#m/m dystopian

[lover-of-skellies]

Went to Walmart today, and. What in gods name are these ice cream flavors

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Commander's Omega"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: alpha/omega, dystopia, sex slavery, forced breeding, mutilation, rape, corporal punishment, fascism, hurt/comfort, power imbalance, mpreg, age gap (38/23), mentions of abortion

Summary: After years of a mass infertility crisis, the United States is overtaken by religious fanatics, and Bucky Barnes finds himself thrust into a brutal world of survival. When he's discovered to be fertile, he's forced to serve as a vessel: a caste of omegas who bear children for the political elite.

Chapter III. Freedom to

Story Masterlist

Before:

First, the president and the ranking fifteen closest in command are assassinated. There’s an explosion that nobody can trace, and just like that, the whole cabinet goes.

Bucky’s halfway through his Wednesday physics lecture when the professor stops what she’s doing and grabs the remote. The tv gets turned on and the one hundred and twelve freshmen in the lecture hall watch it play out on the news with a sense of surrealism.

NYU winds up suspending all classes, and Bucky takes the train home to spend time with his parents. George and Winnie put him up in his old room, which they haven’t yet bothered to empty out. There’s still a poster of Nine Inch Nails on the back of the door from Bucky’s alternative phase. Becca, Trudy and Clair come home within the following week, and the house is just as cramped as it ever was.

That’s how he finds himself at home when the news breaks that Congress has been eliminated. Eliminated, that’s the word they use. Not an assassination. Now it’s a terrorist attack, and the martial law that’s been in place since two weeks ago has everyone in their homes by sundown. But there are already guardians patrolling the neighborhood streets as if they’re the ones in charge.

Bucky gets a text from his bank, notifying him that his accounts have been frozen and will be transferred to his Alpha spouse or next of kin. He's still what-the-fucking that with his sisters when his mom steps out of the room to go call his dad and urge him to come home early from work. All their phones start shrieking with emergency alerts, telling them to shelter in place, that people on the street could be shot.

In the next few hours, Bucky's father comes home, looking wan and disturbed. Bucky can't get him to give a straight answer on what he saw out there to make him so upset, but the occasional pops of gunfire and revving vehicles outside are a hint. Bucky keeps getting text messages from his bank, from the University. When he tries to log into his accounts, he's blocked, and repeat text messages are triggered to his phone.

Becca, Trudy, and Clair are beta: they don't get any text messages.

His mom and dad come back into the living room and join Bucky and his sisters in sitting on the couch and watching the tv. Within hours, the news programs stop broadcasting. The tv shows only static. Within days, the missing news programs are replaced with just one: a state news channel.

The new broadcasts are bare-boned, but they are very informative. The anchor who used to do the six o’clock news comes on for her slot. She sits poised behind the news desk, making no comment for a long minute. There’s sweat visibly beading on her brow, but it’s obvious that she’s trying hard to maintain her composure while sitting in front of the large banner they’ve set as a backdrop. It's a symbol Bucky recognizes from a Christian nationalist group that's been in the news these past few years. "That's ... that's the Sons of Jacob flag," he says.

"Sons of what?"

"Holy rollers," he breathes, dread welling in his stomach. "They have a chapter on campus."

“Good evening,” the news anchor says, when someone or something offscreen prompts her. Her hands clasp tightly atop the desk and she begins cheerfully reading off the news: "As of six p.m. eastern time today, security in the capital has been declared restored," she announces. "The worst of the fighting is suppressed, and recovery efforts are being prepared for deployment in all major cities north of the Knoxville-Raleigh line. In Washington D.C., the government is reported to be secured and solidly in place."

"Oh, thank goodness," Winnie says, but Bucky is frowning at the tv and shaking his head.

"I don't think they mean the US government, mom."

"What?"

"Insurgent forces have suffered devastating defeats, and have been pushed back beyond the North Carolina-Tennessee border. Reports of smaller insurgent camps located in the Pennsylvania mountains are unsubstantiated at this point, but government officials are warning civilians in the Allegany Mountain range to avoid travel. An extended shelter in place order is expected to remain in place for the region."

Bucky looks worriedly to his mother, because he’s not stupid. The newscaster lady looks almost exactly the same as she always had before, only now there's an odd enthusiasm radiating from her; a sort of glassy-eyed, desperate-to-be-believed look that doesn't sit well with Bucky. It doesn’t take him long to learn what that look is, or what it means.

It’s fear. And it means that he should be afraid too.

After:

“Ofsteven, good afternoon.”

Bucky looks up from his seat at the window. Today is the third day in a row that he’s sat there, time spent mostly staring out at the back yard. There’s a black guy who wears beta blue and tends to the flowers and bushes out there. Sam. Bucky's been wondering if he might go down and poke around the little greenhouse that's attached to the kitchen, or if he'd be chastised for getting in the way.

But now Commander Rogers is standing awkwardly in the doorway to his little room, and Bucky snaps to attention. It's odd, hearing himself referred to by this new name. Up until not too long ago, he was called Ofwarren. Then at the red center, it'd been back to James, and now it's back to the goddamn patronymic. “Commander,” he says respectfully. "Blessed day."

The Commander gives him a tight sort of smile. “Blessed day." He steps a little farther into the room. "You can call me Steve,” he offers. "If you want."

"What?" Bucky shifts uncomfortably, realizes that he's not joking. “But ... That’s not allowed."

“I run my household a little differently, you’ll find,” Steve says. “Commander is ..." he makes a face. "It's very formal. I’d prefer it if you called me Steve. Especially since we’ll, erm ... you know. Be getting to know one another better.”

In another life, Bucky would’ve blushed, but he’s been indoctrinated in some ways whether he’d like to admit it or not. He’s used to his role as an object by now. “Okay,” he agrees quietly. "Fine."

He doesn’t want to seem too eager to be breaking the rules, since this could just be Commander Rogers’ way of tricking him, of sussing him out. There are true Believers who get their kicks that way, and vessels like Bucky are already known for rule breaking, criminally sentenced to their roles as broodmares for the state. Steve might just be trying to lure him into a false sense of comfortability by feigning friendliness. Commander Putnam had been that way. The bottoms of Bucky’s feet have scars from his misplaced trust in years past, and he isn’t keen on earning more.

“You can call me Bucky if you want,” he reluctantly offers.

Steve nods, brightening a bit. “Okay. Bucky it is." His mouth quirks and he tilts his head. "I take it that's a nickname of some sort?"

"Yeah. My one sister started it, back when she couldn't pronounce my middle name." He shrugs. "It's what my family called me."

Steve smiles, encouraged. "Are any of them still around?”

“No.”

He's surprised yet again, when Steve makes it clear he's going to join him for lunch.

Bucky'd thought commanders like Steve were too busy to take meals outside their offices. Even now, nearly four years after the institution of biblical law, there's still a lot of work to do: insurgencies to hunt, population crises to handle, people to surveil, torture, maim. Kill. The restructuring of the country is still in its infancy, and just because the iron fist of fascism has closed firmly around their necks doesn't mean there's ever a shortage of work to be done.

Bucky doesn't yet know what Commander Rogers' specific role is, in this brave new nation of theirs, but so far, every Commander that he's encountered has held an instrumental position. He tries to remember that, when his first instinct is to trust Steve's surface-level kindness. Steve isn't like him. He caused this. He wanted this.

Steve leads them downstairs, down to the conservatory that connects the kitchen to the greenhouse. It's set up as an informal dining room, and Bucky’s taken aback when, after placing a simple lunch of soup and sandwiches onto the table for the Commander and Bucky, the Martha named Sharon puts out four other place settings. Shortly thereafter, Sharon and the redheaded servant—Natasha, Bucky learns, and the gardener and the driver (Sam and Clint) join the table as well.

