#and unable to articulate a good post on it sorry lol

[arienai]

I have a confession, which is 99.9% of "read less fanfiction and read more Real Books" posts on here come off as overly pretentious and holier-than-thou to me, but like. I don't even read fanfiction. I much prefer writing it to reading it, and I kind of gave up on reading fanfiction years ago after the lack of quality control meant I was closing 95% of fics I opened within like the first two paragraphs so it just kind of stopped being worth it to me.

Meanwhile I read "Real Books" literally daily, across multiple genres, fiction, nonfiction, you name it, I read it.

So I shouldn't even have a horse in this race but god most of these posts have such an Air to them and they annoy me so bad LMAO I wish I could articulate myself better so I could make a Real Post. I guess what it comes down to is I don't personally give a shit what you are reading and I say this as a Real Book Reader. I think anything that inspires you to spend time Not on Social Media is Good (I don't count AO3 as social media)

[communistkenobi]

could you expand / share reading materials on "gender is a structure that mediates access to personhood"? i feel like that's an important point that i don't fully grasp. especially because it is my understanding that until relatively recently even white, bourgeois, cis-heterosexual, perisex etc women were also denied personhood, but were already gendered as women, right?

thanks in advance!

I’m so sorry you sent me this ask like three months ago and I’m only getting around to it now lol

This is going to be a long post. I will be talking a lot about citizenship and rights in this post. I’ll include citations, but two overarching texts I will be engaging with a lot are Unequal Freedom (2004) by Evelyn Nakano Glenn and The Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism (1989) by Gøsta Esping-Andersen.

This is also not meant to be a comprehensive answer to your question. I am much less familiar with migration & refugee scholarship, which is obviously deeply engaged with the concept of citizenship as an apparatus for granting rights. I’m flagging this because my answer has a particular focus that is not generalisable. Everything I say is not “the answer” to your question, but an answer informed by specific domains of scholarship.

First, I think a good place to start is that when we talk about ‘personhood’ as a status that a human being can or cannot possess, we are often talking about a status that is realisable through citizenship. ‘Personhood’ is itself a legal term, and we can see this in how stateless people (i.e. people with no citizenship) are treated - because rights are granted by and administered through states, being without state citizenship means you are unable to realise any set of rights, and therefore, you are rendered as a non-person. The UN has two separate conventions on the rights of stateless people for example, as being stateless is necessarily an international issue. I think this approach helps makes sense of why “human rights” is a popular framing in discussions of how to remediate inequality (e.g. “trans rights are human rights”). The “human” part of that equation is only realised through the attainment of “rights,” i.e., through citizenship. Citizenship = personhood can also be seen when people invoke “second class citizens” as an articulation of legal, political, and societal discrimination - i.e., groups of people who have less/no access to rights compared to other groups within a state. Systems of classed citizenship often emerge from regimes of settler colonialism, slavery, and apartheid (Glenn discusses this in her book).

The basic Marxist intervention in this discussion is that this class system still exists even in places that have abolished slavery, abolished apartheid, and/or gone through formal decolonisation, because state law under capitalism is fundamentally unjust. Marx calls law the “mystification of power” (I believe he says this in The German Ideology? I'm rusty on my Marx readings lol) - he argues that law is a bourgeois system of justice that caters to the wealthy and powerful and disenfranchises the poor and marginal, but appears as neutral and fair through a liberal “theater” (Marx’s term from The 18th Brumaire) of equality and democracy, mystifying its actual effects and purpose (The Red Demiurge (2015) by Scott Newton is a book about Soviet legal history that goes into some of this. His focus is on the evolution of the Bolshevik relationship to law as the USSR developed and encountered quite literally new legal problems that emerged as a result of the formation of a socialist state). This is also part of the Marxist critique of nationalism - if state citizenship is what grants access to rights, and citizenship is classed (through your relationship to production, through white supremacy, through patriarchy, through colonial status, through religious status, through etc), then equality does not legally exist, that all equality is bourgeois equality, i.e., not universal, not equal.

Gøsta Esping-Andersen provides a really helpful theory of thinking about citizenship rights within a capitalist state (his book only focuses on Western imperial core states, so just flagging that lol). He begins by arguing that:

all markets are regulated by the state, there is no actual “free” or anarcho-capitalist market,

because of this necessary regulatory function provided by the state, the commodity of wage-labour (i.e., the process of selling your labour-power as a “good” or commodity on a market in exchange for money in the form of wages) is likewise always regulated to some degree, and so finally,

welfare should be understood as the regulatory system of the commodity of wage-labour.

This regulatory apparatus is what grants people “social citizenship rights” - sick leave, pensions, disability and unemployment insurance, welfare payments, food stamps, tax bracket placements, childcare, healthcare, education, housing, so on and so on. Within this framework, Esping-Andersen demonstrates that various welfare regimes produce different citizenship classes - Canada, Australia and the US, for example, explicitly reproduce an impoverished “welfare class” through a marginal, means-tested welfare regime that only provides benefits to the very poorest. Various European countries by contrast tend to have what he calls a “corporatist” welfare regime that often grants different social citizenship rights based on which occupation you have, which he argues emerged from feudal and pre-capitalist religious (esp. Catholic) social forms of organisation.

ANYWAY, the purpose of doing all that set-up is to contextualise how we arrive at the question of gender. Feminists make the basic point that citizenship is also classed by gender - in Unequal Freedom, Glenn talks about this in the US, where white women were legally treated as extensions of their husbands and had no access to property rights, voting rights, and so on. Black women, in contrast, were treated sexually as women by slaveholders (i.e., raped and abused) but denied any and all personhood on the basis of their slave status. Citizenship in the US was historically based first on your ability to hold property (reserved for white bourgeois men), and then on your ability to “freely sell” your labour-power on the market - white women were denied citizenship on this basis because they were consigned to managing what was defined as the “private realm,” i.e., the realm that houses free labourers (white men). This public/private distinction emerges through capitalist markets and the commodity of wage-labour, which produces a sharp distinction where productive labour takes place “out there” (paid for in wages by the capitalist class) and reproductive labour takes place “in here” (i.e., labour that is not paid for in wages* by the capitalist class and forms the social basis of reproducing the public labour pool). 

*for white women. see below

As Glenn argues, this public/private distinction in the US is fundamentally racialised. We can see this difference in the emergence of the suffragette movement, where white women appeal to their whiteness (i.e., free labour status) as the rationale for being granted the right to vote. Black women were disqualified from this movement, and did not benefit from white women’s demands for equal citizenship on the basis of them providing all this unpaid reproductive labour to their white husbands, as Black and other racialised women often provided domestic housekeeping labour for white women (unpaid during slavery and for indentured servants, for wages after its abolition). This leaves Black women without a private realm, subjecting them to a “purely public” arena that is uniquely difficult to organise for unionisation and/or improve working conditions (Deborah King talks about this further in Multiple Jeopardy, Multiple Consciousness (1988)).

Trans-feminism explicates this further - coercive sex assignment at birth classes people on the basis of reproductive capacity. “Females” are impregnated, “males” do the impregnating. This particular system of sex assignment is deeply tied to colonial population management concerns, where measuring the labour capacity of colonised subjects was a matter of managing white wealth (as well as making sure “there weren’t too many of them” compared to white people in colonies - this was especially a major white anxiety after the Haitian Revolution at the turn of the 19th century, the largest slave revolt in history. See Settlers by J Sakai). You can read Maria Lugones’ papers The Coloniality of Gender (2016) and Heterosexualism and the Colonial/Modern Gender System (2007), Alex Adamson's (2022) paper Beyond the Coloniality of Gender, and Guirkinger & Villar's (2022) paper Pro-birth policies, missions, and fertility for some introductory reading.

(Note: patriarchal gender hierarchies predate and exist outside of European colonial domination - it is a popular white queer talking point that Europe invented gender, that indigenous peoples actually all had epic radically equal genderfuck systems that were destroyed by Europe, and this is a very patronising and racist historical generalisation that I want to avoid making. Third World/Global South feminism is a necessary corrective to this - an arena of scholarship I am sadly not well versed in. Sylvia Wynter is the only scholar I’ve engaged with on this topic, which again, is a very limited slice. I welcome reading recommendations in this area).

While sex assignment is coercive for everyone, it is a particular problem for trans people, who are accused of impersonation and ID fraud if our sex markets conflict with our gender presentation, or we don’t “look like” our sex marker to cis people. Because you need a government ID to do basically anything - getting a job, applying for an apartment, getting a driver’s license, going to school, buying a phone plan, being on unemployment, applying for disability, filing an insurance claim, doing your taxes, opening a bank account, getting married, going to the hospital, buying lottery tickets at the corner store, etc - and sex markers appear on basically all government ID in many countries, trans people are systematically denied a whole range of citizenship rights (and thus personhood) on the basis of this sex assignment. Trans people are not merely treated as the wrong gender, they are ungendered, and by this process, rendered ineligible for personhood. Like just as an example, gay marriage is a luxury to trans people, as gay marriage is based on the state recognising both you and your partner’s gender in the first place. (See Heath Fogg Davis’ paper Sex-Classification Policies as Transgender Discrimination (2014) for example. Butler also talks about this on a more fundamental level in Bodies That Matter (1993), and Stryker & Sullivan also discuss this in The Queen's Body, the King's Member (2009)).  

This is likewise the impetus behind anti-trans bathroom bills and sports bans - citizenship guarantees, among other things, a right to public space, and these bans are meant to deprive transgender people access to those spaces. These bans should be understood as a way of circumventing the much more difficult process of revoking the citizenship of trans people outright by using a component of citizenship (sex assignment at birth) to impoverish the quality of citizenship that trans people have access to. This is why bans on medical transition are not actually just about medical oppression, but the oppression of trans peoples’ abilities to live in society in general. An instructive parallel is abortion bans for pregnant people, who, in addition to facing medical oppression and violence by being denied healthcare, are likewise systemically marginalised through being forced into the role of “mother” (again we see how cissexualism reduces people to reproductive capacity), economically marginalising them by reducing their capacity to earn a wage, tying them to partners/spouses that now have greater economic and social leverage over them (and thus have greater capacity to assault, rape, and murder them), depriving them of the choice of alternative life paths, and so on.

It’s generally much more difficult to get the state to sign off on unilaterally oppressing a group of citizens by depriving them of citizenship completely, so attacking a group through more narrow and particular policies like healthcare or the use of public space (with the ultimate goal of depriving them of their rights in general) is often much easier and more productive. See Beauchamp's 2019 book Going Stealth: Transgender Politics and US Surveillance Practices, who talks about this in the context of anti-trans bathroom bills in chapter 3. This is also a common thread in disability scholarship, as disabled people are likewise denied much of the same citizenship rights through similar logics - the book Absent Citizens (2009) by Michal J Prince talks about this in the Canadian context. To give an example he uses in the book, in Canada, accessible voting stations were only federally mandated in I believe the 90s, meaning that disabled people were practically disenfranchised until about 30 years ago in Canada, even though there were no laws explicitly banning disabled people from voting.

As a result, any barriers put in place by the state to change your legal name and sex marker should be understood as a comprehensive denial of personhood, not only because we as trans people want our IDs to reflect who we are, but because those barriers make it difficult to do literally anything in civil society. This the basis behind the cry of “trans rights are human rights” - taking away our healthcare rights also fundamentally denies us equal citizenship (and thus personhood), because healthcare is where we get all those little permission slips from doctors and psychologists to change our name and gender marker in the first place. This is of course not remotely the same as being made stateless (trans refugees are placed in a particularly harrowing and violent legal black hole, for example) - I as a white trans person living in the imperial core still benefit from a massive range of material, political and social privileges not afforded to many others, but my transness positions me at a deficit relative to cis people who have the same state citizenship as I do. As I hope I've made clear, it's not a binary case of either having or not having citizenship, but that citizenship is classed, and the quality of your citizenship is heavily dependent on a whole range of social, political, legal, economic, and historical factors that are all largely out of your control.

So not only is gender a barrier to citizenship, it mediates access to realising the full range of personhood within a regime of state citizenship. Trans people are not the only group effected by this, as I described above, but trans people are a group that makes obvious the arbitrary, coercive, and unequal nature of sex assignment through its connection to state citizenship.

