bells and whistles, from inflation features and removable D rings, to insertable scent chambers and a GPS locator. Steve figures he must really be giving off the 'new Alpha' vibe, because the saleswoman smiles at him indulgently and says “congratulations” as she’s ringing up his purchases.

"Oh. Thanks." He blushes and tries to keep a straight face, but can't help but wind up beaming anyway.

At home he takes the tags off all of the purchases and sets them aside tidy and ready for Bucky, excited about how the kid will react when he sees his new things and gets to experience someone taking care of him properly and spoiling him for the first time in his life.

Geez, Steve thinks, by tomorrow he’s going to have an omega living with him. He feels giddy about it. Even with knowing Bucky’s personal issues surrounding his designation, Steve still isn’t worried. He cares so deeply for Bucky, loves him even, at this point. And he knows that no matter what obstacles they may face going forward, this is the best thing that he could do for the omega.

He flits about the apartment that evening, full of nervous energy but in a fantastic mood. He shoots off a few emails, one to Sam, inquiring about job possibilities at Shield or other local private practices. Even if there isn’t a position available at Sam’s firm, Steve is still very confident in his ability to find a new job. He’s got excellent qualifications, and omega healthcare is a chronically understaffed field. He’ll have to give up the role of support Alpha, though. At least in a sexual capacity. It wouldn’t be fair to put Bucky through that, coming home each day smelling of other omegas. Steve couldn’t do that to him.

He tries to fill his evening up with distractions, but it’s hard. He surfs a few job boards half-assedly, scent marks the stuff he bought for Bucky, makes a microwave dinner that he can barely taste, and watches an episode of a show he’s been following. Nothing gets his mind off Bucky for long. He’s simply too elated and impatient for the next day to arrive. So when eleven P.M. rolls around and he’s still wired as fuck, he goes rooting through the medicine cabinet, downing four Benadryl tablets in an effort to get at least a modicum of sleep in for tomorrow.

Predictably, he wakes up earlier than usual. Rather than closing his eyes again until his alarm goes off, he forces himself to don sneakers and go for his usual morning run, pounding out a few extra miles because he’s got the time and because he needs to burn off some of this nervous energy. He goes back home, showers, changes. He heads for the Sanatorium with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a skip in his step.

God, he thinks as he keys into the hospital’s ground floor, the building really is ugly: very outdated, institutional, depressing. He’s gotten so used to it over the past five years. He’s glad that Bucky won’t ever have to come through its halls again.

Stanley isn’t at the security desk when he passes by, and Steve’s kind of glad, since for the first time in a long time he’s forgotten to grab their usual morning pastries. He leans through the security window and snatches his badge from the wall, heading for the elevators.

Raynor intercepts him at the double doors leading onto the ward, her mouth set in a grim line.

Instantly, Steve is on high alert, tension pulling through his body. “What happened?” he says, already panicking that something awful has happened to Bucky in the last sixteen hours. “Is he hurt?”

“No. His parents showed up. Come on.”

Steve’s guts sink and harden with dread, yet at the same time he doesn’t really have the chance to work himself into a true panic, because they’re on the move. Raynor marches straight to the conference room, inside of which they find a somber-faced orderly at the door, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes seated at the table, and Bucky huddled down over in the far corner, having a bit of a fit. Steve instantly recognizes it as another stress fugue, though thankfully it seems to be less severe than the one he’d found him in yesterday. He’s still got all his clothes on and he isn’t humping anything, so that’s a plus.

Steve hurries over and kneels down next to him. “Buck? Oh Buck, Sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m here now. I’m right here with you, Baby. Please don’t cry.”

Bucky’s huddled on the floor, tearfully rocking in place, one arm wrapped around his knees and the other hand up at his face, sucking two of his fingers. Steve wipes his cheeks and kisses his forehead, heartstricken at seeing him so upset. “Shh sh sh, Honey. It’s gonna be okay. I promise.” He remembers his backpack and slings it off his shoulder, unzipping it and dumping half its contents on the floor in search of the collar inside. He finds it and starts putting it on him, getting the buckle closed and the pressure points lined up with Bucky’s glands. “Can you get something for his mouth?” he tells the orderly at the door. The man nods with wide eyes and hurries out of the room. Steve finishes with the collar and fits the little air pump to its port, squeezing it until the pressure points in the lining have all inflated. Bucky’s breathing calms down considerably just from that. Steve rumbles low in his chest for him, giving him the sound of his Alpha’s approval. “Good boy,” he Voices, petting his face soothingly. “So good for me, bub.”

“Excuse me."

Steve looks back over his shoulder and meets George Barnes’ scowl with one of his own. “Be quiet,” he growls at him, making the man’s face go slack in sheer surprise. “Trust me, I’ll be right with you,” Steve grits. Turning back, he continues to murmur quiet, comforting words for Bucky to hear and latch onto; telling him how he’s right there and he’s not leaving, how he’s his Alpha and Bucky’s his omega and how they’re safe and good and everything is going to be just fine. Bucky whimpers and pushes himself closer to Steve, still crying sluggishly, but he’s non-verbal and even if he weren’t, he’s still got half his hand shoved into his mouth, his body’s reflexes in full gear as he tries to calm himself down.

Behind, Mrs. Barnes is complaining at her husband to “do something,” and Bucky registers her shrill voice and starts to rock a little harder. Steve winces as he sees the red indent of where Bucky’s started chewing on his fingers.

Luckily that’s when the orderly returns, and he hurries over to give Steve the suckling gag he’s brought. “Thanks,” Steve grunts, glad to see that the guy actually had the foresight to bring along a container of PheroGel for the thing. Steve exhales in relief and takes it from him. It'll help Bucky calm down. “Good thinking,” he mutters, maneuvering Bucky so that he can coax his hand away from his mouth and feed the rubber head of the gag past his lips instead. Bucky parts easily for it, accepting it with an anxious whine. “Shhh, there you go.” Steve velcros it in the back and checks the fit, then opens the valve and fills the chamber with the PheroGel.

Bucky makes a tiny, surprised sound when the taste reaches him, his cheeks hollowing as he returns to suckling instinctively. Steve smiles and encourages him. “That’s right. You just focus on that, okay?” He pets Bucky’s face and watches as he visibly calms down from the pressure of the collar and the feeling of something heavy and Alpha-scented in his mouth. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he soothes. “Just close your eyes and focus on how that feels. Can you do that for Alpha?” Bucky sniffles and nods tearfully, and Steve’s heart squeezes as he watches his eyelids start to droop closed. “Good boy,” he praises him once more. The gag is a slow suckle design, so Bucky should be able to keep using the pheromones to self-soothe while Steve works on dealing with the Barnes.

He’s enraged that they’re here at all. Steve fully intends to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Forcing himself to pull away from Bucky and stand, he’s stone faced by the time he turns around to face the Barnes. He walks over to stand across the conference table from them. They’re sitting side by side, but Steve doesn’t pull out a chair to join them. He locks his arms and leans with his hands braced on the back of a chair. “What are you doing here?” he says, letting his full displeasure come through in his voice.

For a second, both of the Barnes look a little bit intimidated. Unfortunately, that doesn’t last. George Barnes seems to recover some of his willpower and squares his shoulders to glower back at Steve. “We came to get him,” he snaps, sparing a disdainful glance towards the corner where Bucky is huddled. “We came to take him home and now they’re telling us we don’t have permission. ‘Permission’!”

“That’s right.”

“Well that’s bullcrap. He’s our son!”

Steve smiles nastily at him. “Well unfortunately, Mr. Barnes, You signed paperwork relinquishing custody of him.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. That was only a few days ago! We’ve changed our minds, so you just get him packed up or, er …” he glances back over at Bucky and winces in disgust when he sees his son: collared and rocking and stimming with the sucker strapped over his mouth. “Just get him ready to go. Take that crap off him. We’ve found somewhere to put him, and he’s coming with us.”

“‘Put him’?” Steve repeats, frowning.

“Yeah.” George raises his chin defiantly, looking every bit the asshole that he is. “Found out he’s actually worth somethin’, even like this.” At ‘this’, he casts another disdainful look in Bucky’s direction. “Milking center up in New Rochelle takes cases like him. Said they’ll pay six grand up front.”