They eat in relative silence, and Bucky spends the meal sneaking surreptitious glances around at everybody. They’re all eating together as if they're equals, when Bucky knows they very much are not. Gender roles have been staunchly enforced in the past four years, and it's become a rare sight indeed, to have alphas, betas, and omegas interacting together all at once.

Steve is sitting at the head of the table, and it comes as a shock when he says, “So how has everyone’s morning been?”

Bucky keeps his eyes on his sandwich, sure that he’s not expected to answer. Natasha is the first one who speaks, saying, “Pretty good. Got the vacuuming done."

"Upstairs, or downstairs?" Steve asks pointedly.

"Downstairs. Upstairs isn't ready yet."

"Dammit," Steve grunts.

"All the laundry's done.” Natasha glances reproachfully at Sam. “Unless somebody makes an awful mess of his clothes going forward. Blood isn't exactly easy to get out, you know.”

Sam chuckles. “I have a dirty job, sue me.” He looks pointedly at Steve. "I got the hedges done."

"Did that go smoothly?" Steve asks without looking up from his soup. Bucky frowns, wondering how trimming the hedges could go wrong.

"There were a few dead spots, but they came off without a hitch."

"Disposed of?" Steve asks.

"Yep. Threw 'em in the burn pit."

Steve nods in somber approval. "Good riddance."

Jeez, Bucky thinks, these people take lawn maintenance very seriously. He realizes after a beat that his mouth is gaping a little, and he snaps it shut. This is the first time in nearly four years that he’s observed alphas, betas and omegas speaking so freely with one another, acting like equals. It’s almost like before. The thought puts an ache in his chest, which he quickly squashes.

“How about you Bucky?”

His eyes shoot up to find Steve and everyone else at the table regarding him. He quickly swallows the bite of sandwich in his mouth to answer, “Um, I’ve been okay. Just ... been in my room.” The answer is so dull that it almost makes him feel embarrassed. Even now, when the highlights of other people’s days are as tedious as laundry and gardening, Bucky himself has nothing to offer in the way of conversation. He doesn’t dare complain, though. There are worse things than being bored.

“You must be getting bored up there in your room,” Steve observes.

“Um …”

“I have a modest library in my office. If you like, you can poke around and find something that interests you.”

Bucky's stomach sinks, and his fingers feel cold where they grip his sandwich. “Excuse me?” he asks. Surely, this is a trap. This is the Rogers’ household trying to see whether he’s a True Believer or not. They're testing him. Bucky feels sick at the prospect of getting in trouble, so he mumbles, “I don’t think so,” and looks back down at his plate. “That’s not allowed.”

There’s a long beat of awkward silence, and then Steve says, “Guys, can you give us a minute?”

Four chairs scrape against the stone floor of the conservatory and Natasha and the others file out through the kitchen, disappearing back into the house. Bucky feels dread well in his gut. Has he said the wrong thing?

“Bucky,” Steve says carefully. “Do you really think that it’s wrong for an omega to read?”

Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes boring into his head, so he looks up. Steve doesn’t look upset, he looks interested. Bucky licks his lips nervously. “Well. I dunno. I ... was an engineering major, in college,” he says. “I minored in English Lit.”

Steve nods sympathetically. “I take it you were quite an avid reader, then.”

“I guess.”

Steve continues to eat his lunch as if Bucky hasn’t said anything wrong, and it gives Bucky hope. Surely this can’t be, he thinks. Surely there aren’t people like this, aren’t households like this, anymore. “Did you really mean it?” he asks, heart lifting with new hope, about ready to bust free of the scar tissue that’s kept it tethered down for so long. "You'd let me read?"

“Yes,” Steve says. “You can come to my office tonight, after evening meal. You can pick out some books.”

Bucky’s heart soars. “Can I take some back to my room?”

“Absolutely not,” Steve snaps, sounding like a true Commander for the first time yet. He levels Bucky with a stern look. “My office is the only room in the house without windows. Do you understand? You may only read them in there.”

Bucky swallows heavily and ducks his head, cowed. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Okay.”

Before:

Bucky’s naked toes scrape the ledge of the exam table. He’s only wearing the paper gown they gave him, and frankly the room’s too cold for that. The door to the exam room opens again, and Bucky’s eyes shoot up. He sits up straighter. “Doctor?”

The man doesn’t look at him. He walks over to the cabinets in the room and drops the folder he’s holding onto the countertop with a flourish and a sigh. Bucky screws up his face at having been ignored. “Um … what did the—”

“You’re pregnant,” the doctor says flatly, still not turning around. “Congratulations.”

Bucky’s heart sinks. Sure, he’d suspected. Hell, he’d pretty much known. Two positive at-home tests and a smiling pharmacist when he’d been desperate enough to buy a third had told him so. It’s why he’d come to the clinic. But still, shit. “Okay,” he says, swallowing heavily. “Okay. So, do I need to make another appointment to come back? Or can we just …”

The doctor’s shoulders tense up through the material of his lab coat. “Excuse me?” he says. He turns around and the expression on his face makes Bucky want to shrink away. “‘Can we just’? ‘Can we just’ what?”

“... I told you,” Bucky says, wary of the man's anger. “The pregnancy. I want to terminate.”

If he had any doubts about what was going through the physician’s mind, they’re quickly quashed by the way the man’s face now dissolves into disgust. “Well isn't that a pretty way of putting it,” he spits. “You want an abortion?”

“Uh, yeah.” Bucky juts his chin out in defiance. “You got a problem with that?”

The doctor scoffs. “Yes, I do. You know, hardly anyone can have a baby anymore. You manage to get pregnant, and you want to kill it?”

“It’s my choice.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Bucky stands up, heedless of the fact that he’s dressed in only the flimsy paper gown. “I don’t think you’re being very professional,” he says. Really, it’s not that this doctor’s opinion is that different from a lot of people’s these days, but Bucky still feels infuriated at the fact that he’s having to have this argument with a doctor, of all people. “Now, do I have to make an appointment to come back?” he grits. "Or can we take care of this today?"

The man’s features harden. “You’ll have to go somewhere else if you want to murder your own child. We don’t do that here.”

Bucky grinds his teeth. “This is a city-funded clinic.” He’d specifically come here instead of the private doctor that his parents’ insurance could easily cover. “You have to provide reproductive health care. It’s the law.”

“The law’s going to change real soon.” The doctor turns his back to Bucky and heads for the door. 

Bucky watches in disbelief as he's utterly dismissed. “Excuse me?”

“Get the hell out of my clinic,” the man says as he flings the door open and steps out into the hallway. He spares Bucky one last contemptuous glance. “There’s a special place in Hell for people like you.”

Bucky gapes as the man goes, and the door slowly shuts behind him. Suddenly, the room feels even colder than it had before, and Bucky’s desperate to get his clothes back on. He stoops to grab his jeans and underwear from where he’d put them on a chair, and he shucks them on, followed by his shirt. He rakes his hands through his hair, feeling overwhelmed tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. He’s had enough shit to deal with lately, what with midterms, his boyfriend breaking up with him, and now this pregnancy scare (well, not a scare anymore, as it turns out). He really didn’t need to deal with such a shitty person on today of all days.

“Well fuck you too,” he mutters to the empty room, bitterness burning in his gut. He’s going to go straight to the next city clinic, and the next, and the next, until he finds someone to agree to help him. Because no way in fucking hell is he having a baby one semester into undergrad.