[franciskirkland-deleted]

I am with you on the bottom france pool. I see him as a dominant bottom though so people will see him as a top and he tops a lot but it's always from the bottom. We need more love for dominant tops who bottom. Real thing tho. Arthur loves that. Alasdair will just lay back and enjoy and our man Spain will want to treat France right but ends up admiring that ass bouncing up on his churro

im verrry drunk right now (like, kitchen karaoke drunk) so excuse my lack of articulation but u caught me in a good mood so imma answer this and probably ramble sorry

you get it. fran is the power bottom of all time i could not agree more. he usually initiates. he loves topping from the bottom. eager lil cowgirl. he loves riding and draining the absolute life force out of his men. tho its not exclusive, if i were to label him i'd say switch bottom. switch as in can sub or dom, not verse as in position bc u know hes always taking that dick. always always always. nails emoji.

i do think he likes being pampered and playing pillow princess at times. laying back and getting bred or pounded mercilessly from behind. hes into that too. nd not that this is relevant but i think he's only 'dominant' sexually. in terms of like. general partnership dynamics?? fran is definitely more submissivve. the lady of the house. arthur is daddy breadwinner etc. he makes the rules fran sits home looking pretty. sorry to be heteronormative but thats how i am about them. shrugs. husband an d wife.

i think arthur would (to use an overused fanfiction term, lol) vy for dominance but he does love how eager fran is and ends up laying back and letting hiss pretty wife ride him to his heart;s desire. watching her earn her reward!!! go off qwueen. but YEAH alasdair is a brilliant sub/service top you are so right. he would literally do anything fran asked him to. thats just scotfra.

spain and france togethr are so complex i cant even get into it now but yeah toni is so... passionate hes rly the only one who can match fran;s level when it comes to that. tbh i think they switch but yeah. fran riding toni is... chefs kiss. toni gets to lay back and be lazy he loves that shit fr. ok im becoming unable to string words together properly and nobody asked for this post to be this long.

anyway god bless you anon i hope you win the lottery <3 besos besos

[roosterbox]

Heyyyyy how about another Steddie thinky thought? You know ‘em, you love ‘em!

This one’s theme: Hanahaki. Yes, the Flower Sickness that makes any unrequited love as actually physically deadly as it feels.

This one’s a bit older than the rest. I posted tiny bits on the discord a while back, and may in fact eventually expand it into an actual story, but for now, this.

Also under a cut because, yet again, my hand slipped, lol. Warnings for, uh, more Steve pain I guess. Sorry about that. Kind of.

Hanahaki AU

Steve loves Eddie. But Eddie doesn’t love Steve (or so Steve thinks…). He has resigned himself to this, to just being friends. Good friends. The only person he tells is Robin, who encourages him but is sympathetic. He gets the Flower Cough. Which grows (heh) increasingly worse as time goes on. And Robin gets even more insistent that he tells Eddie. So eventually Steve just… gives her a half truth/half lie.

He tells her, “Eddie’s not interested in me.” Half a lie, because she takes this to mean that he actually DID talk to Eddie and got rebuffed (he did not). But it’s also half a truth, because that’s what Steve truly believes - that Eddie wouldn’t be interested. No way, why would he? Pick your favorite flavor of Steve Harrington insecurity and insert here.

Eddie, meanwhile, is more than a little distraught. Everyone knows Steve has the Flower Sickness, but every time anyone asks about who it is, he waves them off with “they’re not interested.” And this blows Eddie’s mind because he’s been madly in love with Steve for years now, so how could anyone with half a brain or heart turn him down? In Eddie’s eyes, Steve is perfect.

The sickness gets worse. Steve ends up in the hospital. Everyone is there, waiting on the doctor’s word for when they can go in to see him. Eddie rushes in, scared and sick to his stomach, afraid that this is it. And at the sight of him looking so forlorn, even though (she thinks) he’s the one who caused this, Robin finally explodes.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Munson!”

Eddie, of course, is absolutely clueless. “What the fuck?”

“You think you can- fuck!” She’s angry, she’s stressed, she’s heartbroken, she’s distraught. There are tears streaming down her face. And for a moment, Eddie’s never felt so intimidated. “How can you just show up here like this?”

“Like what? Birdie, can you please start making more sense, because I am at a fucking loss here.”

She gears up for a verbal beatdown the likes of which have never been witnessed before, but then a nurse comes out. Tells them that Steve is okay (relatively speaking of course), and that they’re just making him comfortable now. And that she’ll be back out with the doctor soon to talk about visiting. This update deflates some of Robin’s bluster, and she sinks down into one of the chairs.

Eddie is still confused, but slightly relieved that Steve is alright. For now.

Under his breath he laments, “god, I wish it were me.”

It’s so quiet, but Robin hears him. Of course she does.

“Wait, what?”

He startles, surprised at being heard, and maybe a little nervous about speaking something so close to his heart in front of this ragtag group of people. But, he tells himself, they all love Steve here. So maybe… maybe it’s time to be brave.

“I wish it was me. The person who…” he gestures vaguely. “For Steve. If it was me, this might not-“ He swallows, hard, and looks away. His eyes sting but he’s not gonna cry, dammit.

Robin is just. Staring at him, eyes wide. “Eddie. What do you mean?”

It takes a moment, but he finally looks back at her.

“If it were me this wouldn’t have happened. Because I love him. I love him so fucking much, Birdie. And when I find whoever it was that broke his heart, I’m gonna-“ he clenches his fist. Clenches and unclenches. Perhaps unable to quite articulate the truest depths of his feelings.

Robin, to yet more of his surprise, bursts into fresh tears.

“You are both. Such. IDIOTS.” But before he can ask, again, what the fuck she means, she says, “it’s YOU.”

Eddie’s brain just fucking STOPS. Crashes. Like a freight train with a girder dropped in its track. “Me? What about me?”

“You, you idiot.” She’s up now, crying and shoving at him. But they’re half-hearted at best. And… is she smiling a little? “You, you, you! He loves you too.”

“Loves… me? Rob, you’re not making sense again.”

So she tells him. Everything. Perhaps breaking Steve’s confidence in the process, but if this miscommunication were to cost her best friend - her platonic soulmate - his life? That’s a small price to pay, she reasons. By the end of it, Eddie’s lost his battle against his tears. Dustin is hugging him as he babbles out, “but why would he- How could he think- I wouldn’t have let him-“

The nurse and doctor appear, taking in the scene, but not knowing the finer details of course. They tell the group that they can see him, but only one at a time. “For now,” they emphasize, with small, encouraging smiles.

Through a silent exchange, Robin is selected to go in first.

Steve is sitting up against the pillows of the hospital bed. There are various lines and monitors attached to him. Beeping at a steady, if not quite normal, level. He’s awake, and smiles a bit weakly at her when he sees her.

“Robbie.”

She smiles back.

“Hey dingus. How’re you feeling?” She sits down on the bed and reaches out, pushing the hair out of his face. It’s damp, soaked through with sweat, but she doesn’t mind.

“I’m f-“

“Don’t say you’re fine,” she cuts him off. Gently. Still touching him. Her hand drops to his shoulder and squeezes. “Not after this.”

They look at each other, an entire silent conversation passing between, before Steve sighs. The deep breath causes him to cough a little, but nothing comes up this time.

“Okay. I’m not fine. But Robin-“

She shakes her head. “I love you, you know?”

“I love you, too,” he replies almost automatically. Because he does.

“And,” she gets up, “because I love you, I hope you can forgive me.”

Steve’s expression turns confused. And a bit worried. “Forgive…?”

She backs up. Towards the door. “I’ll be back in a little while. But for now, I think there’s someone else who you should talk to. And who needs to talk to you.” At that, her gaze hardens. “And you better actually talk this time.”

She leaves, and Steve is alone again. He has a minute or two to be terribly confused before the door opens.

Oh fuck, it’s Eddie.

Eddie, who only glances at Steve as he comes in before pointedly looking away. He leans against the door, arms wrapped around himself. It’s the quietest he’s ever been, for as long as Steve’s known him. It’s unnerving.

“Eddie?” Steve asks. “Are you…?” He trails off, unsure of what, exactly, he was trying to ask.

Eddie says nothing. But then-

“You’re a real piece of work, Harrington, you know that?” He sounds angry. Maybe even livid. His voice is practically vibrating with it. Steve focuses on that, missing the undercurrent of tears in the words. For him, this is exactly what he thought would happen. She must have told him. Of course she would. And though he wanted to be mad, he couldn’t blame her at all. If, god forbid, their positions were reversed…

Eddie was talking again. “So you, what, rather die? Rather die than just, oh jeez, fucking say something to me?”

Steve wishes the bed would swallow him whole. He looks down at his hands in his lap, fidgeting. Picking at threads in the linen. His heart monitor had picked up a bit.

Eddie was slowly inching forward until he was right next to the bed. His eyes were also drawn to Steve’s hands. At the IV line affixed to them. At the nails, bitten short. At the bloodstains still lingering against his skin.

“You stupid, self-sacrificing son of a bitch.”

Steve winced. This was it. The worst nightmare he’d had since everything with the Upside Down. Only it wasn’t a dream any more.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” he whispers. Sorry, he implies, for falling in love with you. It’s okay that you don’t-

“Sorry? Steve you’re-“ Eddie chokes a bit. He sniffles. Steve finally hears the other underlying emotions his friend is struggling with. Is he… crying?

He absolutely is, and wiping furiously at his eyes. Part of him wants to grab Steve by the shoulders, to shake him, to scream at him. To demand to know why. What were you thinking? But then again, he already knows, doesn’t he? Robin told him.

“Why,” he asks, “why would you ever think that I wouldn’t want you?”

Now it was Steve’s brain’s turn to just… stop.

Very slowly, quietly, he whispers out a “…what?”

Eddie’s hands are gripping the bed railing tightly. He itches, how he itches, to reach over and take the other man’s hands in his. To twine their fingers together. But if he does, he knows that he’ll never want to let go again if he can help it. So before that, he takes the scariest plunge of his life. Lover’s Lake has got nothing on this.

“Steve,” he says, their gazes finally meeting, “I love you. I fucking love you, you idiot.”

Steve is shocked. Flabbergasted. Maybe this is a dream, he thinks. Or maybe I’ve finally fucking coughed myself to death. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly for a few seconds, minutes maybe, before finally, he manages to ask, “since when?” He swears he can actually feel the flowery vines in his lungs growing tighter.

Eddie smiles at him through watery eyes. “How long have I known you?”

Steve just fucking breaks. He cries, weeping into his hands, curling in on himself. Can’t breathe, he thinks desperately before strong arms wrap around him. Drawing him in against a solid chest. Eddie hugs him, tucking Steve’s wet face against his neck. He’s crying too.

“It’s okay, Stevie,” he says. “It’ll be okay now.” He hopes that this is true. That whatever fate may be, it doesn’t make him a liar. “I’ve got you. I’m here. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

[imasimpforstevengrant]

THRICE (Chapter 1)

Summary:

Marc Spector has no idea how troubled he truly is....and will be. Three times cursed: prisoner of his mind, prisoner of the will and deceits of a vengeful god and prisoner of a love he cannot fully bask on. Loving Layla El-Faouly had been the hardest and most wonderful thing Spector has ever faced in life.

After his deal for freedom, he once more relishes the joy of his marriage to Layla, as his coexistence with Steven Grant becomes harmonic. His former servitude as the avatar of Khonshu, the Egyptian God of the moon, does not come at a small price. Little does Marc Spector know his newfound happiness shall be soon shattered, as Khonshu has plans to reunite the three of them.

Notes:

This written work contains several references from the comics and takes a lot of inspiration of them. This fic looks to "adapt" a few Moon Knight stories from my own personal selection.

Word count: 2.657

Sorry for any typos, since my first language is not English (Chilean spanish for the win lol)

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, pre, during and (mostly) post Moon Knight, flashbacks, blood and violent content ahead, supernatural themes, very sensitive issues, strong sexual themes, light BDSM, mild voyeurism, Dom/sub undertones, male insecurities, heterosexual sex, very, very explicit sex scenes, dirty talk, DID, existential/identity crisis.