Steve sees red so fast, he has to hold on tighter to the chair for a few seconds. “What?” he says, the word coming out quietly only because he’s so breathlessly fucking mad. “Are you fucking shitting me right now?”

George Barnes’ snide expression is more than enough of an answer. “At least he’ll be useful, not a leech on society.”

In his head, Steve hears Bucky’s tearful, bitter words from two days ago:

“Just a waste of hardworking people’s tax dollars!”

An unpleasant groaning sound meets his ears, before he figures out that it’s his own hands, stressing and warping the plastic backing of the chair. He pulls them away and glowers across the table at the other man. A fucking milking center, he fumes, wanting to pick the chair up and put it straight through George Barnes’ smug fucking face.

Because Steve’s been to those places, has been called in to evaluate the omegas housed in their custody. He’s seen the warehouse-sized rooms: filled with rows and rows of omegas, fat and sedated, restrained to benches and hooked up to machines, bred and fed and watered and hosed down in place, like animals.

Christina steps in, probably because she can sense that her employee is about to unleash imminent violence on their visitors. “Unfortunately, the law is clear in this matter,” she tells Mr. Barnes, as no-nonsense here as she is in any other situation. “You signed all legal rights to James over four days ago and you no longer have any say in his care. The hospital has full custody of him, and we’ve already approved a long-term guardian for him.”

“What?” George Barnes stands abruptly from his chair, sending it rolling back to thunk against the wall in his haste. “What are you talking about? You can’t do that! I’ll … I’ll get a judge. There’s no way you can just—”

“There’s every way we ‘can just’,” Steve growls, unable to restrain himself from being unprofessional at this point. Fuck it. He doesn’t work at Hydra anymore, so unlike in times past where he’s been forced to make nice with less than stellar parents, now he can say exactly what he’s thinking. “You are a piece of shit, garbage human being, who shouldn’t be allowed to raise a fucking dog let alone a child. I think that you should leave now. In fact I strongly advise it. Forget about ever seeing Bucky again—because you never will—and just be grateful that you got away with the level of abuse that you did for so many years without ever being charged in a court of law.”

George Barnes opens his mouth, ostensibly to say something pissy, but before he can, Steve tacks on:

“Oh, and in fact you should be very grateful that you did sign those papers when you did. Because if you hadn’t? You’d best believe I’d be making sure you’d lose custody of all your children before you ever got him back. Now why don’t you pick your jaw up off the floor, help your wife heft her sloppy ass out of that chair, and leave this place before you’re thrown out?”

Of all things, it’s the comment about Mrs. Barnes’s weight that fuels George Barnes into action. He gets alarmingly red in the face, and it’s to the background noise of his wife’s insulted screeches that he starts to come towards Steve (presumably with the intention of hitting him). But before he can so much as round the end of the conference table, Stanley is bursting through the door.

“Hold it! Not another move, Buster!”

At Stanley’s back, Rumlow is standing with his taser gun drawn and pointed right over Stanley’s head. It’s that sight which seems to catch Mr. Barnes’ attention, and he pulls back from where he’d been approaching Steve, hands raised and gesturing for his wife to get up, too. “Alright, alright. We’re coming. Geez.”

“Sure you were.” Stanley sports his tough guy face, proud of himself, and ushers the Barnes into the hallway. Steve’s opinion of Rumlow inches marginally higher when he sees him hurriedly holster his weapon and step back, so that Stanley doesn’t realize he’d had a little bit of backup, there.

With the Barnes led away, Steve returns all of his attention to Bucky. The tension of this confrontation seems to have had surprisingly little impact on him, and Steve is especially pleased when he sees that the orderly had at some point managed to get both a blindfold and a pair of noise cancelling headphones on Bucky as well. With the positive stimulus of the collar and gag, he’s much calmer. Steve hurriedly takes the headphones and blindfold off, followed by the gag. “Hey, hey baby.” He’s petting all over Bucky’s face, trying to read his expression and scent the state he’s in now. He’s surprised when Bucky blinks a few times and then looks up at him with clear eyes.

“Steve,” he breathes.

“I’m here. It’s okay. You don’t have to go with them. You’re safe. You got your words back?”

Bucky blinks some more, looking between Steve and the place where his parents had been sitting at the conference table. “... They can’t take me, right?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, Buck. That’s right. They can’t. They legally can’t.”

Slowly, Bucky’s expression starts to brighten. He smiles. “But you can take me,” he says hopefully. “To live with you. Because you’re my Alpha now, right? And I’m your omega?”

Steve doesn’t even think of propriety, he just leans in and kisses Bucky straight on the mouth. Bucky’s lips are so soft, and he whimpers and responds so eagerly. Steve forces himself to pull back before he can get carried away. “Yeah, bub,” he says happily, trying not to get emotional in front of Raynor. “Yeah. You’re my omega now.”

In reality, they’ve probably got close to a half day’s worth of paperwork and consent-confirming counselling sessions ahead of them. But in the way that Bucky’s asking about? Yeah. They already belong to each other.

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thependorika · 1 month ago

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Dark Romance as the New R!pe Culture?

A study conducted by The Ripped Bodice, a bookstore specializing in romance, revealed that 90% of romance authors are women. This highlights the predominant female perspective in the genre, including dark romance.

Dark romance also includes LGBTQIA+ narratives, providing a platform for marginalized authors and readers to explore dynamics of power and consent from a different angle, contributing to the necessary diversity in the genre.

In a world where r!pe culture is at the heart of social and artistic issues, it is legitimate to worry about the consequences of excessive consumption of this genre.

But dark romance is much more than a genre that trivializes reprehensible acts. It is a universe in which readers (and authors) regain control over a given situation.

It explores dark themes, complex human emotions, with deep and nuanced characters.

This fictional and narrative framework creates an emotional outlet that speaks to an informed audience. Often, dedications clearly identify to whom the book is addressed:

“For the broken ones who are in need of something dark, morbid, and beautiful.”

“To the girl who falls in love with the villain.”

“For anyone who has ever felt invisible. I see you.”

“For the ones who’ve spent their lives being just a little too agreeable. Here’s to getting comfortable disappointing other people to avoid disappointing yourself.”

Through consumption or creation, fiction has always allowed exploration, projection, and research into one’s own psyche. This is also related to the formation of trauma.

Trauma comes from the word “wound” in Greek and literally means “psychic wound.” It refers to a disturbing or significant event that cannot be integrated into the individual’s personality.

These wounds can take various forms, including abuse, violence, or traumatic sexual experiences, and are often difficult to confront directly.

Often, trauma shocks the individual’s consciousness, who then tries to create more acceptable versions of this event.

Sometimes these events are fragmented into several distinct memories, leading some people to doubt the reality of what they experienced.

However, these events remain inscribed in the subconscious, where they influence daily life through behaviors, defense mechanisms, and often unconscious thoughts.

The path to healing is complex and non-linear, and fiction, especially genres like dark romance, can offer a safe space to process these experiences.

This genre, while often controversial, is now better mastered than it was in the past. Research has been conducted on the impact of these narratives and how they influence perceptions of consent, power relationships, and psychological trauma.

Authors and readers form a community that actively reflects on these issues and the creative responsibility that comes with them.

Previously, many new romance narratives explored dark and complex dynamics without always providing clear contexts or trigger warnings.

For example, in the first volume of Beautiful Bastard, by Christina Lauren. the book is about the relationship between a woman and her boss flirts with sexual harassment without explicit consent being clearly established.

This complex dynamic, although fictional, invites the reader to reflect on what is acceptable or not in a relationship.

The way consent is treated in these narratives has been the subject of discussions in contemporary studies, highlighting the importance of responsible representation of interpersonal relationships.

Today, dark romance has evolved, pushing the reader to reflect on what they read, while respecting their limits through clear warnings and greater awareness of sensitive topics.

Dark romance and new romance narratives also include LGBTQIA+ stories that explore relational dynamics within queer couples, including trans characters or other gender identities.

These stories allow for the exploration of often marginalized experiences and offer a space where identity, consent, and power relationships are at the center of the narrative.

(Although this is not my area of specialization, I find it essential that these narratives exist and are represented with nuance and respect.)