After:

Bucky trails his hands over the spines of the books that line Commander Rogers’ library. Steve is sitting at his desk, distracted by whatever he’s looking at on the screen of his computer.

There must be over a thousand books in the office. Steve has books on everything from philosophy to horticulture; from biographies and novels, to antique encyclopedias and foreign language art books. Bucky can’t help but be impressed. And jealous. "This is amazing," he murmurs.

Steve spares him a glance from over at his desk. He looks vaguely amused. “It’s just a library.”

Said like someone who's never had anything taken away from him, Bucky thinks peevishly. “Must be a thousand," he guesses.

"Close to twelve hundred, last time I counted."

"Are they all yours, or did they come with—” he cuts himself off before he can complete the question.

It’s not talked about openly, isn't considered polite, but everybody knows that the Commanders of the Faithful all live in grand houses that were taken and not bought. Taken from people deemed unworthy by the government. Gender traitors, freedom fighters, apostates. There are plenty of things that can get a person killed these days, their house stripped away along with everything else they own. There’s a strong chance that this house they’re standing in right now got snatched from someone else; a person with a life, hopes and dreams, furniture, family. A person with possessions and passions. With books. 

Bucky tenses when he comes across an entire section stuffed full with different spiritual and holy books. There's one whole shelf dedicated to nothing but an assortment of bibles: King James, Catholic, Greek, and New Republic versions, all. Old and new, English and Latin. It seems to be a collection, and Bucky moves away down the line of books, uneasy at the evidence of Steve's religious fervor. "You're a collector?"

“Sort of. Took me over a decade to build all that up, though," Steve says. "I brought them all down when I moved. Couldn’t choose which ones to leave behind."

"Behind?"

"In New York.”

Bucky snaps to attention. “New York City?” he asks.

Steve looks over and sees his reaction—which must be telling, because a knowing smile splits his face. “What borough?” he asks.

“Brooklyn. Red Hook."

He scoffs and thumbs at his own chest. “Gowanus. Wow. I guess it’s a small world after all, huh? We probably grew up less than twenty minutes apart from each other."

Bucky bites his tongue to keep from saying any number of inappropriate, unfriendly things; about how their shared West Brooklyn origin is probably the only thing they have in common, how their situations are nothing alike, how Steve is obviously older than him, so they definitely were never “growing up” at the same time together, no matter where they lived. "Yeah,” he grunts. “Small world."

He keeps his focus on the books in front of his face. He's nervous just from perusing the titles; feels like he’s thirteen again, sneaking into his parents’ wine fridge, about to be caught and grounded at any second. Silly perhaps, but he can’t shake it. He doesn’t want to get into an unnecessary discussion on his appreciation for Commander Rogers’ library, or his own affinity for reading. Reading is forbidden for people like Bucky now. If caught, it could cost him a finger, or god forbid a whole hand. Since he’s only got the one left to work with, he’s got to be careful. The back of his brain keeps itching with the niggling reminder, over and over again: This could still be a trick.

In another life maybe he’dve be embarrassed of such paranoia, but he isn't now. He’s been conditioned to be this suspicious. At this point it’s simply survival instinct, to resist the twitch of his fingers as they linger over Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go. It's sandwiched alphabetically right between Huxley and Orwell, with a little metal placard overhead that's engraved in tidy letters: Dystopian Fiction. Bucky starts to reach for the book.

“You a fan of the genre?”

His heart leaps and he jerks his hand back and looks over at Steve. “What? No. No I just …” Steve watches him keenly, with an inscrutable expression that does nothing to calm Bucky's nerves. He hastily shakes his head. “I’d seen the movie once, is all. Before.” He doesn’t have to expound on what “Before” means. They both know. Before the government collapsed. Before the regime took over. Before the world went to shit.

Well, he doesn’t yet know if Steve agrees with that last part. Regardless, Bucky knows he can’t place all of his trust on this man and his considerate treatment thus far. It isn’t worth what little bodily integrity he has left. He's got to be careful. “It was a depressing movie, anyway,” he mumbles, and moves on down the line of books to look for something else.

He winds up choosing a pulpy science fiction novel that he’s never heard of, by an author he’s never heard of, with subject matter completely removed from real life. It’s a cheap paperback, with a worn spine and outdated, sun-bleached cover art. Looks like something somebody dug out of a bin at a yard sale. It's probably not a very good read, but if Bucky’s going to be caught reading anything, it’ll be least painful if it’s something that has nothing to do with anything. Nothing … subversive. 

Steve doesn’t seem to care one way or another, though his eyes do seem sympathetic, as if he knows that Bucky is holding himself back. “You can come at night,” he tells him. “After dinner. I’ll be in here most nights. Sometimes doing business with other people, but when it’s just you and I alone together, I'll lock the door. You can stay and read whatever you like.”

Bucky tenses up at that wording: “alone together.” Since Gilead began, there’s only ever been one alpha who went out of his way to be alone with Bucky, and it hadn’t been for charitable reasons. “But it's not … It’s not a trade, right?” he checks nervously. When he works up the nerve to look at Steve's face, he catches the tail end of a shocked look, which rapidly bleeds into a scowl of insulted indignation. Bucky panics and tries to backtrack. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t have to come in here at all, if you don’t want to,” Steve snaps. “Go to your room instead, for all I care.” He goes back to his typing at the computer, visibly incensed. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

Bucky winces, mortified at having pissed off his new Commander so soon—and when the guy was only trying to be nice to him, too! There’s so little left in this miserable world for people like Bucky, and now he fears he might’ve ruined the one good thing that was being offered. “No,” he hurries to say. “I’ll stay. I-I'd like to. I mean ... if that’s still okay?” 

Steve shrugs and doesn’t look over. “Do what you want.”

Feeling cowed, Bucky goes over to sit on the couch. He curls up in the corner nearest the room's fireplace and flips past the copyright and the title pages. He begins reading chapter one. It’s only as he’s re-reading the same paragraph for the third time that he realizes he’s not taking any of it in. He sighs and looks over at Steve. “I’m sorry," he says. "I wasn’t trying to insult you."

"It's fine."

Bucky bites his lip and looks back down. After another moment, he quietly adds, "Really, though. It's ... it means a lot, you letting me read in here." He peeks up again and finds Steve regarding him again, this time with a softened expression. Bucky tries to smile a little, and uses his name like a peace offering: "Thank you ... Steve."

Steve inhales deeply and nods, satisfied. “You’re welcome. Bucky.”

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

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[gruulsmillionkudos]

When Rome's in Ruins (We are the Lions) by Kedreeva

Words: 209,089 | Chapters: 14/14 | Teen Wolf | Sterek

Humankind has turned arena battles between supernatural creatures into its largest form of entertainment. Stiles Stilinski is a well-known warden who comes to arena-fighter Derek Hale to make him an offer.

[littleladymab]

♥ ERADICATE : Book 3 of Meliora [[a wip intro for @moon-and-seraph's WORDS INTO POTIONS March event]]

♠ Genre: Collapsing Post-Utopian, Mystery ♣ Series Summary: A mysterious benefactor invites citizens of Eminence, built on the remains of London, to participate in a game. The reward? Information on the darkness of the city and a chance to escape. All they have to do is prove they are worthy. ♦ Etc: writing tag || playlist

My goal this month is to actually finish the outline for this and NOT abandon it to simply start replanning the entire series from book 1 again. And somewhere between this and SW, hopefully write 4 chapters/about 10k.