Chapter summary:

Marc Spector is still haunted by his sins. Memories of an experience near death, becoming the High Priest of Khonshu and falling in love still siege his dreams, though his services have concluded.

-----

FIRST PART.

The man under the moon (Marc)

Dessert serves as the anteroom of hell. A silent martyr is about to be formed. Injured and hardly able to walk, Marc Spector leads his steps towards an ancient temple. Death is a breath away from claiming his existence.

Moonlight enters the sacred place, enlightenment gives it a special aura. Marc can feel a cold, deadly shiver crawling up his spine. Like a dying animal, Marc crawls slowly. 

All those people murdered. Because of greed and his own incompetence. The faces of the executed victims devastate his mind, contributing to his final emotional disintegration. Blood stained and disgusted at himself, Marc is willing to pay for his sin. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to gather enough willpower to pull the trigger. Peace was one bullet away. Until a deep, otherworldly voice echoed through the temple.

"What a waste."

He froze, loosening his grip on the gun. 

"Huh?" Was all he could articulate, terrified, instinctively eyeing towards the direction.

The horrid, ominous voice pronounced itself again. 

"I feel the pain inside of you"  

Confused, Marc frowns. He wouldn't let fate mock his misery.  

"What the hell are you?" he demanded, surprised at his courage to demand an answer. 

Marc couldn't avert his eyes from the gargantuan, anthropomorphic statue holding a staff, with petrous solemnity. The moonlight rays added a bluish hue, contrasting with the darkened zones.

"I am the god Khonshu… in search of a warrior" he finally replied. 

A loud scoff emerged from his mouth. 

"A warrior" Marc at least found it funny, "Well, good luck with that."

The voice didn't stop there. Whoever it is, it now proposes an offering, despite Spector's shameless derision. 

A quest for a champion, a warrior to become its hands, eyes and vengeance. Marc kept his eyes shut, unable to ignore what that mysterious being was saying, as if it was the devil itself talking him out of his suicidal intentions. Protect the innocent, who he called 'night travellers' at all costs by punishing ruthlessly those who meant them harm. Only the undeserving ones. 

"Do you want death or do you want life?" 

The mercenary seemed to forget he was a breath away from being a corpse. What was so elegantly spoken was nothing but a devil's deal. 

"I don't know" he mumbled, cast down. 

"Your mind, I feel it. Fractured. Broken. Most fascinating. You are a worthy candidate to serve me during this time" the voice suddenly pronounced about his tormented psyche. 

The moonlight undoing the darkness suddenly nests the idea of redemption. Even if that meant abandoning his humanity. Reducing himself to a tool to pour the blood of all of those deemed unworthy. 

With an ominous voice, an oath echoed. Marc Spector would arise as the powerful last word against those who commit evil deeds. A benign monstrosity to diminish mankind's suffering through his own ordeal.

Or maybe it was just a way for him to keep being what he had always been. A killer. 

"Yes," Marc Spector swore, with an honourable last breath as an atonement for everyone he had wronged. 

A sudden shiver ran through his being, sensing the painful rebirth renewing his strength. A glowing whitish hue took over his dark irises, arms open to embrace this new identity as a vessel of justice. Soon, he was fully enrobed with an imposing, fearful armor that granted him immortality. 

From then, oblivion would be a rare joy, constantly wishing to fail and so, meeting the natural end that should have never been altered. There was no life in him, just a deeply disturbed individual, an artist of survival. 

The healing ended up being a curse.

-----

Blood.

Red, extended stains replaced mostly the light hue of sand. His eyes widened at the looted small village, looking for the answers in the several corpses surrounding him. Those were the first things to be shocking enough to bring him back into the moment. Wails and screams go unheard while regaining control of himself but it was always those crimson droplets, like wounds on the silvery armour that reminded him of the merciless slaughter.

“What the hell happened?” his voice could only articulate. Despite his (new) majestic and gallant appearance, he still felt vulnerable before that hated uncertainty. He gasped, seeing golden, sharp moons over dozens of men, piercing eyes, ripping throats. A crimson festival of guts, and horrified expressions in their faces. He saw himself in a broken mirror from another, unfortunate victim, laying dead with a couple of scarlet holes in the chest.

All of them saw two glowing, white eyes before meeting a gruesome end at his hands.

“Behold your deed, my Moon Knight. Those widows live because you have accomplished your task as a vessel for my will,” Marc heard that voice again. Scared, he looked up. His heart beats with the fury of a war drum. There was satisfaction in his voice. His eyes, glowing with a beautiful white, crescent moon are now dark as an abyss. Hood and mask also fade.

A whitish silhouette appeared as he looked back. He quickly turned around just to look up to the sky, a full moon embellished the celestial vault that so many horrors had he seen.

Marc suddenly realizes his hands are filled with blood and chunks of meat. One still holds the clothed neck of the unlucky man, from whose smashed skull still drips gory lumps of flesh. He gasps in disgust at himself.

The gurgling sounds and overflowing blood from the mouth of his victim soon end. If Marc hadn’t looked back at him, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Guilt nests in his heart.

Did he really rip off all those lives in such a horrific way?

This deity stares at his work from above, the height accentuating his grim appearance.

“Every single one of them deserved it, Marc. Remember it”, Khonshu descended from the tall columns, almost comforting the consciousness of his avatar. He brought a waning moon staff even taller than him.

It was that horrifying hybrid with a human body and a giant, vulture skull for a head.

A moon-shaped staff in his hand, bony and wrapped in worn out bandages finally confirm that this wasn’t a dream. Khonshu did not give life back to Marc Spector.

He just had turned him into an walking, murderous sarcophagus.

Violence, insanity and death had always been the bane of his existence. The cold flavour of whiskey helps to cope with the horrified expressions of those slaughtered in the village. Even cheerful sounds coming from outside the Egyptian bar reminded his nightmares, imagining the distorted faces howling in horror.  

Another sip distracts him. He preferred a cold drink, combating the suffocating heat in the Middle East. Whenever he's not fighting, his thoughts dwell with murky truths.

Being the living tool of a vengeful god had its tolls on the little sanity he had left. Sleepless nights saturated his brain with the weight that meant to be not only Khonshu's mortal last word against evildoers, but also posing as his High Priest on Earth. He ruffled his hair, trying to enjoy the fucking drink. 

He had the opportunity to catch a sight of himself in a mirror that night, as he could remember from his nightmares. Marc Spector, togged in a ceremonial armour, designed to inspire terror by contrasting with the darkness of the night. A spectre that didn't hide. A spectre that knew beforehand that, no matter how much of a good target he was, they would never stand a chance against him, for none of them would hit the moon. 

It spoke thousands of words about the baleful nature of that entity he now served. 

His private and quiet suffering seems irrupted by a local hubbub. Marc turns his head toward the noisy multitude. It was outside, in the market place. Maybe just another altercation between merchants, and back to sipping more of the whiskey. 

He left a few bucks on the table and left. The hot weather burned his skin, obliging him to look for shelter. Shadows offer freshness, to keep diving in his personal hell. 

Nightfall darkens the sky. Marc doesn't see the moon, he just sees the eye of Khonshu watching over his life. 

"I've seen your past tormenting you," the beaked, mummified creature croaked from the shadowed corner of the room. Marc almost threw his drink over the table. 

"Do you have to appear like this every time we talk?" He hissed.

"Evil doesn't rest, Marc. You made a deal with me to protect night travelers in exchange for your life"

"I know what I did. It's not easy to deal with all the those people killed"

"I will repeat it only once, Marc Spector. Those fallen under your hand deserved to die"

Marc closed his eyes, trying to wash away all those horrified faces. 

"Cease this pointless guilt. It will only make your task more difficult"

"What do you propose?" Marc asked.

"Look at the looted tombs. Innocent blood claims for justice. Do what you must, Moon Knight" and with these words, the deity disappeared into the night.

Soon, Marc Spector summoned the ceremonial armour, flying over the Egyptian sky to find himself near the place that changed everything in his life. There was a convoy of four jeeps, all of them driven by Arabic speakers. A cold shiver froze his spine when he recognized that familiar voice. 

"Look at this. Look at all this fucking shit" an angry complain was all he could get clear from the murmur. 

Marc peeped out of the dune, seeing Bushman carrying a rifle on his shoulders while smoking a cigar. He was walking around a small bonfire, apparently speaking with a few men near him. 

"If it wasn't for that fucking insurgent, I wouldn't be in these newspapers!" Bushman screamed fiercely, "now all of Egypt knows I'm riding tombs, and all because one man decided to play noble at the last moment!"

The vigilante gritted his teeth. 

'Killing the witnesses wasn't part of the plan, you piece of shit!" Marc wished to reply.

"Spector was never the guy with a conscience. Why did he suddenly care for one life when he murdered dozens?" He sat, placing the weapon at his left, "he was this close to becoming rich and he chose to turn against me at the last minute. Too bad nobility doesn't save you from a bullet" 

One of his companions started speaking in Arabic, but Marc understood perfectly. 

"One of the victims…"

"What?" Bushman growled, irritated.

"Abdallah El-Faouly." 

The soldiers turned to each other, seemingly agreeing with the familiarity of the aforementioned man. They kept speaking in Arabic, constantly repeating a name related to the deceased man. Marc's face starts to contort in horror, deducing what is going to happen. 

"What's with that woman?" One asked.

"It's his daughter," another replied, " I've heard she used to work with Abdallah during his expeditions in tombs. She's known to cause troubles in the black market recovering stolen relics."

Bushman remains thoughtful, rolling the cigar between his fingers. 

"Do you know more about her?" 

Marc didn't breathe to hear it.

"Her name is Layla El-Faouly. Look in the center of Cairo, merchants will offer valuable information for a good price," the first man added.

Bushman smoked a long drag of his cigar, to then toss it seconds later. He chuckled, and Marc knew too well what it meant.

"Find her and kill her," he dryly ordered, "I don't want any loose ends."

Before the men could retire to rest, Marc Spector soon flew back to the residence he inhabited. Regret starts consuming him, despite his efforts to put his thoughts in order. 

It was the daughter of the man he tried to save. Oh, fate had its ways to atone people's sins. During all night his mind spent thinking on everything he could do to avoid her death. Marc couldn't let Bushman claim another victim. Dawn arrives and with the first lights filtering through waving curtains. Determination gives him strength, and at a steady pace, he walks out of the room to fulfill his mission. 

The marketplace was overcrowded, which made it easier for him to sneak out, looking for any suspicious activity in the locals. Masking himself with typical clothes, Marc pays attention to every move, every whisper, every gesture. 

Suddenly, he recognised one of the men in Bushman's convoy. Marc got up when he saw him calling a merchant, with a picture in hand and a bag of money in the other one. Luckily for him, they went to another room to discuss El-Faouly's daughter's whereabouts. Ear stuck against the wall, he hears the conversation in Arabic:

"People have seen her in the tombs, looking for answers for what happened in that raid" the man pointed out to the pyramids, visible thanks to the window at their left. 

"Is she married? Children? Any other relatives?" The other one asked.

"No. She's Abdallah's only daughter. An archeologist. People around here won't be angry if she disappears. Maybe they will thank you for taking the matter in your hands" and then, immediately, Bushman's affiliate paid the man, who leaned his head as a sign of respect. Marc hid in the wall separating the bathrooms and halls. Just five armed men, moving through the city in a jeep. He had to be quick, not getting attention, at his most silent. 

Bushman's associate didn't reach the door once Marc shot him in the back. He didn't care about the sharp swearing, placing the knife in his throat. He warns him about a quick death if he shares vital information.

"Tell me more about El-Faouly's daughter" Marc hissed, twisting the knife over the left side of his neck. But he did not get any answer related to Layla, which only increased his anger. 

"I saw you– you're– you're dead!" He screamed, terrified, "you died in the desert! How is it possible?!"

"There are a lot of things you won't understand. Tell me about her!"

"It can't be–"

"Speak!" Spector spits, impatient. Things got more difficult when the man, convinced he was seeing a ghost, began to scream for help. Spector beats his ribs, breaking them with heavy, bloody fists. The man tried to call for help, but only muffled sounds came out of his mouth.