In this context, it is important to note that the new and dark romance community often attracts individuals from groups marginalized by patriarchy, particularly women and the LGBTQIA+ community.

This literary genre allows these readers to explore themes related to sexuality and consent in a narrative framework that belongs to them.

By creating and consuming these narratives, they retain control over how these subjects are treated and represent their experiences.

This allows them to subvert traditional power dynamics, offering a new perspective on often delicate and controversial issues like r!pe culture.

By reinventing narratives, these communities can create dialogues around what is acceptable or not and redefine the norms of consent in their own terms.

Engaging with dark themes in fiction can provide a cathartic experience for some individuals.

It allows them to explore their own feelings of sadness, anger, or fear in a controlled environment where they can also achieve a sense of closure or relief.

Characters in dark thematic narratives often face significant trials or distress. Readers or viewers may see parts of themselves reflected in these characters, creating a feeling of connection or understanding that they are not alone in their experiences.

Fiction provides a narrative structure that often includes resolution, whether it’s justice for a wrongdoing, the overcoming of a personal demon, or simply closure.

This can be psychologically satisfying, especially if such resolution is lacking in the person’s real life.

Consuming or creating dark fiction allows individuals to confront traumatic or intense situations in a way they can control. They can always close a book, turn off the screen, or stop writing whenever they want, which isn’t possible with real-life trauma.

Dark romance, while often misunderstood, represents a rich space for exploring human emotions and the complex dynamics of power and consent.

As authors, it is our responsibility to navigate these themes with sensitivity, ensuring that our narratives are enlightening rather than harmful.

Discussions around r!pe culture and consent must be at the heart of our creative approach, while recognizing that fiction can serve as a mirror to social and personal realities.

By listening to our community of readers and being attentive to their needs, we can contribute to a positive evolution of the genre, fostering a constructive and inclusive dialogue.

Thus, dark romance can become not only a reflection of our fears and traumas but also a pathway to understanding, healing, and redefining societal norms.

#ᡣ𐭩 evie talks #SICK AND TIRED OF HEARING THAT #Dark romance #new romance #writing #reading dark romance #dark themes

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drusilla-carstairs · 6 months ago

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oooh i love the clary dying theory but also idk would miss cc really do it? she loves clace i can’t see her killing one of of them and i honestly don’t think she’s going to kill any one the tmi gang just because she tends to avoid major character deaths like that (and also considering the economic factors of killing clary, i don’t think cc will do it because i definitely see her milking tmi gang shorts in the future AND there is that tendency of hers to end each series with a wedding…) REGARDLESS i love your thoughts that was genuinely so interesting!!!

unrelated but i have a theory that kieran will die in TWP. i feel like cc is foreshadowing it with him not loving being king and again, i think she goes for more convenient deaths. kieran’s death would be devastating but mark and christina would have each other and it would be a herongraystairs vibe

i could see one of the tmi gang members getting massively injured though. maybe jace or clary?

in the case that janus does take clary or whatever, i think it would really be interesting for cc to explore some of clary’s trauma there and how she may need some space from jace (considering him and janus look the same) and i think that could achieve the same objective of jace actively choosing to not be like janus because we know that his faith in himself is fully tied to the fact that clary thinks he is good. clary briefly needing space would break that foundation jace has and he would have to actively work on making himself and others believe that he is good

sorry that was complete word vomit!! i’m also searching for any twp crumbs 😭 the kickstarter books need to come asap but in the meantime i’m lurking in the tags and ask boxes! thank you 💗💗

sorry for taking so long to get to this, last week was busy, then I forgot this was in here rip

idk, there is a chance that she could kill Clary and bring her back (a nice symmetry with Jace in City of Glass), but honestly I think if she did kill Clary it would be permanent. I am not entirely sold that this will happen, I don't know Cassie's mind, but I think narratively it could make for good storytelling, you know? Same as when we all thought Matthew would like in The Last Hours. (She could also still end the series with a Sizzy wedding !)

The only thing holding me back from the idea that Kieran could die is that it would be too close to a "bury your gays" trope for CC. Yes, she has other queer characters, so it wouldn't be, but Keiran is 1/3 of the only poly relationship in TSC, and I don't think she would want to break that. Also Cristina and Mark are very different from herongraystairs, in my opinion, because it was never really a 'choice' with those three. I also think that Kieran getting to retire of his own free will would be a great end to his arc--whether this would mean Ash or Kit has to take his place, or Faerie works out a democracy, I don't have the slightest clue, but I do think that with a title like "The Last King of Faerie" Kieran will be stepping down and neither Ash nor Kit will step up.

I also think Janus kidnapping Clary would be interesting because it could so easily parallel her time kidnapped by Sebastian. It is good angst fodder for sure. I don't think this will happen in TWP though, because it is not focused on the TMI gang (something CC keeps reiterating, she does not want us to get our hopes up), and a plot like that would need a lot of time in Clary's POV. It could possibly happen in the last Eldest Curses novel, though, since that comes out between TWP books.

Don't apologize, I love getting asks !!! Even if I forget to answer them from time to time lol.

#answers #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #the mortal instruments #tmi #the wicked powers #twp #clary fairchild #janus herondale #jace herondale #kieran kingson

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witching-by-the-willow · 2 years ago

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hi i see you finally watched wednesday how was it?? tell me everything

Hello, Riri! ❤️

I am so sorry I took so long to answer this...things have just been very busy, and I haven't had enough enough energy in the last few weeks to be able to form a single coherent thought. But here I am, at long last.

So.

Wednesday.

I feel like I was the last person to watch it because everyone was already talking about it akfjangkajdjaf I had filtered the tag, though. So I managed to avoid spoilers. ✨

My cousins were over, so we watched 1.5 episodes one night, and then the next night, we stayed up till 3 am to finish it. 💀

It was such a fun show. I have only seen one The Addams Family film, and that was nearly 13 years ago. So I didn't really have much idea going in. (I am, however, embarrassed to admit that I did not realise Christina Ricci was playing Thronhill akfjajnfja I had a shock when I found out) But I had a great time watching it!

The pacing was good, the characters were fun to follow, the plot was interesting, and I think they did a great job with dialogue writing too. Plus all the little callbacks to the other Addams family media that I've seen being talked about were a nice touch.

I would have liked the ending fight to last a bit longer, though...we had so much buildup to it, but then it was over so quickly....that, plus Weems' death was SO anti-climactic. Like, come on guys, you had Gwendolyn Christie, you can do her better.

and there were a few plotholes that I would like more resolution to, and more development on all their characters. (btw, this is not at all a plot hole, just something that's been bugging me...how did Rowan's mother make that drawing before she died 25 years ago, if he's 16-18, considering they're in high school? Did I hear it wrong?)

I was convinced from episode 2 that Thornhill was suspicious, and in episode 5, I was convinced she would be Laurel, but then they really managed to throw me off by making the therapist blonde lmao. Apparently, I forgot hair dyes exist 💀

I also had an inkling Tyler was the Hyde from episode 3, but man...he really managed to win me over, and I actively ignored all the signs 🤡

I still kind of ship him and Wednesday akndamnfnaj. But honestly, I would be happy if we get Wenclair (which I also ship tbh) or aro/ace Wednesday either.

Btw, that hug at the end was EVERYTHING. 😩🤌

Oh, and for the characters...my ranking for the main group would be:

1) Thing (yes, a hand is my favourite character, what about it?)

2) Wednesday

3) Enid

4) Tyler

5) Bianca

6) Weems

7) Thornhill

We haven't really had enough Morticia and Gomez (episodes 5 when we saw flashbacks of their time at Nevermore has me so hungry more of their past story) and Pugsley for me to rank then, and I would love for that to change. Gimme more of the family, please and thank you.

And on an ending note...I have never seen a Morticia that isn't just straight-up ethereal, and Catherine Zeta-Jones fits it so well. Every time she was on screen, I literally could not focus on anything else. The walk. THE WALK. Just...yes. that.

Anyway, I'm eagerly waiting for season 2!

#dear lord this is such a logm ramble akfnakgnakngja #anyway thank you for the patience you have with me 🛐#wednesday #asks #💕#mutuals my beloved

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mashbrainrot · 5 months ago

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Article under the cut to avoid giving Fox News any clicks or whatever.