Main Cast

♥ Ayn Starling: 19, lit student + ballerina, playlist ♥ Catoir Altair: 20, librarian, goes by the name "Fletcher Oswin", playlist ♥ Jonas Quinn: 20, hairdresser + gang leader, playlist

Snippet

Sender: The Program Manager Subject: Invitation to a Game

Message: My fellow citizens:

The illustrious city of Eminence stands as a beacon of success and security. Top class schools, an expanding array of businesses, and a world renowned medical team. Many find themselves drawn to it for these reasons.

I, like you, like many before, have dropped all that I was to make a fresh start in this New World ‘Eden’. And I, like you, like many before, find myself content to continue to make a living.

We do not dream of leaving.

What I am here to tell you is that it is not a problem of desire: You cannot leave.

As a fellow citizen of Eminence, it is my duty to entrust this secret to the curious few. Thus, I offer up Meliora, a game in which the willing participate, but only the fortunate will make it through.

I will not say much on the nature of this game -- not all of you will believe me. Meliora is a chance for you to obtain information on what those hungry for the truth will want more than anything: An answer to the riddle of Eminence.

Should you choose to accept my first invitation, I ask that you join the others at the little doors six days before the approaching ides. Expect to arrive in time for high tea.

There will be no consequences if you reject this offer. You will soon forget this message and continue on in blissful ignorance.

Choosing to participate proves to me that you are worthy of a way out.

I hope you will make the right decision.

Respectfully, The Program Manager

[xdextrarx34x]

Odd parents.

one is a spider,

one is a snake,

society for them have no tolerance,

so they made their own space,

broke the rules,

made few children,

moved very far to not feel as a burden,

that was their only chance,

to feel alive with romance.

[nightmaretour]

Calling for a second opinion tomorrow, if they bullshit me again I have no choice but to go private because I refuse to stay on all of these pain meds forever

[ya-world-challenge]

Book Review: Threads That Bind (🇬🇷 Greece)

[image 1: book cover; eerie pinks and greens - a young woman with dark curly hair manipulates a tangled pink thread; image 2: map showing Greece; image 3: the Acropolis in Athens - ruined white stone structures stand high on a hill overlooking the city; source: wikimedia]

Threads That Bind

Author: Kika Hatzopoulou

YA World Challenge read for 🇬🇷 Greece)

Technically I already read a Greek book (that I didn't like), but this one seemed interesting and I'm glad I picked it up!

Review

In a post-climate-disaster world where city-states have fought water wars over the last Arctic icebergs, certain humans are born with powers of the gods. In the slums of Atlante (former Athens), three sisters hold the powers of the Fates - one to weave, one to draw, and one to cut. Io, the youngest, is a cutter, feared for her ability to snip any life-thread with her powers. When murderous wraiths with severed life-threads start appearing, Io is hired by a mob queen to get to the bottom of it. And a rare fate-thread ties her to her partner on the case.

I loved the complicated and messy family relationships that are laid out with psychologist-worthy analysis. The idea that families can be both loving and abusive at the same time. And the threads that tie us to them that aren't so easily cut. Especially when we have our own wrongs that have been done.

This had amazing worldbuilding as well as a lot of queer representation that was just so casually there.

I was not expecting that ending, but it was amazing! It sets up well for a sequel so I hope one is in the works.

This seems to be marketed as YA even though the protagonist is like 19-20, minimum? I felt it was just as worthy of adult shelves. It was a great mix of mystery, gangs, relationship studies, and Greek mythology by a Greek author.

I highly recommend picking it up!

Other reps: #m/f (main couple) #lgbtq (multiple side characters) #immigrant

Genres: #mystery #family #fantasy #romance #mythology #dystopian #magic

★  ★  ★  ★  ★   5 stars

[bookspotlight]

The Outlands Pentalogy

A thousand years in the future, the last of humanity live inside the walls of the totalitarian Kingdom of Cutta. The rich live in Anais, the capital city of Cutta, sheltered from the famine and disease which ravage the rest of the Kingdom. Yet riches and power only go so far, and even Anaitians can be executed. It is only by the will of the King that Nate Anteros, son of the King’s favourite, is spared from the gallows after openly dissenting. But when he’s released from prison, Nate disappears. A stark contrast, Catherine Taenia has spent her entire life comfortable and content. The daughter of the King’s Hangman and in love with Thom, Nate’s younger brother, her life has always been easy, ordered and comfortable. That is, where it doesn’t concern Nate. His actions sullied not only his future, but theirs. And unlike Thom, Catherine has never forgiven him. Two years pass without a word, and then one night Nate returns. But things with Nate are never simple, and when one wrong move turns their lives upside down, the only thing left to do is run where the King’s guards cannot find them – the Outlands. Those wild, untamed lands which stretch around the great walls of the Kingdom, filled with mutants and rabids. Here.

[silvcrignis]

Disney Verses (The Full Revision)

Long Live Evil || Main || Descendants Post War AU

The pride of a villain is a precarious thing to toy with. The pride of various villains combined with the fate of their children is entirely foolish & suicidal to even touch.

None moreso than those known as the Foul Four. Devil De Vil, Maleficent, Ursula & Kaa (& Claude Frollo by association) seemed to plot day and night for a chance, a way off the Isle. Without their magic the sorcerers and witches could only scheme but they had a plan for a war for their freedom should the barrier ever break. They often talked about it with the other villains as they choked down dirty water & sour wine in Kaa's bar or in the back of Ursula's chip shop while their children slept, oblivious to their parents pain at their expense.

"Kaa. You, Jafani along with Scar the hyenas and any other quick carnivorous animals will have the land. Jafani has more than apt magic to safely enlarge our animal friends. Anyone good with swords that isn't a pirate on the seas will join you as well."

"Ursula. Hook. Pan. You three along with your crews and creatures have the seas. Jamie you'll be the naval leader."

The first time this was proposed the dark haired pirate captain glanced between the man in the strangely immaculate fur coat, the sea witch who often taunted or shoved her and the boy who had once been her tormentor. The boy king gave her a confident fierce smile his green eyes alight with mischief as usual, & laid a hand over her hook. She slowly pulled the metal away from him but shot him a tense smile as she did so then turned to the leader.

"Aye. I'll work with the boy and the octopus. Anything for my children."

"Perfect, darling. This is bigger than any of our petty rivalries. I'm sure Pan's mermaids will only need his convincing to join Ursula in the water. Pan when you and Jamie have the waters under control enough for Jamie and Ursula to finish you'll join Maleficent and I. In the sky."

The first time Devil said this the once great, now defeated Fae looked at her love in shock.

"The sky? You can't mean for me to- My wings-"

"Darling, not as a fae. I need you to become the Mistress of all Evil once more. I need you in the sky. As a dragon. You have the staff. You'll have the magic, darling," here her fiancé got on his knees those dark blue eyes boring into hers as he took her hand.

"Darling, if not for me then for all our children. For Mal. & Carlos & Gemini & Dracul. He's still young. Do you want him to grow up in this filth?"

Maleficent eyes began glowing briefly, a mother's instinct to protect her child was stronger than any doubts she had about her abilities. She would melt entire kingdoms to protect what was hers.

"As a dragon," she said firmly. 

"Good. Once we're in the air I will release the fear toxin. A majority of them will never have felt that amount of fear before, & will likely be paralysed in terror. & though it's odd for us villains. Try your hardest not to kill. I don't want them dead."

Most of the villains looked up, eyebrows risen at the man. He was arguably the most murderous of them all & to hear him say those words was nothing short of shocking the first time around.

"Death is too easy for them. I want them to suffer like we did. I want the "heroes" here."

A single fair finger rose at the final statement & Devil sighed at the French man who had somehow become akin to a brother to him.

“I said to make an attempt, Claude darling. War crimes are the best crimes after all,” he conceded, causing the silver haired demon (unbeknownst to Claude himself of course) to smirk & retract his indication of inquisition.