"Speak or I swear I'll leave you in the desert! Now tell me if that man said something about her location" Marc growled, carving a painful wound, causing the information to flow.

"People have seen her sneaking into tombs… Bushman– called to ambush her in an Egyptian tomb once we knew her whereabouts– Shoot to kill, at all costs… Her situation helps to go undercover."

"Son of a bitch" Marc hissed, his blood boiling. The man stared at him, puzzled. 

"Why do you suddenly care so much for a woman now? You didn't hesitate to kill dozens of people back in Sudan, Jordania–" 

"Shut up! Shut up!" Marc hissed, covering his mouth.

"You won't atone your sins by saving her, Spector… you're just an insane, murderous bastard, as Bushman said" 

Marc gritted his teeth, slitting his throat. A puddle of blood formed on the floor while taking off his weapons. While looking for more ammo, he found a flat object that turned out to be a picture. Marc takes the photo to have a closer look. 

There was this lovely woman, dark skin, curly hair cascading down her shoulders, a sweet smile curving her pink, glossy lips. Marc felt he had been hypnotized. He slides his fingers down the picture, in an instinct to touch her. There was a dedication, written in Arabic, at the reverse. 

"My little scarab, 

August 13th 2016"

 

Marc thought in the possibility it had been looted in the raid, alongside other belongings. He kept the photo to recognise her, wishing it wasn't too late. 

[jaskierx]

oh also top 5 characters from all media... if you can narrow it down LOL

💀 lord give me strength this was so difficult and i guarantee i'll wake up in a cold sweat tonight being like 'i should've put xyz in the list i'm so sorry to have wronged u'

1 - garrus vakarian. husband of all time. love of my life. would simultaneously kill and die for him

2 - butcher from the boys bc i love to suffer. also putting hughie here bc they must not be separated and also i can do what i want x

3 - kim wexler from better call saul. i have so many thoughts about her and i'm so unable to articulate them but she contains multitudes and i just want to give her a hug and i'm glad that i've decided that some of my favourite post-show fics are canon :)

4 - yennefer from the witcher. i love her and i am manifesting good things for her and i wouldn't mind if she turned me into a toad i guess

5 - frodo from lotr. i hate him. i don't really but i also do. sad little jesus hobbit who carries the weight of all human suffering and never recovers. gonna cry right now thinking about him getting on the boat. cannot cope. 'don't go where i can't follow' and then he did and just. christ i need a drink

[wollfling]

Hi Allie! I wondered if I could ask you for some advice. I want to draw really badly and create art but I really don't have any skill! I know that in order to get better at art I have to actually do it, but I feel so overwhelmed by how I'm not where I want to be with it right away, and also with where to start with learning to draw. Do you ever feel that way when you draw? And if you do how have you gotten past it?

[I am literally so sorry this is so long oh my God. My mind has been very jumbled lately so I accidentally rambled too much, but I hope it still helps you in any way orz] Oh sweet little anon.. ;^; I do feel that way, a lot of the time if not all of the time! Just recently this week, I felt like I just couldn't draw despite picking up my pencil and scribbling, it just wasn't working partly for that exact reason! Overwhelmed by not being where I want to be with it! These things happen and its frustrating. It's hard for me to imagine as a beginner artist because I've been drawing since I can remember but I will still do my best to offer you some meaningful advice!

But first, to answer your very last question, getting past it can be a little random sometimes. This whole week after being unable to draw, I was laying in bed trying to sleep while reflecting on some heavy feelings ive been having and memories. Suddenly part of an image flashed in my mind and I got up to immediately try drawing it. (The drawing I recently posted and captioned "parade"!) I worked on it completely driven by my heart, and so it didn't matter at the time if it looked good or was anatomically correct, etc. Right now I am working on another heart-driven drawing, but if I tried to work on lets say a study or character drawing instead.. I dont think i could!

My point in all this is that, I think that its important to know/understand why you want to create art, and I think my advice would change slightly depending on your answer. For me personally, I am an emotional artist. I create art that (usually) reflects how I'm feeling or topics I am emotionally drawn to. Illustrations, drawing characters, writing comics, etc.. I think this week, while I'm definitely struggling with my skill level, I was so burdened by some things I've been feeling lately that I couldn't focus on or enjoy anything that I was trying to create, until I was able to release it all in a drawing. (And I'm still not done with them hence why I am now working on another related drawing, but im making SOMETHING and feeling passionate which cannot be said with any of my other attempts this week.) So since these drawings purpose outweigh my current issues regarding my skill, I am able to work on them. If that makes sense?

Okay im sorry with how long-winded this all is so far and all about myself orz but I wanted to give context on how I view art and I think if you asked someone who creates like. Hyperrealistic drawings their answers would be completely different. So! I wanted you to be able to judge if my advice would work for you if that makes any sense at all...!!! Moving on to my actual advice then..!

This is a little general ofc because I dont know what sort of art you are creating, or what your passion behind it is. And if after this you would like to tell me more about your art I would love to hear! 🥺💗 you are welcome to dm me or if you send another anon/ask i think that would be good too since.. well other artists who see can also give their own advice too!

Okay. So anyways lol, first I want to tell you that your desire to create art makes you an artist, despite your skill level. And therefore, everything and anything that you make even now has value. Even if right now you're drawing wonky shaded spheres and cubes! I understand its frustrating when wanting to make something but you feel like your skill isn't "there" and how that can prevent you from making anything to begin with!! But I really want you to try and work through it! Ignore it, disregard it, give your worries about your skill the silent treatment!! And I know its near impossible to do but if its getting in the way of you actually creating well.. thats the worst! We can't have that. If you really want to draw, then you really NEED to draw, you know what I mean? You deserve to draw! The hardest part for like 80% of artists is working around their skill level. I promise you will get there, but for now, you can't let it get in your way. And I realize me saying "oh you feel like you're not good at drawing and its hindering you from doing it? Just do it" sounds like Chad advice but ;---; unfortunately its the reality that comes with being an artist. If you tell me more about what you like to/why you want draw then maybe we can find some alternate lines of thinking that will help you (for example "this tiger i drew looks like shit but drawing all of her stripes was therapeutic and made it worth it!" If lets say you draw as a stim, opposed to "this tiger im drawing looks so bad I can't even look at it anymore " dhsjhd I really hope that this all makes sense lol.)

Moving on, learning how to draw.. this also depends on what you enjoy drawing but my main piece of advice here is study from real life. I grew up drawing cartoons and anime, and now that I want to draw a little more realistically.. its so hard!! If you study real shapes/people/animals/etc it might be easier later on when you understand fundamentals to bend them if you decide to create stylized or surreal art. However if right now you like to draw stylized art, I would recommend to keep working on your personal style while studying from real life on the side simultaneously! Any way you look at it, understanding how shapes, lighting, colour, etc work in the real world will help you out even with the most obscure pieces. And since art is a learned skill yknow you need to build those brain..pathways..and such. Im not a scientist but you get what i mean. Studies are the equivalent to lifting weights! I would recommend the website quickposes (com) they have a library of images that they throw at you at random. The site can explain itself better than I can lmao, check it out!!!

I really hope i was able to offer you something of value here, I didnt mean to ramble so much. I'm excited for you to grow as an artist, I love when I hear about others deciding to learn how to draw ;-; please feel welcome to ask for any clarification (as im having a hard time articulating my thoughts lately) or if you really just want to ask or say anything! ♡♡♡ again sorry if this was more than you bargained for length wise dhsishskshksj

[copperbadge]

dignitywhatdignity replied to your post “Sorry I missed stream last night guys! I honestly lay down on the bed...”

Ugh, I'm pregnant with bad seasonal allergies I can't really treat, which has resulted in some secondary infections. Plus my husband has bad cabin fever and won't admit he has what I'm 98% sure is mild but chronic anxiety. So there's been a lot of me coughing horribly and him "just asking" if I'm *really sure* it's a sinus infection.

Man, that sounds awful. One of my colleagues is set to give birth in like a week, and she’s miserable enough without allergies. 

It may be helpful, given anxiety often isn’t rational but I’m sure it’s tiring to keep being asked, to discuss what you’d be doing differently if it WAS covid. Like, a sinus infection is basically treated in the same fashion because most of them are viral too, correct? And even if you are taking antibiotics, that’s not going to harm you if it is covid. So it may help to point out that even if it isn’t a sinus infection, you’re still treating “covid” when you treat the sinus infection. Between that and having or making a concrete plan for if it does end up being covid and you take a turn for the worse, that may settle him somewhat. My mother was very relieved when I told her I had an ER “go bag” packed in case I get very sick very suddenly; now she knows I’m prepared and there’s a plan in place.

musegaarid replied to your post “Sorry I missed stream last night guys! I honestly lay down on the bed...”

Actually, this is how the coronavirus manifested for my partner. He's just really lethargic and unable to taste or smell anything. He's also got a minor cough and runny nose, though those might be allergies. Anyway, he's a paramedic so he got tested and sure enough, he's got it. It's strange to say that I hope you have it, too, but if this is the worst it gets for you and then you get immunity, that seems like a pretty good deal. Feel better soon!

I did hear that losing a sense of smell/taste was a symptom, but fortunately it’s not quite that -- I can still taste food, like I had a chicken sandwich this morning and could taste the chicken and the avocado, it’s just I got no enjoyment from it, and was very unenthused about even making it. I keep thinking “Oh, I want something hot, I want something made for me” but then I run through the list of foods I could order in, which in Chicago is a lot of options, and I just can’t come up with anything. Even pizza, which I will almost never say no to and which is so close I could go pick up so I wouldn’t have to deal with delivery, I’m just like “Meh. The cheese will upset my stomach.”

col1999 replied to your post “Sorry I missed stream last night guys! I honestly lay down on the bed...”

God, you totally articulated my thoughts. Especially the nose running all winter - is this normal runny nose or Corvid 19 runny nose? I'm hot - do I have a fever or is it because the sun is shining on me at my desk right now? I have to keep calming myself down, or maybe if not 'calming' at least settling myself down. And the ENNUI is killing me. I feel like I'm having mild panic/anxiety attacks about work, but they are so flattened...I guess that's good, I guess. ��

When I was younger and reading the “Death” series of Discworld novels, I remember Albert (Death’s servant) was described as perpetually having a drip at the end of his nose, and I was like “Gross, how does that even work? I’ve never had a drip at the end of my nose, that must be like a joke” and this past winter I have had a perpetual, INFURIATING drip at the end of my nose. Getting older is terrible. 

I figure, I know the main symptoms, and I know which of them I tend to have anyway, so I discount those, and as long as I don’t have a fever it doesn’t matter anyway. So I’m just slowly wearing out the battery on my digital thermometer. 

tienriu replied to your post “Sorry I missed stream last night guys! I honestly lay down on the bed...”

I think you and I are in the same weird space (also got my masks and extra toilet paper ahead of the panic buying for completely different and long running reasons so lol). Hearing everybody else struggling I keep finding myself second guessing my own 'fine'. If everybody isn't fine, is my 'fine' somehow a manifestation of not being fine? I have finally decided to just stop asking myself if I'm truly fine and just letting the anxiety hit me when it decides to arrive.

Yeah, I ask myself if I’m in denial like 2-3 times a day, but I feel like if I were in denial I wouldn’t have been able to hold up against my onslaught of asking this long.  :D

eimearkuopio reblogged your post and added:

I needed this. I had a slightly elevated temperature and sore throat last week and so I’ve not gone out since just so I wouldn’t risk making other people sick, but I wasn’t sick enough to really “feel” sick, except that I’ve also been unable to concentrate and work even when I was trying and my boss said it was fine and to just not force myself to work instead of recovering, but today was meant to be my (self-imposed) “back to work” deadline and I stayed up until 2 playing video games and am now lying in bed paralysed with stress over WHAT TO DO. Do I go for a run? Do I fold the giant pile of clean laundry that has built up? Do I tidy my desk? Do I shower and get dressed, or should that wait until after the hypothetical run? Do I just force myself to turn on the computer, log in to the server, and open the appropriate code?

Aw, I’m sorry you’ve been sick! And it’s super hard to get back to work at the best of times. I’m lucky that I’m expected to be “at work” for very specific hours, and to set my away message when I’m afk, which gets me working on time, but it’s still rough. 