'M*A*S*H' star Loretta Swit says costar Jamie Farr 'still makes me laugh' 41 years after show’s wrap

Swit played Major Margaret 'Hot Lips' Houlihan on the hit series from 1972 to 1983

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By Christina Dugan Ramirez | Fox News

Published May 10, 2024 | 12:40pm EDT

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Loretta Swit still has a soft spot for her "M*A*S*H" costar Jamie Farr.

The actress, who played Major Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan on the hit series from 1972 to 1983, opened up about her deep connection with Farr, who portrayed Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger, 41 years after the show's wrap.

"[Jamie] still makes me laugh and keeps me connected to that piece of my heart that brought so much joy to millions of viewers," she said in a new interview with First for Women. The two friends still often participate in autograph signings throughout the country.

Reflecting on the show's major success, Swit credits it to the cast's on- and off-screen chemistry.

"Everyone liked coming to work," she said. "The camaraderie was unlike anything I ever experienced because we were all connected deeply. The chemistry was real, and the energy everyone brought to the set was off the charts, which was a part of the reason the show developed a huge/loyal fan base."

Laughter was also important for the show.

"Laughter and humor were our defense against standing in blood and working on bodies that were young enough to be in school," she said. "You needed the funniest people in the world to make this believable, and this cast exceeded that and more."

"M*A*S*H," which followed a team of doctors stationed in Korea during the Korean War, won 14 Emmy Awards throughout its 11-season run.

"Initially, when we started out, everyone wondered how we were going to be able to pull off a comedy about the war, but we did," Swit said.

In 2023, Swit opened up to Fox News Digital about how her character's nickname, "Hot Lips," has since stuck with her all these years.

"I understand nicknames come with great love and admiration for a character," the star explained. "But it was an insult as far as I was concerned. She wasn’t just a piece of anatomy. She was a major in the United States Army, and she should not be disrespected."

"This was a woman who had rank, who worked hard and wanted to be good at her job," Swit shared. "She was an inspiration. I was proud of her. I was proud to represent all the service women out there. I wanted to make a change."

Swit said she was also proud of being part of the celebrated show, so much so that she was worried the nickname would overshadow the heroic efforts of real-life service women, belittling them to a punchline.

"I didn’t want those women to be disrespected," the actress reflected. "Obviously, people are going to see it differently. Margaret did not see [the nickname] as a compliment. She saw it as disrespect. So, yes, I would say it was never a comfort zone."

These days, Swit continues her activism through her charity, SwitHeart Animal Alliance, and creating art.

In 2017, she published "SwitHeart: The Watercolor Artistry & Animal Activism of Loretta Swit," a book made up of 65 watercolor paintings and 22 photographs that also include personal stories.

#there is nothing particularly groundbreaking here #including the photos #but i chucked it all in for the craic #mash media #loretta swit #jamie farr #mash cast #if you saw me reblog the other one no you didnt xx

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loomiskiller · 2 years ago

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since billy's default canon is that he raised sam, here is a secondary verse where he did not. i will hardly use this verse now that i have fully transitioned to using his new canon.

billy gets a call one night in 2015 from a very drunk christina. given that the two of them haven’t talked since running into each other at the class of 1997 woodsboro highschool reunion billy decided to drag himself back home to, it surprises him she bothered to track down his number.christina blames him for her failed marriage and he angrily asks he why she would even do that since not even sidney knew he cheated on her. she tells him sam is his kid, that she has raised his bastard child and that she ruined everything by confronting her about their affair. so, it is not only his fault, but sam’s as well. he didn’t want to believe her at first. but, he thinks back to their last year in high school and how she actively avoided him even after he broke up with sidney, which he blamed on his “trauma” from the murders. how she and her boyfriend got engaged too fast. it all started clicking in his head. christina hangs up on him and he calls her back several times. she doesn’t pick back up.

billy is extremely pissed off at christina for not only not telling him he’s sam’s dad, but for dropping this bombshell on him before hanging up on him and not answering his calls. he now looks like a child abandoner like his mom. he hates that. it literally takes all of his willpower to control his rage. he calls one last time. sam picks up this time. the two of them talk and he convinces her to let at least let him come to woodsboro so they can meet face to face. their relationship starts off slow. he does not force her to have a relationship with him, letting her get comfortable around him and letting her go at her own pace. they mainly stay in contact through phone calls and text messages. he visits her and spends time around her when she wants him to. he eventually moves back to woodsboro to be closer to her. billy tries not to overstep when it comes to parenting her because he hasn’t been around but he’s at least gonna be there for her. once sam leaves woodsboro, he leaves too. it does not take him long to figure out that tara’s attack is connected to him not only through sam’s relationship to him due to him being a “survivor” but also cause he was responsible for the original attacks.

#& we all go a little mad sometimes ( head canons )#saved #alt sam canon

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dauntless-gothamite · 3 years ago

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Prove Them Wrong [2/?]

Fandom: Divergent Pairing: Eric Coulter x Fem! Reader Summary: Y/N is a Dauntless transfer from Erudite, and she has a drive, an ambition that sets her apart--it always has, even back in Erudite. She brings her perseverance (and need to prove others wrong) to Dauntless when she transfers, and she uses her mind to make her way through the initiation process. Along the way, she makes friends and enemies, and she finds herself comfortable around the man most people in Dauntless avoid at all costs: Eric Coulter. A/N: it seems this may be a little bit of a slow burn, based on the pacing and where I am in chapter three right now... Enjoy!

You woke up to the sound of metal clanging together, an unpleasant alarm if you’d ever heard one. “Get up, get dressed, and be in the training room in two minutes,” Four said, banging the metal together one last time before leaving the room.

Everyone scrambled to get dressed in their new black Dauntless clothes, and as people entered the training area, they began to form a semicircle around Four and Eric. “Ok, let’s get started,” Four said, clapping his hands together. “There are two stages of training. The first is physical, you will push your bodies to the breaking point and you will master the methods of combat. The second is mental, again breaking point. You’ll face your worst fears and conquer them--unless they get you first. You’ll be trained separately from the Dauntless-born, but you’ll be ranked together. After initiations, rankings will determine what jobs you move into: leadership, guarding the fence, or keeping the factionless from killing each other.”

“The rankings will also determine who gets cut,” Eric cut in, rising from where he sat on a concrete slab. An uneasy whisper spread throughout the initiates. No one knew about this, and you had to admit, you were getting a bit nervous yourself. “At the end of each stage of training, the lowest-ranking initiates will be leaving us,” Eric continued.

“To do what?” asked Al.

“Well, you can’t go home to your families, so you’ll be factionless.”

Another wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd of initiates, but it was quickly silenced by Eric’s glare. “Someone should have told us,” Christina said.

“Why? Would you have chosen differently? Out of fear?” Eric replied challengingly. “I mean, if that’s the case, you might as well get out now. If you’re really one of us, it won’t matter to you that you might fail, alright? You chose us. Now, we get to choose you.” Eric looked at each initiate, his blue eyes challenging each person to look away. Some people did, others didn’t. You didn’t.

Instead, you held his intense gaze as the itch to prove others wrong that had been inside you since the day you were born rose up, ready to be set free. What Eric said was scary, but it didn’t matter--all your years of studying the faction system told you that they would try to scare the initiates, and while you hadn’t expected this, you had known it wouldn’t be easy. But you had worked your ass off for years to be top of the class in Erudite, and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to do the same here, in your new faction.

“Everyone, get some water before we move into the next segment of training,” Four called out. It took everything in you not to bend over as some others were doing; you knew standing up straight, getting fresh air in your lungs, would make the cramp in your abdomen go away faster, even if it hurt more now.

“Tris, stand up straight,” you whispered to your friend, who was red-faced after running twenty laps around the room, which was everyone’s warm-up for the day.

“Just so you know, tomorrow we won’t just be running laps,” Four said, surveying all the tired initiates. “So get used to this.”

You sighed, mentally thanking yourself for joining a small workout group in Erudite. It was fairly new, and it was only created because studies showed that after some physical activity, the brain was better equipped to come back to problems it struggled with earlier and continue working whereas remaining stagnant was more likely to result in burnout and fatigue. The workouts were nothing like this, but you were still appreciative of them.