"What of their children?" Ursula asked, lips pursed.

"Their children aren't guilty. We'll be better than them this time. We'll give the children the choice ours never got. Stay where they are with us. Or live with their parents on the Isle."

After that Devil usually pulled Peter Pan to the side for a brief moment before the meeting was ended.

Every night as the villains prepared the go to their homes the war strategy fresh in their minds, Devil said one last thing, more seriously than anything else he would say that night.

"King Beast is mine," he'd remind them all in a gravelly growl before he'd stalked back to his dilapidated clothing shop to watch over his twins.

In time the villains precious children grew into their beloved protégés though they seemed to have divided themselves into certain factions.

After all the Isle was overrun with the feral former pets or dangerous beasts Auradon found undesirable for such a peaceful kingdom though there was an alarming amount of fighting between these gangs.

While their parents weren't blinded to this they let the teens carry on as they wished. They hoped in time their children would realise they all had a greater enemy, a greater purpose but knew the children needed a way to work out their frustrations the same way their parents had when they were first sentenced to the Isle.

The chance came with the soon to be boy king's decree of choosing Mal, Evie, Carlos & Jay to come to Auradon.

Unfortunately Ben didn't seem to take Carlos' twin into account  & Gemini was left on the Isle, separating the De Vil twins who had hardly ever been apart before, now putting a magic barrier between them.

Queen Grimhilde cried when her daughter went, Evie was the only thing that Grimhilde had ever truly loved in the world.

This gave Maleficent the idea to plant an evil plot in her daughter's head. The truth was she had no idea if Mal would or could get the wand, she didn't really care either way but this would allow the villains a chance to see if there was a crack in Auradon's defences.

However the villains were patient.

They'd been waiting for revenge for years. They perfected their plans, prepared their weapons & gathered their spells. And they waited, breaths baited for their moment. 

When Fairy Godmother allowed the webcam conversation the villains did spend a moment poking fun at the woman for a moment before she moved away. It was only then did the parents allow their emotions to show.

Grimhilde cried again seeing her daughter clean, happy & in beautiful clothes she'd made from fabrics worthy of her little princess & realised that missing her was more than worth seeing her happy.

Hearing about Evie's success in her studies was almost too much for the woman & by the end of their conversation the Queen's mascara was running.

Jafani's scowl softened into a smile & for a moment she forgot the screen was just that and almost reached out to touch her sweet baby boy's face before stopping herself. When she heard about her son becoming a star athlete she beamed with pride, telling him to always do his best & apologising softly for not being able to see the games he talked about with such passion.

Devil called Gemini to them & Carlos saw his brother for the first time since he'd left. His twin looked worn and the dark circles under his eyes made it clear he hadn't been sleeping well but those clear blue eyes lit up all the same when he saw his brother holding a dog.

Gemini hadn't seen a non vicious dog before this & had a million questions about the one his brother was holding in particular, just to hear his brother's voice talk about something he loved. When it was Devil's turn to speak, his blue eyes merely gave Dude a short look of disdain before his eyes fixed on his son. All he needed to do was look at his son, safe and happy and say two sentences.

"This is all I ever wanted for you, all your mother wanted for you, I love you my precious boy. Everything I do is for my children. Remember that," he said before realising Maleficent hadn't had a moment with her child yet and he gave away the limelight, excusing himself with a kiss on her cheek.

For about a minute all Maleficent seemed to be able to do was look at her daughter, tears pooling in his eyes though she didn't shed them like Grimhilde did. Dracul giggled and waved at her older sister shyly before burying his face in his mother's side to let them talk.

"Mal... You look happier than I have ever seen you. You remind me of me when I was young, when I still had my wings," at those words her gaze grew suddenly grew concerned and she'd forgotten something about Auradon.

"Stefan. He has not seen you or spoken to you yet has he?"

Mal seemed shocked, puzzled and slowly shook her head and Maleficent was able to relax.

"Good. I do not want him near you, I will explain everything when I see you again."

Those words seemed to prompt Mal to remember the wand tryst that in truth Maleficent had almost forgotten and she told her mother about the wand and the coronation and Maleficent was surprised her daughter had remembered the last minute scheme she offhandedly cooked up.

But her daughter appeared so determined that she smiled & said "After coronation then, dear one."

After seeing their children, the villains seemed more determined to get themselves and the rest of the children of the Isle. It wasn't fair for the rest of the children to be left behind by Auradon, left to rot on the Isle. Devil found himself back in the chip shop, smoking his infamous pipe as he chewed on slimy fish, watching Uma and her mother wait tables. He simmered in anger anticipating his meeting with King Beast.

Vaccinations against Devil's fear toxin were soon distributed in preparation for the great battle & by the day of Ben's coronation every villain was prepared, in position to attack, waiting for the moment to strike on television. The battle plan was ready.

The second Jane's action caused a breach in the barrier every villain flooded into Auradon, cackling, hooting or bellowing war cries.

The younger children were left on the Isle together, underground in a safe space that'd been hollowed out in the Isle with a few older teens that hadn't wished to fight or weren't able to & a few animal guardians growled as they patrolled the entrances & exits.

Of course the unprepared Auradon was no match for the villains who had perfected this plan for years on & were motivated by the deadly combination of love & vengeance.

Perhaps if the villains were working for their own selfish reasons they could've been defeated but they were iron willed.

Since most of the the kingdom was at the coronation, the sea was overtaken easily & soon Devil's greatish power, his fear toxin was slowly seeping into Auradon as the battle on land began. A glance at his son charging as he wielded two swords made him smile, before he looked to Maleficent & nodded.

A cloud of green smoke went up and when it dissolved Devil was sitting astride a magnificent black and purple scaled dragon and soon the Pan child was flying next to him, green eyes now glimmering with an unholy power.

Pan flew into the coronation room, giggling jovially and plucking the wand from a shocked Mal's hand.

"Miss me, Beastie?!" he giggled sweetly, looking at King Adam with rage that was ill-fitting on the face of a “young boy”.

“You locked me away. That wasn't a very nice game, a very nasty trick. Even Jamie plays nicer games, so here's a game for you. Remember what I can do? Here's a reminder."

A snap of his fingers & anyone under the age of sixteen that wasn't descended from a villain was suddenly under Pan's thrall. They all ran off outside, hooting, hollering, playing in the mud, throwing grass at each other.

"Take it away, Furball!" Peter giggled, using the wand to shatter the largest window. A gigantic beast slithered through the window, roaring with a fervor Maleficent hadn't felt in years & Devil leapt from her back, watching satisfied as his fear toxin took full effect & everyone besides the Core Four were literally frozen in fear.

A wide smile spread on the sorcerer's unnaturally handsome features as Devil strode up to Adam, picking up Ben's abandoned crown.

"Checkmate, darling. Long live evil," he purred, his knife under his former oppressor's chin. 

"You look petrified, darling. Once upon a time I would have done it. No hesitation. But I'm so much more vengeful now. Why kill you… When I can I hurt you so much more. By letting your little empire fall to pieces. While. You. Watch?" he snickered, almost madly, tapping the other man's nose with the hilt of the blade.

"Anyway darling. I have a new world order to bring about. And you. Get to stay exactly where you tried to imprison us. & watch us build a better world than you ever could."

“Actually. I would like to take him,” Claude interjected, flicking the gore of damn near almost all of Auradon’s army from his woodcutting axe. (& his arms. & his face for fuck’s sake Frollo)

“Alright,” Devil agreed with a slight shrug, pushing Adam from his “light”.