I’ve taken to keeping the Tasks app open on my phone and adding literally every task I need to do, from “buy headphones” (I need a corded set with a mic to participate in work conference calls) to “read the news” (for my job) to “scoop the litter” (which I don’t normally need to be reminded to do). Then every day I put them in order of how I’ll do them, with anything I think I probably won’t have the energy for at the bottom. I know that freaks some people out a LOT because that’s a LONG LIST TO GET THROUGH but for me it’s comforting that I won’t forget anything because it’s all in the list, and the decision about when to do them is made. :D 

[etherealwaifgoddess]

What He Wants (Pt. 23)

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Summary:  On going series of Bucky getting his shit together and falling in love with you.

Warnings/ Content: the biggest lemon yet 

Word Count: 1260

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Did ya’ll like the cliff hanger from last night? I know ya’ll are ready at this point! LOL. This is the second to last part and I’ll be posting the last one in a few minutes. Try not two dwell on the impending end, for now just enjoy the most lemony lemon yet. 

If you missed the first few parts, you can read them here: 1 2 3 4 567 8 9 10 1112 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

XOXO - Ash

What He Wants, Pt. 23

Bucky takes a shuddered breath considering your words. “You sure, doll? We don’t have to do anything unless you’re really ready.” 

“I’m ready. Really, really ready, Buck. Are you?” you begin stroking his erection, teasing him. 

Bucky arches his neck, straining for control. “Fuck. Yes, I am. Oh god, doll. I’m so ready. Do you have rubber?” 

“Shit. No, but I have a birth control implant so I can’t get pregnant and I’m clean.”

“I’m clean as a whistle because of the serum. If you’re okay with it so am I.” 

You squeeze his throbbing cock in your hand, “Get inside me, Barnes.” you command.

“Yes, ma’am.” he says in a rush, moving over top of you. His right hand drops to rub against your still wet sex and he positions himself right at your entrance. Bucky takes a moment to meet your eyes, ensuring there’s no hesitation, and you give him a quick nod. With one gentle push the head of his cock is inside and you’re gasping at the intrusion. He’s so hard and burning hot as he moves painfully slow until he’s fully seated within your walls. You’re both shaking and panting, and you can’t help but let out a soft giggle. Bucky looks down at the sound, “You’re incredible.” you manage between gasps. 

“So are you, doll. You ready?” he asks, wiggling his hips. 

You bite down on your lip and nod quickly. Bucky starts moving inside you, dragging his hot velvet length in and out until you’re barely coherent. He places wet kisses across your neck and breasts as he moves, wanting to lose himself completely in you. His endless stream of endearments start up and your body is ignited by his affections. Bucky’s pace quickens and he’s spurred on by the soft breathless moans you make in return. You can feel another orgasm forming, coiling low in your belly as his cock hits just the right spot inside you with each deep thrust. You’ve never felt so incredibly stretched before and you’re grateful for how well your body accommodates his size. 

Keeping your eyes open as your pleasure builds is no easy task but the sight of Bucky on top of you is well worth the effort. His body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his long hair sways with each thrust, tickling your over sensitized skin. You are desperate to kiss his mouth as it hangs slightly open from the exertion and you lean up to capture it with your own. Bucky moans against your mouth, his own climax starting to rapidly build. He’s frantic again, wanting to prolong the pleasure but catapulting towards his release. He slips his right hand down to rub quick circles against your clit, determined to take you over the edge first. 

You are delirious under him as he continues his rhythm and the mindless ramblings of appreciation. You’re right on the edge and Bucky can feel your walls beginning to tremble. “That’s it, doll.” he murmurs, his forehead resting against your breasts as he focuses his efforts, “Just come apart for me, sweetheart. You’re so perfect around me. Please, doll, come for me.” he pleads. Your mind is lost but your body obeys and you shatter around him, your world momentarily going white as you climax. You’re shaking all around him, nails digging fiercely into his back as you cry out wordlessly. 

Bucky thinks he’s died as you clench around his cock, your muscles squeezing him so tightly that he falls over the edge of another orgasm. Your walls continue to pulse around him as he comes, his body jolting from the force, and he cries your name over and over until he’s spent. He’s thankful that his vibranium arm holds most of his weight as he collapses on top of you. Bucky is overwhelmed when emotions more intense than he’s ever felt before rise up. He struggles to reign himself in but you’re so sweet and perfect beneath him that he’s losing the battle. He doesn’t care that he’s known you for less than a week. He feels like he’s spent a lifetime with you, having felt more alive in the past three days than he had for the previous eighty years. Bucky knows without a doubt that he loves you and it scares the hell out of him.

You feel dampness on your chest and reach out to brush Bucky’s hair back to locate the source. The tears falling from his eyes are the last thing you expect and you scramble to get a good look at him, leaning up and collecting his hair in your hand at the nape of his neck. “Bucky, what’s wrong?” you ask, trying not to panic.

Bucky sniffles, unable to articulate his feelings.

“Baby, what’s the matter? Are you okay?” you are trying to stay calm but you can’t decipher his expression and the tears continue to slowly fall. 

Bucky realizes he’s freaking you out and manages to reply, “I’m okay.” he sniffles harshly, “Just need a minute.” He lays his head back down on your pillowy breasts and slowly gets himself back under control. “I’m sorry, mouse. I didn’t mean to scare you.” he says finally, his voice mostly steady.

You’re still playing in his hair soothingly and you only stop when he moves so he’s facing you. “I’m more worried about you right now.” you say honestly.

“I’m good. Just got carried away there for a minute. I care about you so damn much, mouse, and it’s overwhelming. You’re so perfect, and that was... that was incredible. I never thought I would have something so perfect in my life. I just… I…” words fail him as he fights back the urge to tell you he loves you. He knows it’s too soon and he’s not willing to risk scaring you away. 

You see the emotion behind his shining blue eyes and know he’s fighting the same feelings burning in your chest. “I know.” you reassure him with a kiss. “I know, Bucky. I feel it too.” 

Bucky feels like the wind has been knocked out of him and he collapses on your chest, refusing to start tearing up again. He sends up silent prayers of thanks to Steve, his ma, his sisters, and whoever else might be listening for bringing you into his life. He’s relieved you don’t make him say the words just yet but acknowledge that the feeling is there and mutual. You continue to thread your fingers through his hair, hoping it gives him a little comfort while he processes everything that’s come up in his mind. Finally pulling himself together again Bucky lifts his head up to kiss you tenderly, the taste of his tears still fresh on his lips. “You gonna be okay if I move, doll?” he asks. 

“Yeah, go ahead.” you tell him. 

Bucky slips himself out of you and you can feel the product of your joint orgasms pooling on your thighs. “Let me get something to clean you up.” he begins getting up but you grab hold of his hand, stopping him. 

“We could just take a shower. Together.” you suggest.

“Even better.” Bucky pulls you up and into his arms. He kisses you again softly, he can’t keep his hands off of you despite having just been inside you only minutes ago. 

You chuckle against his lips, “Come on, you.” you lead him by the hand into your little bathroom and he follows silently enjoying the sight of your ass bouncing as you walk. 

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty@ladyemofhousestark@abswritesfandoms@rupestria @dark-night-sky-99

[harrietvane]

do you mind talking about why you dislike Love Actually and Richard Curtis's romcoms? I've seen you mention it in some of your tags and I'd love to hear your thoughts :)

Long post, so scroll now, ye who care not.

OK, so like better voices than mine have articulated Why Love Actually Sucks Balls, but you were kind enough to ask for my view, so strap in I’m gonna talk about Jane Eyre, and the 1990’s Fran Drescher sitcom The Nanny also. It’s coming up on western civilisations’ holiday season, so why not, it’s a good time to tell this movie to choke, because it’s about to be repeatedly thrust upon us once again. (Disclaimer: I acknowledge Richard Curtis is responsible for Blackadder and Vicar of Dibley, so whatever else, we’re still cool on that basis. But I have spite and to spare, so there’s plenty to go around).

My main beef is actually the context. Technically, if all of the below bullshit was in an offbeat movie from any other movie market (I’m thinking maybe a French, or Spanish movie from the 90′s boom, Almodovar style?), the focus would probably be a black humour take on ‘Lord What Fools These Mortals Be!’, sort of look at the inherent ridiculousness of mankind, and how we get in our own way, blah blah, might have been cute. I’d buy that. This movie? A british movie for the american market? It’s sold with a big holiday sticker on it saying ‘ROMANCE’, and specifically ‘ADORABLE ASPIRATIONAL ROMANCE THAT YOU SHOULD ADORE AND ASPIRE TO’. Also the context *inside* the movie itself (through a narration voiceover no less) is that all of these narratives is somehow proof that ‘Love, Actually is all around’, and specifically in a good, wholesome, happy way, overall at least. These stories are redeeming, even if they’re not all happy, they’re Good™ or whatever. The context outside the movie is the same: british TV advertising, hard copy packaging, holiday specials, outdoor gala screenings: they all say over and over: THIS IS SQUISHY HOT PINK NEON LOVE, wholesome, healing, and healthy. You should want this, aspire to this, think this is the cat’s pyjamas! It’s a wide and varied look at the beautiful power of love from all angles, comic, tragic, the lot. 

Is it fuck. The ‘positive’ romance stories range from Stage-5 Creeper to Crotch Puppet Afterthought, the ‘melancholy’, thwarted romance stories seem to say ‘if you’re a woman who’s not readily/immediately bangable to your allocated straight dude, romance is over for you I’m afraid’. Let’s recap, shall we:

Much has already been said about Andrew Lincoln’s character BLANTANTLY SHARKING ON HIS BEST MATE’S WIFE being uhhh, less than fresh. I don’t even feel like I need to justify this one, it’s so over-the-top. The main point is that movie itself maintains this as a tragic, swoony, thwarted, heart-string-tugging missed connection, rather than The Worst Friend Ever (meaning: it assumes we’ll be 100% onboard with Keira Knightley skipping secretly away from Chiwetel Eijiofor to grant his best mate one treasured kiss, as opposed to saying ‘what the FUCK Mark, why are you telling me this, this is super inappropriate?? and my only wedding video is just you zooming in on my face? Pls get help’.

We all love National Treasure Colin Firth and all, but like is Love, Actually fixating on a woman who literally can’t speak to you? Has said nothing understandable to you? About whose own life you’ve never yet, and could never have asked about? Whose main interactions with you have been to wordlessly clean your room, bring you food, and tidy it away after? Your ideal woman, who you meet immediately following a break up, is one who silently meets all your domestic needs, while making zero emotional or intellectual demands on you whatsoever? WOW, SHOCKER. (Oh but it’s cute or whatever, they have him propose, and there’s a mix up when her sister appears, but she’s Ugly™, so it’s funny that the sister is not getting romance. I mean, how could she, an uggo?? Classic joke. Good times.)

The Prime Minster and his tea lady: more on Curtis’ Domestic Servitude Kink below, whoo boy.

Laura Linney would really really like to sleep with Rodrigo Santoro, and god bless her who wouldn’t, but she is tragically unable to, because she has family commitments as being the sister – not even fulltime carer, just RELATED TO -  a brother living with disability. Sorry folks, romance is OFF THE CARDS, FOREVER for Laura here. How can she??? That’s the nature of love, actually. Can you have sex right now this moment? No? Whelp, sorry, thanks for playing, back to the Tragic Assisted Living facility for you. Gosh it’s unfortunate that’s a truth universally acknowledged that any whiff of disability = no romance for you ever. (Don’t start me on 4 Weddings* [edit: *it’s totally Notting Hill, not 4 Weddings, thank] and how that husband is like The Best because he continues to love his wife even though her legs don’t work. What a champ, honestly, do they have an award for that?) I have to stop now before I get sarcasm poisoning, but my eyes will continue to roll.