“Alright, everyone find a punching bag and start hitting. Eric and I will be walking around correcting your form, but it’s on you to put our advice into practice. Go,” Four announced after barely even a minute of the “break” had gone by.

Turning on your heel, you walked over to the nearest punching bag and lined yourself up. Feet spread evenly about as wide as your shoulders, then step the left foot forward just a bit. Knees bent slightly, fists raised high. Then, you get to punching.

After what felt like an hour of hearing Four quietly critiquing other students between Eric’s shouts of disappointment at other initiates, the two trainers finally got to your area of the training room. Out of the corner of your eye you caught Four walking up to Tris, slightly adjusting her position and giving helpful tips. Another set of footsteps came to a stop behind you, which meant Eric would be the one helping you. Your shoulders tensed for a moment, but you quickly forced yourself into a more relaxed position and continued punching. Just pretend he isn’t there, you told yourself. After hitting the punching bag six times, called out “Stop” from behind you. He walked over to your side and took a fighting stance. “Make sure your hips are square, like this, so when you throw a punch with the hand that is further back, you can twist your hips and use core strength to put more power into it,” he said stoically, and you did your best to mimic his stance. “No, like this,” he said, grabbing your hips and twisting them, holding you firmly in place for a second before letting go. “Try it now,” he said. You started throwing punches again, and he nodded before silently walking away. When you paused to readjust your stance, you heard Eric yell “Did I say you could stop, Y/N? No, I did not; keep going!” You took a deep breath and began the next onslaught of punches as the room fell quiet save for the sound of fists hitting punching bags, a rhythmic thumping sound.

“First jumper!” Eric called out, disrupting the steady beat and sense of calmness in the room. “In the ring.” Beside him, Four sighed and looked down at his feet, and you had a bad feeling about whatever was about to happen. “Last jumper,” he continued, looking at a girl with dark hair--you think you may have heard her friends call her Molly, but you aren’t entirely sure. “Time to fight.”

Tris and the girl stepped up to the ring. “How long do we fight for?” the girl asked.

“Until one of you can’t continue,” Eric said in response.

“Or one of you concedes,” Four interjected, stepping forward.

“According to the old rules,” Eric corrected. “With the new rules, no one concedes.”

“You really want to lose someone in their first fight?”

“Well, a brave man never surrenders.”

“Lucky for you, those weren’t the rules when we fought.”

Eric clenched his jaw, irritated, before saying “You’ll be scored on this, so fight hard.” Tris and the other girl squared up and began to circle each other, but Eric was getting impatient. “Go!” he barked.

After nearly falling off the mat, Tris lunged, but the other girl dodged, twisted, and retaliated with a swing of her own, landing a punch to Tris’ face. As Tris retreated, the other girl pressed her advantage, catching Tris’ waist, bending her over, and punching her stomach a few times before Tris managed to break free of her hold. Just as she reached the end of the mat and turned, Tris was met with another punch to the face, sending her to the floor. The other girl--Molly--glanced at Eric since Tris was down, and he nodded, signaling Molly to send one last blow Tris’ way, knocking her out. As you watched the fight, you felt bad for your friend; she was much smaller than Molly, and part of you wanted to speak up about the cruelty that the trainers were showing, but you shoved it down. There was no need to compromise your position right now.

“Next,” Eric yelled, pointing to a girl named Selene and a former Candor named Peter who had made fun of Tris, calling her a Stiff several times. You secretly hoped Selene would kick his ass, but it was unlikely, he was tall and strong, plus he was willing to fight dirty--he’d admitted as much in the dorm area. Guess he still couldn’t keep his mouth shut, even though he’d left Candor.

Selene was tough; what she lacked in strength she made up for in endurance, but after a few rounds of dodging Peter’s punches, he finally landed one to her solar plexus, stunning her, allowing him to sweep her legs out from underneath her and kick her as she lay on the ground. You clenched your jaw as he did so, feeling anger rise up inside of you. Selene was unable to fight, that was the stopping point of the fights, but Peter was still kicking her. And Eric, the emotionless person that he was, didn’t do anything.

“Peter,” you said, “stop it.” Peter turned towards you and smirked.

“What are you going to do if I don’t?” he taunted. You considered for a second before turning to Eric.

Looking up at him, you steeled yourself. “I know we don’t get to determine the fighting order, or who we fight, but I would like to fight Peter. Now,” you said, sure to keep your voice level and maintain eye contact with the leader.

He raised an eyebrow at you curiously, and thankfully, Peter had stopped kicking Selene when you started speaking to Eric. Selene scooted to the edge of the mat, but that was as far as she could move without assistance. “You two,” Eric yelled at two initiates, “help Four get this one,” he pointed at Selene, “to the infirmary.” Then he turned back to you. “What are you waiting for, initiate? Get up there.” For a moment you were stunned, you didn’t actually think you would end up fighting Peter, and you knew that both Eric and Peter were expecting you to lose quickly. You caught Four’s eye as he carried Selene out with the help of two initiates, and you looked around to see Christina, Tris, Will, Al, Edward, Molly, and a few other initiates staring at you like you were mad. Maybe you were, but it was too late to back out now. You stood in a low, sturdy fighting stance, just like Eric had shown you. Peter did the same. For a moment, the room was dead silent as your eyes locked with his, and then both of you whipped into action.

Peter went right for the face punch, but you quickly blocked upward and threw a low roundhouse kick at his knee, making him wobble. He recovered quickly, and he quickly used his height to his advantage, moving to grab your shoulder and slam you into the ground. You were smart though, and you let him move you slightly before turning the downwards motion into momentum that allowed you to do a somersault, twisting his arm and landing on your feet. As he was turning around to face you, you sent a snap kick right to the back of his knee, making it buckle. You moved quickly to his other side, ready to send a few punches to his face and knock him out, but he sprung forward, wrapping strong hands around your neck and squeezing. For a moment you panicked, hitting his arms, but they didn’t move. Everyone was sure that was it for you, but you had another trick up your sleeve--Peter was overly confident this would weaken you and in the process of squeezing, he had left his own body defenseless. So you kicked him in the groin. Hard. He called out and released you, and as he leaned over in an instinctual reaction to pain, you kicked his forehead with your knee, shoved him to the side, knocking him over, and kicked him again, this time in the solar plexus. You stood there, stone-faced, and when Peter didn’t make a move to fight back, you turned to Eric, who nodded, and you jumped down from the mat.

You landed next to Will, Tris, and Christina, all of whom were staring at you in a mixture of horror and admiration. You blushed in embarrassment and looked at the ground, thinking to yourself, What the hell did I just do? You were so lost in thought that you didn’t realize the next two initiates were on the mat and fighting, and you only came back to yourself when Eric yyelled, “Hey! Are you deaf, initiate? I said go grab some ice for your neck, I don’t want to hear complaints about it tomorrow!”

You nodded to your friends and said “I’ll be back in a minute,” shocked at how hoarse your voice was. “Just going to… yeah,” you trailed off before walking quickly towards the infirmary.

A/N: can you tell I love writing fight scenes? also I do martial arts and have played sports my whole life, so I love when I get to use my knowledge of anatomy and physiology two write action scenes :)

Tag List: @shykoolaid

#eric coulter #eric coulter imagine #eric coulter x reader #divergent #divergent im #dauntless #erudite #divergent fanfiction #abnegation #amity #candor #tris prior #four divergent #tobias eaton #peter hayes #caleb prior #motherfxking-flannel #motherfxking flannel

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sillyunicorn · 3 years ago

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Snowbaz Mad Libs #2-4

Thank you @facewithoutheart for your words for my Snowbaz mad libs game and for requesting all three stories! Thank you also for the beta help and fluffing up stories 1 and 2 ❤️

(Christina notes that although she did read the stories ahead of time she did not look at them when coming up with her word list)

Every Rainbow Loyalty

Simon complained all the way down the corridor, feeling sadpants. Baz had called him a badger earlier, and it really stung, even though it was hardly the first time Baz had insulted him that way. Simon wasn’t sure what he’d do when he saw Baz next.

Suddenly, Penny poked her head out of the Sex Education classroom.