With that the villains marched off their former captors to Jamie Hook's now impressive fleet of ships and Pan gathered the children of Auradon, who were now giddy and grass stained to make their choice.

Most chose to stay on Auradon, some went with the few parents that were actually sent and a very select few, drawn in by the feeling of happiness Pan had made them feel requested to go to Neverland.

The villains watched the fleet sail as they regrouped gathering the children their regretful & shaken parents that had stayed Auradon and awaiting those left on the Isle.

When the fleet made its final docking and all families had regrouped with tearful reunions Scar spoke up.

"Someone has to rule New Auradon."

"Furball & Belle," Peter hummed.

"They're a good team. We needed them."

There was no opposition, only murmurs of agreement and Devil gave a fond sort of sigh as he lifted the crown, spinning in his hands as he magically shifted it into less of an affront to his eyes before smiling at all of his friends and allies.

“You lot better be the most bloody well behaved subjects any king has ever ruled.”

Tragic Magic || General Disney Verse

They lived in a world separate from ours in the beginning. A place known as the Wrorst Isles. Heroes and villains of classic Disney tales though they weren’t confined to their own stories. Surprisingly enough they all lived together fairly well despite the occasional scuffle here and there.

Until the strange magic began. No one was quite sure how it’d happened but a strange darkness fell over the land of the Tales and it was rumoured to be a spell gone wrong but there was no time to point fingers as the strange cloud began taking them, heroes and villains and in betweens alike to… Somewhere.

One by one they were cast into the modern world of reality and terribly confused. And of course after they told people who they were a vast majority of them were cast into an asylum as they were perceived to be delusional. And the lot seemed doomed to this fate and would have been had it not been for those known as the Foul Four.

Kaa, Ursula, Maleficent and De Vil were NOT resigning to the fate of madhouse patients and managed to steal enough time together to cast a spell to both free them and merge with this new world, putting them in positions of power over the world that had locked them away.

However despite the fact that the four spell casters had more than enough power amongst themselves it backfired and when the spell was completed the dragon and the sea witch were no where to be found.

Kaa and Devil were devastated but despite their best efforts they couldn’t find a trace of Ursula or Maleficent. Both men simply hoped the spell had transported them to their original home but still they feared the spell had killed the other two.

However in time the Foul Four found each other and with time found the truth about their old land, Wrorst Isle. It was dying and it’s magic was doing what little it could to save it’s former inhabitants.

So combining their powers once more, along with the power of a few other spell casters they brought over more people, their children, their friends even their old enemies. Determined to spare any and all inhabitants of Wrorst from oblivion. Over time the original transporting magic seemed to merge with the casters’ able to draw on their power to help bring over more people without direction.

However not everyone brought over knows the truth. The spell casters kept the truth to themselves, as they try to think of solutions to the problem.

They found a way to slow the crumbling of their old home, a spell to combat the consuming darkness, but Wrorst is still in peril. So the Four and other casters remain, ruling the new world, occasionally hosting secret meetings about the fate of their island.

Years have passed since the strange magic’s beginning, the children of the Islers having grown up with little or no memory of their land of origin. Some Islers have even had children on their current world or even with the inhabitants of it and every now and then there comes a new arrival from the Old Land, with no idea of what to make of the new world or how to get back to theirs.

Eventually a decision must be made. Some of those oblivious to the true fate of Wrost grow restless, demanding a way back to the Old Land be found and this opinion has led to a new wave of discontent between the once united community.

Whether the spell casters will decide on telling all the sad truth or silencing the protesters remains to be seen.

Disney Muse List (I only play the green section)

[sotiriabellou]

i was having a good day and then i was forced to learn about the new scooby doo remake where velma is an incel and daphnes a drug dealer

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Commander's Omega"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: alpha/omega, dystopia, sex slavery, forced breeding, mutilation, rape, corporal punishment, fascism, hurt/comfort, power imbalance, mpreg, age gap (38/23), mentions of abortion, happy ending

Summary: After years of a mass infertility crisis, Bucky Barnes finds himself thrust into a brutal world of survival where he's forced to serve as a vessel: a caste of omegas who bear children for the political elite.

Chapter IV. Exit Wounds

Before:

Gunfire pops through the air: loud, sharp, fired in three round bursts. An hour ago it was distant, but now the whizzing sounds of bullets have gotten alarmingly close. Bucky turns his head and listens, trying to gauge proximity by the deep thwack of the bullets hitting the trees.

He’s taken cover inside of an abandoned RV in the woods. He’s wedged the door shut with a chair and is sitting propped up against the wall, in pain, his rifle laid down beside him. Leaves and trash litter the plywood floor. Whoever lived there before is long gone now. 

Bucky’s head snaps back to the wall as he begins to hear shouts in the near-distance. He curses under his breath, pulse ticking hard in his veins from all the adrenalin. It could be his men out there, or it could be approaching guardians. He’s got no way of knowing. He’d still be out there fighting with all the others, except for that he’s been shot in the leg. And, well … 

His eyes dart to the back of the trailer where Jenny’s stumbled to and dumped herself on the bed. She’s moaning even louder than before and Bucky feels like a royal fuck for sitting there on his ass, thinking of nothing but his own pain.

He grits his teeth and uses the stock of his M4 like a crutch to push himself up from the floor. “Ah!” he yelps, because fuck, does that ever hurt. But he clamps his mouth shut and bites his tongue until he can taste blood. He can’t go screaming and drawing attention to their position. He’s on his feet, leg throbbing terribly. His pants leg is torn and blood soaked from where the bullet went in. There’s no telling what caliber he’s been shot with, but he’s pretty sure there’s no exit wound. That’s not good news, but he tries to put it from his mind as he hobbles to the back of the RV where Jenny is.

She grimaces at him when she sees him. “Sorry!” she hisses. “I know. I know I’m being loud.”

Bucky scoffs. “You’re having a fucking baby.”

“God!” she sobs. “Yeah. Yeah I really am, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiles grimly, heart going out to her. “Just try your best to stay quiet, okay?” He knows it’s a shitty thing to say to a woman in labor, but Jenny’s not stupid; she knows what’s going on outside just as well as he does. They’re both omega. Neither one of them wants to be taken. 

Jenny groans as another contraction comes on. Outside, the bullets and the shouts are getting louder, closer. “Shit,” Bucky hisses. He reaches down and unholsters his sidearm, sliding it on the bed towards Jenny’s hand. “Safety’s on,” he warns. “Ten rounds.” She’s straining and grimacing with her eyes closed as she works through the contraction, but Bucky catches the small nod she gives him. “Okay,” he says. Good.” 

He limps back out to the front of the RV and positions himself by the window over the kitchen sink. It’s a decent line of sight, if the fighting gets close enough, but he can’t do anything about the fact that he’s exposed from the position. Oh well, he thinks. He’ll just have to make sure he shoots the fastest. He’s had great luck so far.

The fighting draws nearer, and before he knows it Bucky’s taking out enemy fighters left and right. At least the guardians wear uniforms. It makes them easily distinguishable from the rebels, easier to pick off. Bucky gets maybe fifteen, twenty guardians on the ground before the trailer door busts open, the chair propped behind it splintering like a bunch of toothpicks. Three guardians burst in, and Bucky’s only able to shoot one of them before they wrestle his rifle away and punch him square in the face, knocking him out cold.

After:

The bathwater sloshes gently against the sides of the tub as Bucky shifts to grab the bar of soap from its ledge by the windowsill. He soaps up his shoulders and rubs the suds around absentmindedly. He’s been finding himself daydreaming a lot lately. Not that it’s unusual for him. Daydreaming is one of the only things he has left to fill his time, and he’s been remembering his days with the resistance, in particular.