How could I say anything bad about the Liam Neeson widower and his adorable lovestruck son storyine? Lol, I’m gonna. Have you seen the Buffy episode The Zeppo? Xander is convinced the only way girls (as a concept, not in the specific) will like him enough to sleep with him is if he has A Thing. The Thing is posited as ‘being cool’ by having an object or skill that alone will be the magic bullet to romance. Musical instrument prowess is considered, and he ends up just getting a car to be his Thing. This just seems like a redux of that logic. This kid could get some genuine direction from the movie to get to know this girl, learn her interests and share his, see if she likes him as a person by being A PERSON, but the narrative just backs away from that and eventually DOES just say ‘play the drums in the show, she’ll like you’ and that’s …it. But it’s cool, teenagers don’t learn key interpersonal dynamics at this age or anything, she kisses him for some reason, whatever. (Bonus points for gifting his dad with a literal supermodel as a punchline, after making that an actual joke earlier about the shallow nature of attraction, and love is about filling a one-sided need.)

I could go on, but I have very little to say about Freeman falling for a girl whose tits he’s been holding for a week, the no-homo pop star Nighy plot, or the guy that goes and has sex in Wisconsin with Bond Girls, and can’t be bothered, which leads me to…

Richard Curtis’ Domestic Servitude Kink. Must I kinkshame Richard Curtis in his own home?? Nope, I’m kinkshaming him AT WORK in his narratives, surrounded by his nubile, pliant, adorable female employee characters. Oh Mr Curtis, I seem to have dropped a pencil!

OK, so like a M/F Domestic Servitude romance is an extremely old trope, and extremely common, and I’m not here to tear that up, because done well it’s amazing, lot of petrol in that King Cophetua narrative tank. I’m a fan. The most famous in-context historical example being Jane Eyre, for instance: he’s her boss, she’s his paid subordinate, they’re both 100% aware of that. It’s a great way to explore the real-life class and power dynamics of these 2 train wrecks of human beings, and they vomit their ridiculous drama llama feelings all over a 600 page novel. Super fun, they’re both awful humans, I love them. Mid-century you might have The Sound of Music, and in more modern times you get 1990s sitcom The Nanny, both extremely well-developed romances involving paid employees, and part of their value is that the shows KNOW THIS. They’re aware it’s the basis for their dynamic, that they have to directly play with that, and develop beyond to go anywhere. Watching Fran Fine in her runway-fresh Moschino minidresses jump on Maxwell Sheffield’s desk for the 800th time making him super uncomfortable (and not a little turned on) is always such a treat. It’s right out there on the label. The problem with Love, Actually, is Curtis doesn’t want to admit that naughty secretary seems to be a cornerstone of what gets him going, romantic-stylez. 

One (1) time in the movie would be ‘sure, why not’. Literally the highest political office in the land, making overtures to the woman who brings him tea, i guess might be a bit off, but let’s say it’s done well, and maybe Hugh Grant and Martine McCutcheon’s charisma gets us over the line (his behaviour is cute because her last man didn’t like her body, but the prime minister DOES like her body! so it’s cute!). Whatever, seen worse. Two (2) times however is making a point, and Colin Firth is driving his silent portuguese maid home - not a french maid but so close! - and deciding he’d like her to bring him tea and clean his toilet for as long as they both shall live, and that also seems to be her greatest joy. Ah, l’amour. OK, I guess you like the thing, everyone has a thing, but at least you’re done now. Wait, you mean there’s a third (3rd) one? Everyone’s Fave Alan Rickman drives the plot of his own marriage’s tragic romance because he’s having stiffening feelings about his own Naughty Secretary halloween costume, after all. All the beautiful speeches about Joni Mitchell give Thompson some nice things to do, but it still assumes the Nature of Romance is to want to plough the help. A man can’t help it! It’s how romantic attraction works! Once would be whatever. Three times and there’s a tag on Ao3 for that, so please just scratch that itch and stop selling it to me in a heartwarming christmas movie as the Universal Nature Of Romance, so varied, so vast, the full spectrum! Just 2 hours to tell a story: but 3 whole narratives and 7 actors devoted to the variants on the naughty maid story. My point is be upfront about it and I’d be all for it - pretend it’s not A Thing You’re Doing and my creep-meter goes ping. Steven Shainberg’s ‘Secretary’ has a scene where the boss literally puts a saddle on his employee, and I find it to be one of the most genuinely moving romances I’ve ever seen. Love Actually makes me feel like Curtis is sending me a ‘u up?’ late night text about his secretary fantasy.

Anyway, I fucking hate this film, and not necessarily because of the content, but because of the context. The movie tells me to love it as aspirational romance. My culture tells me to love it as aspirational romance. Everyone tells me to love it as a varied and full exploration of reasons to get up in the morning, because it’s an aspirational romance. It makes me want to claw my own face off.

[texanredrose]

11 or 13 for the uni prompts with the pairing of your choice?

THIS TOOK FOREVER AND I’M SORRY. But I actually filled both of these and the other one will be posted on Friday, if it’s something that you might be interested in or whatever, lol.

Blake stared at the page, willing for the words to come. She’d read the chapter five times but still hadn’t managed to find the proper way to articulate her point for the essay, which was due in a mere two days. Normally, she wouldn’t be this stonewalled while doing any form of writing assignment, but recently her attention seemed shot as she faced the dreaded reality that she might, in fact, be facing a rather severe case of writer’s block.

Ultimately, the entire premise sucked. The Faunus understood being unable to string words together when it came to creative writing or a piece of fiction, where all the work sat on the writer’s shoulders to arrange and rearrange words until they fit together just right, but academic papers should be rather straight forward. Choose a point, articulate it, expand upon that articulation, then wrap everything up- it shouldn’t be this difficult.

Yet, here she sat, in the college library at nearly eight o'clock in the evening, staring alternatively at a blank page and a textbook and no closer to finding a way to express her answer to the essay’s question.

“What impact, if any, did Vale’s Standardized Trade Agreement have on Remnant politics?” She kept her voice low, hoping that rolling the syllables off her tongue might help the answer come together.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know the impact it had- quite the opposite, actually- but condensing the fifty years of political reform that followed seemed impossible to do in a mere four thousand words. While points likely wouldn’t be taken off for missing a few key developments, she couldn’t quite hit on where to start, seeing as the more profound effects weren’t acknowledged until a good twenty years after the STA was put into effect, but several small victories were won in the meantime.

Sometimes, being a political science major vexed her to no end.

“Hey, babe,” someone said, effectively breaking her concentration due to proximity alone. Her right feline ear flicked atop her head, a momentary betrayal of annoyance; she had to work especially hard to block out distracting noises, but she shouldn’t have been so focused as to not notice someone approaching her. About six feet away, leaning on the edge of the table, stood a young man with brown hair and a cocky grin. He had his arms crossed over his barrel chest and seemed at once disinterested and entirely focused on her. “Busy?”

“Very,” she replied, her ears laying back a little.

“You can’t be that busy.”

“Yes, actually, I am.” Turning back to her textbook, Blake opted to try ignoring him in the hopes he might go away.

No such luck. “I’m sure you have some time to spare. It’s just homework, right?”

“It’s an essay that counts for a significant portion of my grade.” She flicked her amber eyes up, scowling at him through black bangs. “And I need to focus. Please, leave me alone.”

Being polite, perhaps, wasn’t the optimal way to go, but she really didn’t have the energy or patience for an escalating shouting match. Hopefully, he would take the hint.

He did not. “Aw, come on, Kitten.”

“Don’t call me that.” Mentally, she kicked herself for reacting, but she couldn’t help but throw a glare his way as the words left her mouth.

“Why not?” The young man’s lips curled into a grin, as if he was somehow gaining ground. It bolstered his confidence, apparently, leading to him pushing off and swaggering a few steps closer. “Seems like it gets your attention.”

“I just want to do my work,” she said, mentally doing the calculations. Blake didn’t want him towering over her, true, but neither did she want to move and invite him any closer. If he took the aggressive route, she would overall have an easier time arguing her case if she remained seated, and she absolutely hated that she would have to put herself at a disadvantage to gain that.

“I know what you want.” He winked, sending a shudder through her frame as every fiber of her being went on high alert. He advanced, preparing to lean over her, and she balled her fists in response. “You’d really like if I-”

“She’d like for you to leave.” A new, feminine voice cut in, followed by the dull thunk of something being placed on the table. Whoever had come up behind her had the young man’s full attention, eyes going wide as he immediately began to back away, holding both hands up in a placating gesture. She caught the soft swirl of fabric as the newcomer stepped around her but didn’t dare look; she didn’t trust the man to keep his distance. “I believe we’ve had this conversation before, Winchester.” The woman spoke with the authority of a superior but she couldn’t be much older than Blake herself, or the young man for that matter. Hair white as snow, pulled off to the side of her head, swayed with her motions as the interloper put herself between the Faunus and the man, continuing her tirade. “Your barbaric, unsolicited advances are as unwanted as ever. Leave while I’m feeling merciful.”

“Alright, alright, sheesh.” He turned and walked away, hands shoved into jean pockets as he muttered one parting shot. “Frigid bitch.”

When the woman turned around, the relief that Blake had hoped to feel fled in the wake of realization; she knew exactly who’d come to her ‘rescue’, though she couldn’t decide yet if that was a good or bad thing.

“I could’ve handled it myself,” she said, her ears still laying back against her skull and the urge to stand and face the threat against her prickling at her skin. On the outside, she tried to remain composed, but Blake prepared for the worst internally.

“I’m sure you could’ve, but I couldn’t stand idly by while that cretin ran his mouth.” Bright blue eyes darkened as they flicked towards where Winchester had fled, her expression pinching into a scowl. She had the pale skin of one born in the northern continent, marred only by the scar bisecting her left eye, but that served just as further confirmation of her identity, something she must’ve noticed when she turned her attention back to Blake and saw a rigid posture and a healthy dose of skepticism. “I suppose my reputation precedes me.”

“Weiss Schnee of Atlas.” The Faunus didn’t bother with the pleasantries, cutting right to the heart of the matter. “Heiress to the most unambiguously unethical corporation in all of Remnant, famous for their constant breaching of labor laws. I do know who you are.”

Despite the certainty with which she said the words, Blake had to mentally admit that she probably wouldn’t have recognized her from afar. For someone who could easily clothe herself in thousand lien jackets and the like with nothing more than a snap of her fingers, the woman seemed rather… normal, if a bit overly formal. A plain white blouse and a light blue pencil skirt with heels- she’d easily be mistaken for an aid or research assistant rather than a student, if she was a student at all. The Faunus only kept up with the scandals that seemed to always scroll across the bottom of every news station; what the controlling family did in their personal lives rarely concerned her. Really, the messenger bag hanging from her shoulder seemed to be the only thing hinting at her heritage, the white Schnee snowflake emblazoned upon it and looking at least worth a few hundred lien, but the coffee cup from the shop adjacent to the library seemed out of place, just like the rest of her ensemble.

“Right. Of course.” Something flashed in the woman’s eyes as she lowered her gaze, then inclined her head. “I apologize for my intrusion.”

Blake watched as she turned away, starting to leave. Her ears slowly rose, no longer pinned in place as her muscles relaxed. She… hadn’t thought it would be that easy to break contact with a Schnee, though she admittedly had never met one before. In an effort to dismiss the whole fiasco, she turned back to her textbook and noticed out of the corner of her eye a new addition to the table, the source of the sound she’d heard upon Weiss’ arrival. Another cup from the coffee shop.

“Schnee.” Blake called out, just loud enough to catch the woman’s attention. She waited until blue eyes were directed her way before nodding towards the cup. “You left your drink.”

“It’s not for me,” the woman replied, offering a small half smile. “I’ve noticed we’re both usually here in the library on Wednesday nights doing homework so I thought… perhaps we could talk.” She looked away. “I was foolish to make that assumption.”

“Why me?” She didn’t need to look around to confirm it; during the week, there were always several students in the library, and many kept to a schedule. If she simply sought company, she had plenty of people to pick from, so deciding to approach the Faunus seemed… odd.

“You mean aside from your interest in political science?” She nodded towards the textbook on the table. “Beacon is famous for its diverse student population and it would be a shame if I didn’t take advantage of that to learn more about people outside of Atlas. My roommates advised that most probably see me as… unapproachable, so I should try approaching others.”