“Simon!” she exclaimed. “Where have you been? Gareth was just about to show us how to treat wands. I know you don’t want to miss that.”

Simon sighed. Penny was always pulling him into her helpless adventures (although she would say the opposite was true).

The activity ended up taking eleventy billion hours, so it was late when Simon finally got back to their room. Simon didn’t mind though; any time away from Baz was probably for the best.

“Holy tits!” Baz shouted when Simon opened the door to their room. “You can’t just barge in like that when I’m feeling!”

“Oh yeah?” Simon said. “What are you going to do about it, you little nargle?”

Simon stared Baz down; both eyes narrowed and one hand on his hip.

“This,” Baz said, and kissed him.

Snakes and ladders, Simon thought. Things were starting to make a whole lot more sense.

Before Baz could pull away, Simon kissed him back.

And back, and back, and back.

When Loyalty is Rainbow

Baz sighed. University life was turning out to be less glamorous than the movies. In addition to a crush on his best friend and roommate, he had a big test in Sex Education tomorrow, and he’d already spent eleventy-billion hours studying for it. The whole situation made him feel downright sadpants.

He heard Simon feeling in the other room, and thought about giving up studying and seeing if Simon wanted to treat some wands instead. Simon was usually up for that. (Simon always being up for whatever Baz wanted was part of the problem, honestly.)

Suddenly there was a helpless knock on the door. Simon ran out of his room to open it.

“Gareth!” Simon said. “How’ve you been? You look like a nargle.”

“I don’t know what that is, but holy tits! Put on your hottest outfit because the Snakes and Ladders are playing at that club downtown.”

Simon turned to Baz. “What do you think?”

“Sure,” Baz said, giving up on his studying at last. He’d been working harder than a badger and if he didn’t know it by now, he never would. (Plus, seeing Simon dressed up was something he wouldn’t pass up, exam or no exam.)

Simon beamed at him, and Baz felt it ignite something in his chest. Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight he’d tell Simon how he really felt.

Baz put on his best suit, Simon threw his arm around his shoulders, and together they complained out into the night.

Once Upon a Rainbow Loyalty

Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince, who lived in a helpless tower with his eleventy billion badgers.

One day, his parents announced that he was to be married, which the prince did not want.

To avoid his impending betrothal, he told his parents that he was, in fact, already in love.

“His name is Simon,” he told his parents. “And we have already pledged our love to one another.”

In fact, he and Simon had made no such promises. But he knew he could get Simon to agree. You see, he and Simon had once treated some wands together under a full moon, and that does create a certain bond.

The prince sent Gareth to fetch Simon, who looked quite sadpants when he finally appeared.

“Sorry for the wait, sire, I was wrestling with some nargles. Snakes and ladders, there’s another one!” He pulled it out of his hair and quickly squashed it under his boot.

“I see,” the prince said, questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment.

“So what was it you wanted with me? More help with your Sex Education lessons?” Simon waggled his eyebrows.

“That was one time,” the prince seethed. “And no. I need you to pretend to be in love with me so my parents won’t make me marry someone else.”

“Holy tits!” Simon said. “I never thought this was how I’d be proposed to. Don’t you think we should do some, I don’t know, feeling first?”

The prince sniffed haughtily. “I’m not asking you to marry me, just pretend to be in love with me.”

“Well alright,” Simon said. “Actually, I don’t think that will be that difficult. You see, I’ve been in love with you ever since you asked me to complain with you in the forest that one time.”

“Really?” the prince asked.

“Yep,” Simon said. “So, will you marry me?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” the prince replied. And they lived happily ever after.

#snowbaz madlibs #sadpants

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springbandit · 2 months ago

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He held onto his smirk, though a coldness settled into his gaze, unable to stop himself from getting irked by Christina's attitude, even just internally. His hand, still hovering over her arm, curled into a tight fist before slowly pulling back. "Busy," he repeated, "Busy avoiding me, you mean?" his voice was still calm, though it was a forced effort to keep it that way. "Christina, come on. You're blowing this way out of proportion." He took a step closer. "I'm just trying to talk. Is that really too much to ask, after everything you said you felt for me?" He watched her, his head slowly lopping to one side which it tended to do when he was really concentrating on someone. "You've always been stubborn, but let's be honest. This whole situation? It's because you panicked. You lied to me, and now you don't know what to do with it." His voice was pitying to the cusp of patronising. "I get it, it's a lot. I mean, we're connected now. Forever. Whether you want to admit it or not, I'm a part of her. I always have been." He took another step, this time close enough to be actively uncomfortable. But, he made show of keeping his hands to himself. "I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. She's my daughter, and I'm not going to let you deprive her of both her parents. I would never knowingly abandon my own child."

@fcdcdmcmories

"NO, BUT I GET TO DECIDE WHEN I GO. I'M BUSY. AND I'M SURE YOU ARE TOO. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE, BILLY." did she think that he was going to do something here? no, because he wasn't any kind of idiot but then again, she was also scared. no, scratch that. she had kept that kind of secret from him and she had known how he was going to react all along. SHE KNEW HIM. damn it, sam. "it's not up to you. i get it, okay? i lied. i did it for a reason. DEAN WAS HER FATHER FOR MORE THAN HALF HER LIFE. NOT YOU." was that making things worse? probably. did she care? not particularly, no. "my daughter. you weren't there. you got yourself KILLED. remember that?" / @springbandit

#fcdcdmcmories #Billy:Christina #Billy #wal:event05 #wal:ball

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rhetoricandlogic · 2 years ago

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A Prayer for the Crown Shy Review: A Cup of Tea for the Soul

By Christina Ladd on July 3, 2022

Perhaps it’s the times, or perhaps it’s my specific brand of pessimism, which I don’t wish on anyone, but A Prayer for the Crown-Shy made me sad. Not tragically so, and not also without making me think, making me smile, and ultimately making me glad, but this second entry in the Monk and Robot series definitely made for more complicated reading than I was expecting.

Becky Chambers, the reigning champion of Hopepunk, has of course delivered another very smart and delightful novella. That was always going to be the case, and anyone looking for more of her trademark wisdom will certainly be satisfied by this elegant and effervescent little book. However, I live in the accelerating tire fire that is America, and the ecological utopia of Panga feels unobtainable. It’s not just that it’s out of reach in our current moment; it’s being actively thwarted. In some ways, this is the best possible moment to be reading about a society that saved itself from a very similar disaster; in other ways, it feels like a bar that’s just too high to clear.

That doesn’t mean it’s a bad book! It also doesn’t mean you should avoid it if you share my outlook. It may be that it brings you straightforward comfort, in which case, great! Everyone deserves comfort, and hope, and a vision of the future that doesn’t suck. But it may also be that you have more complicated feelings about it, in which case you might feel at a loss to reconcile your experience of the book to the reviews that promise it will part the clouds, save the whales, and clear up your acne.

I’m exaggerating but I’m not trying to be sarcastic here. We do need books like this! We need to see futures that aren’t terrible, we need to know what the world looks like when it’s been saved, not from the Big Bad but from ourselves, and we need to know what we can do to keep it saved. A Prayer for the Crown-Shy is about the necessity of this ongoing struggle, and the joy such wrestling can bring to the people willing to engage the big questions and big answers.

It does all that and manages to remain character-driven throughout. Dex and Mosscap struggle to find their respective places in human society while remaining true to themselves, a universal struggle that Chambers makes personal and poignant. There are so many amazing scenes that it’s hard to choose one to celebrate over any of the others. Mosscap meeting a dog? The beautifully empathetic fishing trip? The brilliant discussion of healing and prosthetics as a way of understanding robotic philosophies of extinction?

But let’s talk about the time when Dex explains pebs to Mosscap. Pebs are explicitly not currency, but rather a form of collective acknowledgement of individual contribution to society. Anyone can give any number of pebs, regardless of their personal balance. If someone goes into the red, it doesn’t mean they’re in trouble, or that they’re denied services; quite the opposite, in fact. A significant deficit means that person needs help, and should be given even more attention and care. And they don’t have to “repay” that care except by becoming happy and whole members of society again, at which point they will naturally begin contributing.