He’d fought with them for almost a year. It’d felt like five. Bucky knows that his mom and sisters are out of the country now, and that thought is one of the few that bring him comfort. He knows they’re safe. He knows that. By some small miracle, he’d been able to receive a letter from them a few months after they’d crossed the border into Canada. In it, his mother had written that they’d received official refugee status and were being hospitably housed in an elderly man’s townhome in Toronto, and she’d urged Bucky to give up the fighting and come be safe with them.

He hadn’t, of course. He’d been so naïve back then, with such a hero complex. So of course he’d chosen to stay and fight. It’d gotten him fuck all. But even now, sitting in lukewarm bathwater in Commander Rogers’ house, Bucky can’t bring himself to regret having fought. It’d been the right thing to do. If he hadn’t been captured he’d still be fighting today. He knows it.

He glances down at his body, brings his left leg up out of the sudsy water to thumb at the skin of his thigh. The scar tissue is pale now, almost indistinguishable from the rest of his skin. He runs his fingers over the smooth and bumpy texture of where the bullet had gone (and where it’d been none-too-professionally dug back out), thinking about that last fight. It’d been a shame, he thinks. He could’ve killed a lot more of the bastards if he’d only had a spot up in the trees. But instead he’d been stuffed inside that old tin can of a trailer, only slightly less of a sitting duck than the woman giving birth in the back.  

He lets his leg slip back under the water with a sigh.

He never did find out what happened to Jenny or her baby.

“—o’clock today! Attendance is mandatory for all vessels!”

Bucky’s in the supermarket when the announcement rings out, pumped through the speakers out on the street. He can’t hear it clearly from inside the store, so he waits for the cashier to ring up his apples and other produce items. He pays with the appropriate tokens and then goes outside to listen to the announcement.

It’s a particicution they’re announcing, and Bucky’s blood goes cold. Oh god. Not again.

“Ugh, I wanted to go home and take a nap,” Bucky’s assigned walking partner complains as he rejoins him on the sidewalk, his own netted shopping bag filled with fish and ham from the deli next door. “Why can’t they just do this on their own?” he bemoans. “What do they really need us for anyway?”

“It’s to keep us afraid,” Bucky mutters. He still isn’t too sure what Ofjohn’s persuasion is. The entire point of having walking partners is so that they’ll report on each other. Ratting out the misbehaviors and thoughtcrimes of others has become something of a national sport under Gilead, so Bucky can’t be too forward with what he says around Ofjohn. “It’s to remind us what happens to criminals.”

Ofjohn glances at Bucky’s left sleeve that he’s got pinned up. “Like we could forget.” 

Bucky’s lips thin but he doesn’t say anything. It’s true. He is a walking reminder for all the other vessels, a glaring billboard that screams: “Fuck up badly enough, and you could wind up like this guy.”

“Better get a move on,” Ofjohn says. He gestures with his shopping basket. “Gotta get this stuff home before it spoils.”

“Right,” Bucky says distractedly. He follows along after the other man, still not sure what to think of his new walking partner.

That afternoon’s particicution is like all the others Bucky’s attended in the past. It takes place in what was once a high school football stadium. With so few children being born since the advent of the fertility crisis, most of the schools have long since been repurposed. Nobody ever said the faithful weren’t resourceful. 

Guardians holding the same guns that Bucky used to fight with tell them where to sit, and they all take their places, kneeling in neat lines in front of the stage that’s been erected for the occasion. The stadium’s speakers are blaring Gilead’s national anthem overhead (Bucky’s never learned the words) as if they’re assembled for a celebration, rather than the somber occasion it really is.

A caretaker ascends the stage, a handful of other caretakers at her back. They all smile down at the kneeling vessels like they’re glad to see them there—and hey, Bucky thinks, maybe they actually are. It’s hard to figure out how the minds of the faithful work sometimes. 

“Good afternoon!” The lead caretaker says, speaking into the microphone that’s been placed on the stage. “I’m so glad to see you all here. Blessed day!”

“Blessed day!” they all echo back to her. Even Bucky says it, the response rote at this point.

“Good, good.” The caretaker sobers. “Now, we all know why we’re here today. We are one nation, under God. Each and every one of us has a duty in this new, blessed society. Sometimes duty is joyous, but sometimes it is also hard. When we’re confronted with sinners among us, we must remember our duty.” She looks behind the stage and nods to someone unseen. A moment later, two guardians come into view with a handcuffed man between them. They haul the man up onto the stage, and Bucky tenses up at the sight of him.

“Ohmygod,” he breathes, speaking in that quiet, motionless way that all vessels eventually master. He can sense several pairs of eyes sliding his way.

“What?” someone breathes back.

Bucky swallows heavily. “I know him. We went to school together.” He’d been in Bucky’s grade from the time they were kids and all the way through high school: Bradley Barnett.  An alpha. Kinda shy. Nice kid, as far as Bucky was ever able to tell. He’d always come directly after Bucky, in alphabetical roll calls. 

He looks older now. And drained, as if he’s fought and fought hard, but now all the fight’s gone out of him. He’s got bruises from being beaten already, and his face is all blotchy and tear-stained from crying. But he isn’t crying now. Now, he just looks resigned. Bucky swallows, recognizing that look more than he’d like to admit. He can remember feeling that way, right after they’d pulled the bag off his head and dragged him out of the van and into the red center four years ago. Defeat. That’s the look.

“This man, right here,” the caretaker at the microphone is saying, pointing her finger at Bradley like he’s the scum of the earth. “This man has been convicted of the crime of kidnapping.”

All around, the other vessels start murmuring. There’s shifting and stirring in the neat rows that they’ve formed.

“Quiet please! That’s not the worst of it, I’m afraid.”

Bucky’s eyes drift fearfully back up to the stage, to the guardians holding Bradley’s arms. Oh no, he thinks, dread welling up in his stomach. What are they going to say? What are they going to say he did?

“This man is a rapist.”

The murmuring intensifies. 

“He raped a vessel.”

Louder, with a few people crying out, upset. Bucky is holding stock still and feeling sick to his stomach as Bradley hangs limply in the guardians’ hold.

“The vessel was pregnant!”

Louder.

“The baby died!”

Everyone erupts, all the other vessels yelling and crying out in rage. The only thing that keeps them where they sit, Bucky knows, is the multitude of guardians with rifles pointed their way. But they’re all shifting and stirring like caged, furious animals. The woman directly in front of Bucky is so distressed that she’s pulling viciously at her hair. 

God, Bucky thinks, wanting to reach out and stop her. Everyone’s gone batty. His eyes shoot back up to the stage. Bradley is trembling now. Bucky wonders if he knows what’s about to happen to him, but decides that the answer is: probably not. He’d be peeing his pants by now, if he knew.

Well, he’ll be finding out soon enough.

“All right everyone. All of you, up up up, quick and orderly!” the caretaker chirps down at them. Bucky rises with the rest of the group and goes to join the large circle in the grass that they always form at events like this. The guardians drag Bradley down from the stage and into the center of the circle, then leave him there. Bucky doesn’t look at Bradley any more. There’s no point. Instead, he taps his fingers together in a staccato against his palm, running his old serial number through his mind on a loop – 32557038, 32557038 – hoping to be sunken deep in his head by the time they have to start this terrible thing they’re about to do.

“You know the rules of a particicution,” the caretaker at the microphone says. “Once I blow my whistle, you may begin. When I blow the whistle again, everyone stops.”

He keeps tapping, keeps cycling through the numbers: 32557038, 32557038, 325570—

The whistle blows, sharp and shrill, and everyone screams and rushes forward.