“There are plenty of humans here who would love to be your friend,” Blake narrowed her eyes slightly, trying to shake the sensation that the woman was being as sincere as possible. Her entire posture seemed far too stiff- shoulders, back, arms, neck, all riddled with tension like a drawn bowstring- and her voice carried a hint of finality, as if she was prepared to be dismissed at any second.

“I’m quite certain if they want to be my friend, I probably shouldn’t be theirs,” she replied, a small sigh passing through her lips. “They probably see me the same as you do- a greedy bigot poised to seize power of an influential company. It’s certainly the mold laid out for me, isn’t it?”

“Are you saying you haven’t done anything to fit exactly that?” After dealing with that jerk from earlier, she really didn’t have the patience for tact as her anger boiled close to the surface.

“No, I have.” The woman looked away then and it took Blake a moment, in her anger addled mind, to realize that she wasn’t diverting her gaze out of wounded pride. In fact, it looked more like… shame. “I’ve said some awful things. I may not have put any policies in place or raised a hand myself but that doesn’t negate what I have done.” A mirthless chuckle escaped as she shook her head. “It’s a double edged sword, I’m afraid. It wouldn’t even matter if I apologized; no one would believe I mean it, but they’ll believe anything negative I say in a heartbeat.”

“You can’t know that, especially if you’ve never actually tried.” The Faunus turned, flicking her ears forward as she faced the woman, her homework disregarded for the time being. It would mean a late night tomorrow to catch up but she’d rather call this bluff now to ease any doubts in her mind. “Try me.”

“I beg your pardon?” The Schnee looked at her then, apparently confused.

“Let me hear this apology of yours.” She propped her head up in her hand, waiting. “Let’s see if I believe you.”

“Very well.” Turning towards her fully, the woman straightened her shoulders and tipped her chin up, blue eyes hardening like sapphires as she spoke. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the things I’ve said; they were hurtful and close minded, born from a place of hate and ignorance. I didn’t realize it at the time… but that doesn’t relieve me of the responsibility of saying them.” Her expression and posture faltered slightly, obvious effort being put forth to maintain eye contact with the Faunus. “I’m sorry for the way I used to think, for believing the lies fed to me and taking them as absolute truth.” Then she broke her gaze away, somewhere into the distance over Blake’s shoulder. “But, ultimately, I’m most sorry that it’s taken this long, that my family’s held fast to this terribly archaic and discriminatory mindset, and that they’ve continued to inflict all manner of harm upon the Faunus and all other manner of people they… we considered beneath us. I’m sorry it’s taken until me to change and I’m even more sorry that I haven’t done it fast enough.”

A frown touched her lips as Blake looked, seeking any sort of deception in her tone, her face, her posture, but finding none. Just… an incredible amount of poise, likely taught from birth, and in that moment she realize what the woman had meant. If it was anyone else, she’d take them at their word- people make mistakes, they believe falsehoods in absence of facts, and while ignorance was no excuse it did lend a different lens to a person’s actions- but, because the words were coming from a Schnee, she felt compelled to seek out any hint of duplicity. Even if she had every reason to believe the words were true, some part of her didn’t want to believe it at all.

“Why now?” She tilted her head, waiting until she had the woman’s gaze focused on her once more. “What prompted you to change your mind?”

With a wave of her hand, Schnee- Weiss indicated the library around them. “You mean aside from compelling evidence?” A small smile touched her lips, the bitter sort. “I’d started to suspect there was more to the world than I was being taught a few years ago. Subtle inconsistencies, hushed remarks I shouldn’t have caught, but they started to add up. Coming to Beacon confirmed my theories, as well as opened my eyes to… much more.”

“That’s pretty recent a change; semester only started a month ago.” Blake flicked her ears.

The woman shrugged. “I have to start somewhere. I chose to start here and now.”

“You father can’t be too happy about that.”

“I suspect he won’t be but, if I play my cards right, I’ll be in control of the family business before he realizes I have no intention of following through with the policies he’s put into place.” Her jaw clenched, a little aggravation creeping into her voice. “Frankly, that’s the hardest part of all this.”

“Why not walk away from it all?” She reached over, taking hold of the paper cup. “I mean, trying to change it from the inside is no small feat.”

“The alternative is allowing things to proceed as they have for far too long. It might not make me the most popular person in Atlas but I’ve spent my whole life being a precious doll on parade, doing exactly as I’m told. I think it’s high time I earned some ire.” Her blue eyes flashed, confidence in her tone matching the smile on her lips. “If I leave, I can do nothing but hope things improve, but from the top, I can tear away the cancers with my bare hands and guide the company into the future. If there’s any honor left in my surname, I want to be the one to restore it.”

“That’s… well, it’s something.” She didn’t want to give the woman too much credit; a lot could change in the years before she took control of the company, after all. Yet, she also found herself wanting to believe her, if for no better reason than she had a point. If her family’s company would finally fall in line with the progressive trends occurring in other kingdoms, the movements would pick up traction. It certainly would eliminate some roadblocks that continued to stymie affected groups. Deciding to take a drink to buy herself a little time, Blake lifted the cup to her lips and blinked in surprise as the liquid hit her taste buds. On the one hand, it appeared to be close enough to her usual order for her to not mind the change… but on the other- “It’s cold.”

She looked over in time to note the brief panic that flares in the woman’s expression before she spoke, appearing calm and collected. “Yes, well, you seemed rather focused on your work and I know I’m not very fond of distractions when I’m trying to study, so I thought I’d wait until you took a break.”

The Faunus felt her lips curl into a small smile as one brow rose. “And just how long were you waiting?”

Whatever composure Weiss had broke down in that moment, exasperation showing plain on her face. “I couldn’t just come up and bother you! I don’t think that would’ve worked out well at all!” Blake remained quiet, watching the woman with an expectant expression until she finally rolled her eyes. “I got here at five.”

“At five?” She checked her scroll for the time and couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve been waiting to talk to me for three hours?”

“I was trying to make a good first impression.” She set her free hand on her hip, the one wrapped around her own cup shifting so she could point a finger at the Faunus. “Admit it; you would’ve been quite vexed with me if I just came up and started talking to you while you were working.”

“Maybe a little.” She looked at her blank page, a sigh passing her lips. “But I might’ve welcomed the distraction. Three hours and I still have no idea how to even start this paper.”

“What’s the subject? Maybe I could help?” Weiss took a step closer, but that was all, still walking on eggshells it seemed.

That made two of them. “It’s… well, it’s about the changes generated from the STA.” Her brows furrowed as she ran a hand through her hair. “I know every little thing that happened following its implementation, but I have no idea how to condense all that down to four thousand words, and frame it from a purely political standpoint. It’s just… impossible.”

For a moment, she simply wallowed in her frustration, trying to make the words assemble properly, but the futile effort was broken when the woman spoke. “Have you considered approaching it from a macro level?”

“How do you mean?” The Faunus’ ears flicked forward as she looked at Weiss.

“Well, the STA did one thing that cemented its importance in the history books: it firmly tied financial stability to individual rights by forcing other kingdoms to acknowledge foreign merchants as full fledged citizens.” She gestured towards the book. “Kingdoms who refused suffered economically and those who acquiesced had to amend their laws to accommodate the influx of merchants, who eventually founded the rights activism groups that led to wide spread victories for the Faunus and other minorities across Remnant. In turn, these new groups of citizens had the right to voice their opinions in political forums through suffrage, thereby changing the face of Remnant politics.”

Blake blinked. On a very vague, large scale level, that explanation actually did sum up the entirety of the STA’s impact, and it gave her the opportunity to reference the laws and agreements that followed to usher in those new social expectations of corporations and kingdoms alike that she’d struggled to acknowledge before. Quickly, she reached for her pen, beginning to scribble out the beginnings of her outline, opting to plan it out now so she didn’t go off on a tangent and exceed the word limit by too much. By the time she was finished, considerably more confident in her ability to complete the essay on time, the Faunus looked up to note that Weiss had left at some point and was just then returning, another paper cup in hand.

“Here. This one’s at least warm.” She offered the new cup and it briefly occurred to Blake to beg off but, all things considered, she’d probably need the caffeine boost.

“So, I suppose the next logical question is: how do you know my order?”

“You wouldn’t take 'lucky guess’ as a suitable answer, would you?” Weiss chuckled, nodding back towards the cafe. “I’ve been behind you in line a few times, and you’ve left your receipt before. Plus, not many people order a chai tea latte with a shot of espresso.”

She tilted her head, noting that the woman was still standing instead of claiming one of the chairs at the table. Even with her textbook and notebook on the surface, there remained plenty of room for her to set her bag down, if she so chose. But she suspected it didn’t quite have much to do with that. “How long have you been trying to work up the nerve to talk to me?”

“I suppose I’m giving myself away, aren’t I?” She sighed. “A few weeks now. It just… never seemed like the opportune moment.”

“You were nervous.”

“I was not nervous.” They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before the woman relented. “I believe 'apprehensive’ is a more suitable term.”

“Which… is synonymous with 'nervous’.” Blake smirked, counting the eye roll she received in response as a victory.

“Are you a walking thesaurus as well?”

“No, but I am taking a minor in creative writing,” she said, glancing down at the textbook. “I want to change the world for the better, and the written word can influence that as well. Books can last well beyond a single person’s lifetime.”

“Well, I know who to call for appropriate phrasing when I inevitably put out the memo to everyone that it’s a new company policy to stop being an asshole,” Weiss replied, chuckling with the Faunus’ unexpected laugh.

“You know, so far the only expectation of mine you’ve met is having all the subtlety of a battering ram.” She tilted her head, one ear flicking back as she heard someone mentioning the library would only be open for a few more hours. “And a pretty way of handling words.”

“I’ll take both of those as compliments.” She paused, weighing her next words carefully. “To be frank, I’m a little surprised you decided to listen. I certainly couldn’t fault you for… well, not doing so.”

“My parents taught me to listen well and be slow to anger; that patience creates change just as much as it anticipates it. I don’t always live up to that motto, admittedly, but I try.” Suddenly, something occurred to her and she couldn’t help but test out her theory firsthand. “By the way, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Unless you managed to pick up my name as well while you’ve been nervously hovering just out of sight.”

“I didn’t, actually, and, for the record, there’s a clear difference between gauging a situation over a long period of time and 'stalking’ as you seem to be implying I’ve been doing, which I haven’t!” The Faunus anticipated such a defensive response- the woman likely had little choice, either taking the offensive or constantly defending herself, especially on such an open minded campus as Beacon- and offered her hand, effectively stymying Weiss’ words. Noting the amusement that must’ve been showing in amber eyes, she shook her head and accepted the gesture. “At any rate, you’re already aware of who I am. Weiss Schnee, middle daughter and heiress to the most unambiguously unethical corporation in all of Remnant.”

“Charmed,” she replied, shaking Weiss’ hand firmly. “I’m Blake. Blake Belladonna.”

Immediately, the woman stiffened, her eyes widening just enough to betray the panic that must’ve shot through her. “Blake… Belladonna.”

“Yes. Daughter of the Chieftain of Menagerie… but I think you already knew that.” Blake withdrew her hand, leaning back in her seat and tilting her head slightly. “At least, you’ve certainly heard of my father, Ghira Belladonna. Probably my mother too, right?”

“Your- your parents are publicly visible figures; of course I know who they are!” Half a step back in retreat, that was all Weiss gave before she stopped herself. “But you…”

“I’ve stayed out of the public spotlight.” She shrugged, remembering so many arguments she had with her parents over their decision. Eventually, she matured to the point where she understood why they wanted so badly to keep her sheltered from some of the ill effects of the spotlight; she might not be able to outrun her reputation in the capitol of Menagerie, but she had a fair amount of anonymity elsewhere in the kingdom, and the rest of Remnant never seemed to connect her to her father. It probably had to do with her feline features being from her mother’s side of the family, and Kali worked best behind the scenes. “My name’s a dead giveaway, true, but it’s usually only Faunus who can recognize me on sight, and sometimes not even then.”

“If I’d have known…”

The way she trailed off piqued Blake’s interest, causing her to cant her ears forward. “If you’d known who I was, what then?”

“I never would’ve approached you.” She admitted, blue eyes falling to the space between them. “Out of everyone, I would think you’d have the most reasons to object to… everything my name represents.”