I want this to be the future. I want this to work so badly, this world of collective comfort and mutual care. But this story aches in me, not because I believe it’s untrue—I really do think that at our core, people want to be part of things and contribute—but because I fear it’s untrue. What if people are as petty, venial, and pointlessly cruel as we can so amply observe? Chambers resolutely shows humans at their best, though, and to go along with her is to share in some of that hope.

There is a melancholic note to the ending, and even though it comes to rest in a similar philosophical space as A Psalm for the Wild-Built. While maintaining the stance that existence is enough, it acknowledges that philosophical stances are not the same as lived realities, and Sibling Dex, despite their ardent and heartfelt belief that there is no need to earn comfort, that it should be infinitely available to anyone at any time, does not actually feel that they deserve rest. They alone must always be contributing. I sympathize with that incessant forward motion so much, and despite the lack of solution, it did feel like a resolution for Dex to admit that. Their struggle, ironically, is the thing that made me feel the most hopeful; it made me feel like I wasn’t alone.

Mosscap also shares hesitation about the next phase of their journey, though for different reasons. It has no trouble with valuing existence for existence’s sake, but it is troubled by what it means to add to that paradigm. What happens when it wants or needs things that are idiosyncratic to itself, things that may be outside its cultural paradigm? What if it doesn’t know what it wants, but still has feelings that don’t precisely align with its thoughts or philosophy? I sympathize there, too. Even in a utopia-adjacent world, sentience is difficult. Being alive is difficult.

But along with Dex and Mosscap, you will find reasons to believe it is worth it.

#Becky Chambers #A Prayer for the Crown-Shy #mahreviews #long post

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pedro-pascal-love · 4 years ago

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Jar of Hearts

Chapter Four of Blast From The Past

Series Masterlist ❖ Main Masterlist ❖ Join My Taglist

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 4k+

Summary: Reader flees Naboo after a near run in with Din, but how long can she avoid the inevitable?

Warnings: ANGST (lots of it), some language, a little fluff, very slow burn

Song: Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri

⟸ Previous Chapter ❖ Next Chapter ⟹

Reader’s POV

It had been one year since your near run-in with the Mandalorian on Naboo. After seeing his armor, you decided to leave Naboo a week after, not wanting to run the risk of seeing him there again. This time you had found yourselves on Takodana. A peaceful planet, full of beautiful forests and small lakes, reminded you very much of Naboo. You were aware that the planet was a safe place for people to easily keep a low profile, so you had no qualms that the Mandalorian would find you. It would take him a very odd reason to come to such a planet. You and your daughter settled into a village quite quickly.

By this time, she was nearly four years old and was becoming more and more active and curious with each passing day. For a child of such a young age, her development was exceedingly quick. You enrolled her into a school while you looked for a job since you could not work at a school this time. Not being near her during the day made you uneasy and constantly worried you. However, you managed to find work as a bartender at a local cantina. The job would suffice for now, but you were in a never-ending state of anxiety, paranoid that something would happen to your daughter while you were not around. You thought back to the day you had told her about leaving Naboo, the fit she had, and the journey to Takadona. You both had come a long way in the last year, and you thanked the Maker every day that you were blessed with the sort of luck to find places to settle at.

―FLASHBACK―

“Dinah, we need to pack your things. We are leaving Naboo,” you hastily said as you began to place things into a rucksack for yourself and another for her.

“Momma, why?” she questioned; for a child of two, she was pretty curious, and you let out a sigh.

“Because we have to. Our time here is done, and we need to find a new home now,” you replied as you crouched down to her level and placed a hand on her shoulder. She clutched onto, Titi, the little Ewok plushie that you had gotten her a year ago at the market.

“I no wanna,” she whined as she let out a huff and sat down on the ground.

“Sweetheart, we have to,” you pleaded as you sat down on the ground with her, crossing your legs and running your hands up and down her tiny arms.

“We stay.”

“No, honey. We can’t stay anymore,” you said as you saw tears well up in her eyes. Your heart broke, knowing that you both had grown used to the peaceful life in Naboo. You both had grown comfortable and had established lives here, and you knew she was having trouble grasping that. After all, her entire life had only ever been on this planet, and you were about to rip that away from her. Dinah let out a sniffle as she clutched Titi harder into her chest, tears beginning to fall from her eyes. You pulled her to you and held her to your chest, cradling your daughter in your lap.

“We will find a new home, my little one,” you said as you stroked her hair. “One that’s just as beautiful as Naboo, if not more.” She let out a wail as she gripped your shirt.

“I no wanna go, momma,” she cried harder. “Titi say we no go.”

“I know you don’t want to go, baby,” you said as you kissed the crown of her head. “But we need to find a new home.” You both sat like that for several moments, her crying until she began to hiccup, you comforting her as much as you could. You picked up her little form and rocked her back and forth until her hiccups subsided, and you heard her little snores. You gently placed her on the bed, careful to keep Titi in her arms, as you tucked a blanket around her. You made your way around the room and began to pack as much as you could while she slept. After you packed as many belongings as you could, you locked the door to your bedroom where she slept and made your way out of your home, locking the door behind you as well. You quickly made your way to a port and walked up to a droid.

“I need passage for two, or if you have a ship available to purchase, I would prefer that,” you said sternly, looking around at the assortment of ships littering the bay.

“One moment please,” the droid spoke as it scanned the computer. “We have a YV-666 light freighter available.”

“I’ll take it,” you replied as you forked over a handful of credits that you knew would cover the cost. You had been saving up the last two years and had enough credits to buy a small transport ship to get you off the planet. The cost would significantly impact you, but it was worth it. The droid clicked a few things on the computer and then hummed.

“Purchase has been processed. Please proceed,” it droned as it pointed you towards your new ship. You nodded and made your way over to it, going up the ramp and placing your belongings in the little cargo hold. You hurriedly made your way back to your home and opened the door, letting out a sigh of relief seeing Dinah still fast asleep. You gently picked her up and carried her through the streets and into the port. You maneuvered her skillfully up the ramp and placed her into the extra seat in the cockpit, strapping her tiny frame in.

The process felt all too familiar, and your heart ached. This was what he had done to you all those years ago, only the opposite of what you were currently doing. The memory stung, and you looked over at your daughter, regretting what you were putting her through, but knew you had no choice. You pressed the button to close the hatch and prepared the disembarking sequence. You expertly piloted the light freighter through the landing docks and swiftly took off, breaking through the atmosphere with little difficulty. You scanned several systems, unsure of where you would go when your eyes landed on Takodana.

There, you thought as you entered in the coordinates and set course for the planet.

―SEVERAL HOURS LATER―

You had managed to move Dinah out of the cockpit and into the pilot’s quarters with ease. She was a heavy sleeper, and you thanked the Maker that she did not stir as you placed her carefully in the bed. You sat on the edge studying her, admiring the delicate features that she had inherited from you. You recognized the nose and mouth she had gotten from you, but whenever she opened her eyes, your breath would catch. You knew they were not your eyes. Dinah slept for a few more hours before she finally began to shift. You stroked her hair as her eyes opened, and she took in her surroundings. Her lip trembled at the realization that you were no longer in your quaint tiny home but on a ship.

“Momma?” She spoke, looking up at you questioningly.

“Hi, baby,” you greeted with a sad smile.

“Where we?”

“We are headed to our new home, little one,” you replied. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she tucked Titi under her arm, lips quaking some more before she finally let the tears fall. You felt yourself sniffle at the sadness in her eyes and knew that you were wrong in taking her away from her home as she slept. You felt guilt run through you as she threw herself at you and cried, her tears soaking into your shirt as she gripped onto you, afraid to let go.

“Shhhh, sweetheart. It’s going to be alright,” you reassured her. “We’re going somewhere you will like.” She continued to weep in your arms before her breathing leveled out, and she lifted her head to look at you.

“I sad, momma,” as she sniffled at you.

“I know, little one,” you said as you wiped some tears away. “It’ll be alright.”

―END FLASHBACK―

Today you were working in the cantina, a few customers shuffling in throughout the day. The afternoon crowd was not very lively, so you had some free time between patrons. You were thinking about what dinner would be when your wrist suddenly beeped, signaling you had an incoming commlink call. You answered it and were greeted with the face of your daughter’s teacher.