Bucky doesn’t remember the walk back from the particicution. The first thing that registers is the front door, which he stumbles through, feeling dazed and overwhelmed. He pushes it shut weakly behind himself, shutting the house back up into its usual dimness. The grandfather clock in the hall ticks rhythmically, back and forth. Bucky’s fingers twitch where they hang by his side.

He trails slowly down the hall, head buzzing. He’s got a faint intention of going up to his room, but it’s nascent, only half-formed. He’s just outside of Commander Rogers’ study when the door to the room opens and he steps out. He startles at the sight of Bucky, features quickly melting into a frown. “Bucky? What’s wron—” he breaks off, seeing Bucky’s distressed state, his rumpled clothes, his bloodied hand. “Bucky what happened?” He grabs Bucky’s shoulders and stares at him imploringly. “Bucky? Are you hurt?”

“… No,” Bucky breathes. “M’not.”

“Whose blood is this?” Steve asks, voice urgent. Bucky’s eyes flick up. The look of worry and confusion on Steve’s face is such an oddity. And for some reason, Bucky starts to giggle—only a little at first, and then a lot. Steve’s frown deepens. “What happened?”

Bucky giggles some more. When he’s finally able to stop, he just says, “Particicution,” and then starts giggling again. And it gets really bad as Steve’s face bleeds into understanding, and then pity. The giggles somehow morph into sobs, until Steve’s pulling him forward against his body and Bucky’s crying into his shoulder, the air leaving him in great, heaving gasps. “No, no no,” he hyperventilates. “I had to. We had to.”

“Come on,” Steve says quietly, and pulls Bucky into his office.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, after they’ve been sitting on the office’s opposing couches for some time. Steve’s got a fire roaring in the hearth between them. Its warmth replaces some of the body heat Bucky feels like he’s lost from the shock of the day. Steve’s also placed a blanket around his shoulders, and Bucky grips it tighter about himself as best he can with his one hand. There are still flecks of blood crusted under his fingernails.

“Nothing to say,” Bucky murmurs. “We ripped him apart.”

Steve is quiet for a long moment. It’s obvious he’s trying to think of what to say. “It’s not your fault.”

“I tried to kick him in the face,” Bucky says dully, only peripherally aware of how Steve freezes. “It’s what I always do. If you do it hard enough, you can knock ‘em out right away. Before …” He stops and sucks in a trembling breath, determined not to start crying again now that he’s finally gotten himself under control. “Before … the rest.”

Steve sighs. “You tried to spare him, Buck. That's good. You tried to do a good thing.”

“Didn’t work this time,” Bucky mutters. “He was screaming for a while.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but the tension in the air between them feels heavy and oppressive. Silently, he gets up and goes over to the room’s sideboard, uncaps the whiskey and pours from the crystal decanter into one of the matching glasses. He comes back over and sits next to Bucky on the couch. “Here,” he says gently. “If you want.”

Bucky looks at the glass Steve’s offering him and considers it. Any other time he’d probably be shocked and on-guard, wary that this could be another trick, a test. But not now. Now he’s exhausted and the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat sounds like an excellent idea. He releases the blanket from his hand and takes the proffered glass, downing a large sip with a grimace. “Ugh. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Steve knows as well as he does that vessels aren’t allowed to drink alcohol. But Bucky can tell that, much like the reading, this is another little infraction that his Commander is going to allow him. Beside him, Steve sinks back into the couch cushions. “You going to be okay?”

Bucky scoffs quietly. “Gonna have to be, aren’t I?” When Steve doesn’t say anything back, he just shakes his head. “It’s weird. I used to fight in the resistance, you know?” He shrugs his left shoulder, indicating his missing arm. “S’why I lost this.”

“Bucky you don’t have to explain yourself to—”

“I killed a lot of people back then. Dozens and dozens. Shot people from hundreds of yards away, watched their skulls collapse through my scope.” He takes another big, rueful sip of the whiskey. “So you’d think I’d be used to this stuff by now.”

Steve makes a noise of protest. “It’s not the same, Bucky. What they make you all do at those things …” He shakes his head. “It’s traumatic. There’s no way it couldn’t be.”

“Hm.” Bucky nods. “They taught us some things in the resistance. Some simple techniques, for resisting torture.” He glances at Steve. “I tried using them today, to sink into my head.” He stares at the whiskey, swirls what’s left in the glass around a few times, admires the color, and then tilts it back and downs it in a long series of gulps.

“Jesus Bucky.”

He slams the glass down on the coffee table, exhaling harshly and licking his lips. “It didn’t fucking work.”

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[onenakedfarmer]

WALTER M. WILLER A Canticle for Leibowitz

The world weighed heavily upon him. What did the world weigh? It weighs, but is not weighed. Sometimes its scales are crooked. It weighs life and labor in the balance against silver and gold. That’ll never balance. But fast and ruthless, it keeps on weighing. It spills a lot of life that way, and sometimes a little gold.

[modernvintage]

FYI, here are the official guidelines from ao3 on the ratings system (OP was slightly incorrect about E fics):

The ratings and their definitions are as follows:

Not Rated

This is the default option. For searching, screening, and other Archive functions, this may get treated the same way as mature and explicit-rated content. Choose this rating if you prefer not to rate your content.

General Audiences

The content is unlikely to be disturbing to anyone, and is suitable for all ages.

Teen And Up Audiences

The content may be inappropriate for audiences under 13.

Mature

The content contains adult themes (sex, violence, etc) that aren't as graphic as explicit-rated content.

Explicit

The content contains explicit adult themes, such as porn, graphic violence, etc.

More here:

A little PSA for people who use AO3…

Gen refers to fic that is not focused on romance. If your fic is not a romance fic, please give it this tag.

Other refers to fic that is focused on romance, but is not specifically male/female, male/male, or female/female (like an OT3 (ship involving 3 people), a ship involving characters that are not male or female, etc). IT IS NOT FOR PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS. IT IS FOR ROMANTIC ONES. please for the love of all that is holy do not tag your family-relationship-centered fics as “other” you are going to give people a HEART ATTACK.

“Character/Character” is for romantic pairs. “Character & Character” is for platonic relationships like friendship, family, etc. Please do not tag family-centered or adult-and-minor-centered platonic character relationships as character/character for the love of all that is holy

The E rating is for smut and literally nothing else (unless you have other unusual reasons to rate it E–I’ve seen people apply it to non-smut fics as a deterrent to keep minors away from it, but keep in mind it’ll make it so people who are trying to avoid smut will not find your fic). Your fic that has a lot of graphic violence but no sexual content does not need an E rating.

The M rating is for fics that would basically be rated R if they were movies, and may contain graphic violence, some sexual content, and generally more serious subject matter than you would typically show a teenager. However, if your fic is almost entirely smut, please just give it an E rating.

Also, when you post a fic, you WILL want to give it a rating, or else AO3 will assume you’re probably posting smut and will warn everybody who clicks on your fic that it may contain adult content. If you don’t want that on your fic that contains no adult content at all, please just give it the proper rating instead of not rating it at all.

this post brought to you by PLEASE LEARN HOW THE TAGGING SYSTEM ON THIS WEBSITE WORKS YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE EVERYONE A HEART ATTACK

[purplepuggy]

just realized the only romance book ive really enjoyed since like middle school has an autistic main character who approaches romance logically and similarly to myself🧍🏾‍♀️ ive decided not to read into that.

(everyone go read Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries, its actually my new favorite series and I dont normally like romance OR fantasy)

[adaptations-polls]

Which version of this do you prefer?

[desdasiwrites]

– M.R. Carey, The Girl with All the Gifts