“Then I suppose I should thank my parents.” She nodded, slowly. “They always told me I would one day understand the benefit of anonymity. I always thought they meant putting off what it would feel like to have every Faunus in the area turning to me for guidance or answers but… I guess that day’s today.” Her ears fell slightly as she chose to be a bit more honest. “I’d heard rumors that one of the Schnees was attending Beacon and I did everything in my power to ignore that. I figured our meeting would just lead to a fight and it wasn’t worth getting expelled over, so I definitely wouldn’t have sought you out, even if people started saying you were friendly to Faunus.”

“I probably would’ve done the same, had anyone mentioned the child of Ghira Belladonna was attending the same school as me. I would’ve avoided any and all Faunus, just to keep from causing a scene.” The woman stared for a moment before recovering, a small laugh escaping her lips. “How poetic.” At Blake’s prompting, she elaborated. “It seems only fitting that we both share an understanding of what burden the weight of one’s surname can be. We’re not so different, are we?”

She smiled. “I think that’s the beauty of the world, though. For all the differences, the nuances that can divide us, we are, at our core, more similar to each other than dissimilar. Some of us choose to ignore that but those who can acknowledge it… I think it opens up untold opportunities.”

“You certainly have a way with words… Miss Belladonna?”

“Blake. We’re peers, are we not?” She took a sip of her drink, much preferring the liquid at its proper temperature. “Thank you for this, Weiss.”

“You’re welcome, Blake.” The woman smiled, taking a sip of her own drink and frowning slightly. Apparently, while going to grabbed a fresh cup for the Faunus, she’d opted not to get one for herself, or had already drank it all. “I’ll leave you to your studies now. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Don’t you have some work to do as well?” She indicated the messenger bag.

“Yes, just a bit of studying for a test.”

“There’s plenty of room here.” Blake set her cup down and picked up her pen. “I might not be much for conversation while I’m writing but there’s no need to run off.”

Weiss smiled, walking around to the other side of the table. “I suppose you have a point.”

She returned to her essay, starting on a fresh page and following her outline while the woman pulled out her own study material across from her. They spent the rest of the time in silence, working independently, until the library closed and they were forced to retire. Blake only had the conclusion of her essay left but her wrist ached from sustained writing, a common problem she couldn’t seem to overcome. It would be much easier to simply type the essay but her professor was the traditionalist sort who thought the use of scrolls would make plagiarizing much easier. While she could appreciate the feel of a pen in her hand and enjoy the scratching of its tip against paper, such enjoyments were reserved for her personal writing rather than assignments.

“Do you live on campus?” Blake found the words slipping from her mouth as she absently rubbed her wrist, the two descending the library stairs together. It seemed a forgone conclusion for most of Beacon’s student population but she wasn’t talking to the average student, at least not background wise.

“Yes, actually. Over in the Nevermore building, second floor.”

The Faunus blinked, tilting her head slightly in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes? Why would I lie about that?” Weiss puffed out a breath, half exasperation and half amusement. “Don’t think I haven’t considered living off campus, though. My roommate can be a little… much at times. She’s an engineering student with more energy that a frat house with an endless supply of beer.”

Laughing at the rather colorful simile, Blake caught her breath as they started walking towards the building, which was quite a ways from the campus library. “No, I mean- I’m not surprised you live on campus.” Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. “Perhaps I am a little bit, but I’m more surprised we live in the same building and have never passed each other in the halls; I’m on the third floor. I’m even further surprised that I know exactly who your roommate is.”

“You do?” The woman raised a brow, but then nodded to herself. “She does seem like the type to be friendly and outgoing, when she isn’t engrossed in some messy project.”

“Actually, I know her because she’s my roommate’s sister,” she said. While she couldn’t tell if Ruby talked about her sister quite so often, Yang would go on and on about her genius sibling, accepted to Beacon a full two years ahead of most. Her roommate also kept a collage of pictures from when they were growing up beside her bed.

“Wait, Yang Xiao Long is your roommate?” Weiss furrowed her brows, looking quite scandalized. “I’ve never met her myself but everyone-”

“Those rumors are… true, but not to the degree most people tell them.” The Faunus sighed, having dealt with both hearing the whispers herself and Yang’s exasperation regarding them. At first, the blonde didn’t seem to mind, but things quickly spiraled out of control and she couldn’t seem to escape her own reputation. Seems they had a bit of a club going in that department.

“So, she doesn’t start fights everywhere she goes?”

“No, but she’s prone to using her fists rather than her words. She and Ruby got to Beacon before the beginning of term and decided to hit up a club downtown to celebrate. When she caught someone trying to spike her sister’s drink, she lost her temper and it started a huge fistfight.” Blake shrugged, having heard the story from both of them when she first arrived, before the rumors started in earnest. “Yang’s actually pretty chill otherwise. She’s a bit messy as a roommate but she’s honestly more of a mom than anything; it took two weeks solid before I got her to stop texting me to see if I missed a meal.”

“Well, I can certainly see the familial resemblance. Ruby’s just as messy, I imagine, and she gets so focused on her projects that she forgets to eat.” Weiss huffed. “At least now I know who keeps texting her at all hours of the day. From what I understand, her sister practically raised her, and I knew she was on the campus but had no idea she lived on the floor above us.” The woman hummed to herself thoughtfully. “Well, now I feel spectacularly foolish. Had I consented to meeting Yang properly, I wouldn’t have spent the past few weeks trying to just talk to you.”

“Yeah, you probably should’ve been more mindful about reputations belying a person’s intentions,” the Faunus said, a smile curling her lips at the clear dismay in Weiss’ expression.

“I suppose I have a long way to go in practicing what I preach,” she replied, a rueful smile on her lips.

“I think we all do.” She shrugged. “But once we’ve realized a misstep, it’s on us to do better next time.” Blake pulled out her scroll, shooting off a quick text to see what her roommate was doing that evening. Although she didn’t take studying nearly as seriously, Yang maintained respectable grades and split her time between training for her sports teams to keep her scholarships and catching up on any homework she didn’t do in class. There was about a fifty-fifty chance of her being in the room on any given night because of that. “Would you like to meet her? We can invite Ruby too, maybe go out for a late dinner?”

Weiss checked her own scroll, looking at the time. “I… don’t have an early class tomorrow and I’m fairly certain Ruby doesn’t either. I’ll text her.”

The Faunus felt her scroll buzz and checked, glad to see that her roommate was both free and hungry, shooting off another text informing her of the plan. “Great. Yang’s down, and she knows all the best restaurants with reasonable prices. Be ready, though; she has an… interesting sense of humor.”

“Yes, her sister always mentions that she favors puns.” The woman rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. “Honestly, it might be a refreshing change of pace.” Blake opted to remain silent on that front as they arrived at their dorm building, heading up the stairs together and parting at the second landing, seeing as they still had to drop off their books and such before heading out. “Blake?”

“Hmmm?” She stopped and turned around, noting the genuine expression on the woman’s face.

“Thank you,” she said, shrugging slightly as she seemed to struggle for words. “For giving me a chance.”

“Thank you, Weiss. For daring to ask for one.” The Faunus smiled a bit wider. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, outside the front door?”

“See you then.”

Blake went up to her floor, bypassing the student lounge and heading straight for her room. Along the way, she ran into a friend, the monkey Faunus looking like he’d just barely woken up despite the relatively early hour.

“Hey, Blake. What’s up?” He yawned, reaching up to stretch. “Where ya been?”

“At the library, studying.” She contemplated, for a moment, telling him the whole story, but refrained for two reasons. One, he was obviously barely awake as it was, and the second being she wanted a longer gauge of Weiss’ character before making a big deal out of their tentative friendship. Sun might’ve been one of the most laid back Faunus she’d ever met, thanks in no small part to him hailing from Vacuo, but she didn’t like to take risks when she didn’t have to and things might not work out anyway. “Calling it an early night?”

“Nah, I took an afternoon nap that went way too long.” He chuckled, running a hand through his mop of blond hair. “You heading to bed?”

“I’m going out to dinner with some friends first.” She patted his bare shoulder. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah, see ya.” Sun mumbled before ducking back into his room, likely to play some video game or other for a while until he could fall asleep again.

As Blake ducked into her own room, right next to his, she idly thought about introducing him to some of her friends. They had differing schedules which made hanging out a bit difficult at times and, after the first two weeks where he barraged her with questions about growing up in Menagerie she’d avoided him for a bit to drive the point home that he needed to learn a little self control, he actually was a very nice person and a good friend. Now that they had more or less hashed out their boundaries- well, hers, to be specific- she needed to set aside some time for everyone to meet. 

“What’s up, roomie?” Yang called out, sliding on her favorite leather jacket. “Kinda surprised you wanna head out for a bite this late. Don’t you have class tomorrow morning?”

“We won’t be out too late.” She set her textbooks on her bed for the time being and watched the blonde finish getting ready. “Plus, I think this is going to be worth it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Your sister’s coming with us, plus her roommate, who I just spent the last few hours getting to know.” Blake waited for the spark of recognition, slightly surprised when it didn’t come.

“Oh, that rich chick? Funny, didn’t seem like she was the type to hang out like normal people.” Yang chuckled, checking her hair in the mirror by her bed. “Ruby always made her sound like the anti-social type.”

“Well, all things considered, I can see why she’d avoid people at first,” she said, waiting a beat before continuing. “A lot of people have strong opinions about Weiss Schnee.”

Instantly, her roommate’s gaze snapped to her, expression pinching into one of slight anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? That-”

She held up a hand, stopping the woman’s rage in its tracks. “Hey, I just spent the past few hours getting to know her, okay? I think she’s sincerely trying to be a better person than she’s been in the past and I’m willing to give her a chance. Shouldn’t you?”

Yang clenched her jaw, eventually sighing and waving her hand. “Alright, alright, I’ll cool my jets. But she says one thing I don’t like and I’m punting her through a window.”

It was an empty threat, mostly, but an expected reaction all around. “You’re being overprotective again.”

“Is there another way to be?” The blonde arched a brow, offering a small grin. “Sorry, roomie, but you’re stuck with me lookin’ out for you, and I come with a lifetime guarantee!”

Blake laughed, shaking her head. “Fine, but hurry up. I’d like to get back at a decent time.”

The duo eventually went down and met Ruby and Weiss at the door, the former practically jumping in place with excitement while the latter seemed mildly annoyed and amused. By the time the four arrived at a suitable restaurant- a nice, traditional Vale noodle house down by the docks- Yang had mercilessly teased Weiss whenever the opportunity presented itself, trying to make the woman snap and it eventually worked. Blake and Ruby almost couldn’t stop laughing at the nigh ten minute long lecture Yang endured and the woman almost left the restaurant entirely rather than deal with the ridiculous antics, but she eventually calmed down and everyone took turns teasing one another over silly things. Ruby and Yang got it the worst, though, after the younger of the sisters decided it would be fair game to bring up childhood stories that embarrassed the both of them, and the trip back to Beacon was spent trying not to pass out from laughing too hard.

“Ya know, roomie, I gotta hand it to ya; the Ice Queen ain’t half bad after she thaws a little,” Yang said, closing the door to their dorm room behind them and crossing her arms over her chest. “But now, I got a question.”

“Go on,” she replied, moving her textbook and notebook from earlier to the desk, ready for the following day, while collecting up a change of clothes. They’d gotten back later than she would’ve liked but, honestly, the night was worth a little lost sleep.

She should’ve known by the silence that forced her to look at her roommate and she definitely should’ve expected it when she saw that teasing twinkle in lilac eyes. “Is it gonna be 'Blake Schnee’ or 'Weiss Belladonna’?”

The Faunus followed her first impulse; she picked up her pillow and threw it with all her strength at the laughing blonde. “Yang!”

“Aw c'mon, admit it, she’s cute, she’s smart, you both seem to share a fair few ideas regarding how things should be in the future- isn’t that the definition of a power couple?” Yang tossed her pillow back, offering a theatrical shrug. “But, maybe I’m just seeing things.”

“You are,” she replied, hoping this it would bring an end to the discussion once and for all.

Although, as she went to change, she couldn’t help but acknowledge that Yang wasn’t wrong on any particular count, but it probably wouldn’t work out, anyway.