“Yes?” You greeted, unsure of why you were getting a call from her teacher.

“Miss?” They replied. “Um - I'm uh - I'm not sure how to tell you this, but - um - it appears that Dinah wandered off, we think in the market, while we were on a field trip to the lake.” Your heart dropped, suddenly feeling very ill. Your three-year-old daughter was wandering the streets alone, and you were not there to protect her. Even though Takodana was a reasonably quiet planet, some unsavory people would make their way through to another planet through the ports. You were sure that some would not think twice about taking a little girl on their way off-world. Fear tightly gripped you, and you collapsed onto the floor behind the bar, out of sight from prying eyes.

“You – you lost her?” You said as your breath caught in your throat at the words. “You lost my daughter?”

“Miss, we have several teachers out right now looking for her," they spoke. "Please stay calm."

“Stay calm!? How dare you ask me to stay calm!" you yelled, not caring if people would hear you. “I don't kriffing care what you have to do. Find her!” The teacher nodded at you understandingly before ending the call. As a single mother, your worst fear was coming true, losing your child, and you were terrified. You got up and threw your apron onto the countertop and walked out of the cantina, sending your boss a quick com message telling them you were leaving for the rest of the day and to have someone cover you. They sent a reply back acknowledging your message, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You were going to find your daughter no matter what it took. You walked through the market in town, calling her name.

“Dinah! Dinah!” You shouted down the streets, and curious eyes turned to look at you. You were a madwoman yelling in the streets, but you did not care. You needed to find your daughter and make sure she was alright and safe. It seemed like you were looking for her for ages, and your feet were growing sore, and you were growing tired. You took a moment to lean against the wall, bracing your weight against it in an attempt to relieve some of the tension in your feet. You could not think of where she would be all alone. Unless. Unless someone had taken her. You choked back a sob at the thought. You would not know what to do if that was the case. You knew that you would tear apart the entire galaxy to find her, no matter what it took, but you did not even know where you would start. You took a deep breath and pushed off of the wall, walking down a corridor when you saw her at the end of it. You let out a gasp and tried to call out to her, but your voice was hoarse from all the yelling you had done earlier. You coughed out and suppressed a sob. You were so close to her! You began to run in her direction, feeling like the corridor grew longer and longer as you ran. You stopped to take a break and catch your breath, bending over and bracing yourself against your knees. You looked back up to make sure your daughter had not moved when you saw it.

The familiar glint of brown armor standing in front of her crouched down, and it looked like the two of them were talking. No. Your heart jumped in your chest, knowing who it was that stood before your daughter, and horror coursed through you.

What in kriffing hell was he doing here?!

You slowed your walk as you hid in the shadows, observing them. Dinah nodded at him after some spoken words, and he stood up, reaching a hand down to her, and she took it. Your mind was reeling. You stuck to the shadows as much as you would, walking down the street parallel to the main one they were on, and it dawned on you where they were headed. He was taking her back to the school! As you neared the end of the street, it began to turn to join the main one, and you slowed your walk as you watched them pass through the entrance of where you were. You pulled up a scarf over your head and face, hiding everything but your eyes, and turned to follow behind them down the street.

As they drew closer and closer to the school, you watched as your daughter kept lifting her head to speak to him, wildly gesturing her arms. It took you a moment, but your eyes snapped to his left hand, where your daughter’s plushie was safely grasped. You were on the verge of tears seeing how gentle he was with her, and you wanted nothing more than to call out and reveal yourself. But your heart still ached for what had happened all those years ago. As much as you wanted to, you still could not forgive him. You were not sure if you ever could. You still spent nights crying yourself to sleep after putting Dinah to bed, and you were not ready to face him. Even though your heart was telling you yes, your mind held you back with a resounding no. You knew the outcome would be the same, filled with only pain and anguish. You did not want to put your daughter through that experience either. Meeting him only to say goodbye because he would inevitably leave. This time leaving not just you behind, but his own daughter as well. Your heart would not be able to take it if he did that again. And you knew the pain would be tenfold for her.

You blinked back tears as you continued to trail behind them. You watched as he would tilt his helmet down to face her as she chattered away as much as a three-year-old could, and you again had to choke back your tears. You had envisioned this so many times, seeing him with your daughter, taking care of her, and being a part of her life. A part of your lives. Soon enough, they reached the entrance to the school, and they stopped. You stopped as well and hopped behind a speeder, making sure you were far enough out of sight that you would not be seen if he turned around. You spied him, crouching down to her eye level again and gently hand her the plushie. She took it with a grin, and she suddenly thrust herself into his arms. Unprepared for the sudden movement, he froze, not knowing how to react to a child hugging him.

You smiled a sad smile as he finally wrapped his arms around her and held her for a brief moment before letting go, pulling her arms back and laying them at her sides. He spoke to her, and she nodded at his words before turning and running into the school entrance. He turned to watch her go inside and made sure she entered the building before turning his heels and began to walk away. You turned your back and made it look like you were rummaging for something in the speeder, making sure to look as inconspicuous as possible. Your gaze followed him as he continued to walk through the streets, avoiding people here and there before finally disappearing out of your vision. You let out a sigh of relief and heard your wrist beep—another call from the school. You quickly answered it and were greeted by the same teacher from before.

“We have your daughter safe and sound!” They exclaimed. You smiled at her and nodded.

“I’m not too far away; I should be there momentarily,” you replied. The teacher nodded, and you ended the call. You needed to steady your breathing and calm your heart before you went to see your daughter. After you recomposed yourself, you pulled the scarf off your head and walked to the school. Once you entered you, felt a weight against your legs, and you looked down and met Dinah’s eyes. Tears were running down her cheeks.

“Momma!” She cried as she tightened her hold on your legs. You wrapped your arms around her and hugged her back, letting out your tears.

“Sweetie, you can never do that again,” you spoke to her gently. You both released each other, and you squatted to look her in the eyes. Her beautiful big brown eyes.

“We were all worried about you,” You said as you grasped her little hand in your own. She nodded at you and sniffled back her tears, wiping her nose and mouth with the sleeve of her arm, a string of snot upon it.

“I'm sorry, momma,” she replied with a slight hiccup.

“Let’s go home.” She nodded, and you looked over at the teachers that were standing nearby watching your reunion.

“Thank you,” you spoke at them, and they smiled at you.

“We’re glad she’s safe,” one of them spoke. You turned and held Dinah’s hand tightly in your own as you proceeded home. Once you arrived at home, you walked in with her, and she ran to the table and sat down, swinging her legs as they hung over the chair.

“Dinah, what happened?” You asked, hoping she would give you some kind of information about how she got lost.

“I saw kitty,” she spoke, looking down at the ground, fingers fiddling with her toy.

“Baby, you know you can’t do that,” you said as you sat beside her. “Did you follow the kitty?” She nodded, ashamed for worrying you.

“Next time, you need to stay with your classmates, ok?” She silently nodded again. “How did you get back to the school?” Her head shot up, and her eyes shined.

“I made a friend!” She excitedly said, arms throw up in joy.

“A friend?”

“A shiny friend,” she said as she grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

“Tell me more about your shiny friend,” you prompted, wanting to know what it was that had transpired.

“He was very nice! And shiny,” she added. You let out a chuckle at her words.

“What else?”

“He walked with me.”

“Oh? Did you say anything to him?”

“I say I lost, and he bring me back. He said he would protect Titi and me.”

“Sweetie, I’m glad you made a new friend, but you can’t just go off with strangers, ok?” You said, looking her in the eyes and holding her hands in yours.

“But momma, he nice,” she said, eyes growing big and mouth forming into a pout. She certainly knew how to melt your heart. Something she got from him.

“I know, baby, but you have to be careful,” you said. “Mommy was very worried today.” She bowed her head again and bobbed it up and down.

“Okay, momma,” she agreed and then mumbled. “Shiny gave me some fruit, though.”

“That was very nice of him,” you replied as you made your way into the kitchen. “Shall we make some dinner?” Dinah looked over and grinned once she heard you say dinner.

“Yes! Yes!” She cried in excitement as she got up and ran into the kitchen to help you.

Maker, thank you for the strength today.

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