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ellemj · 2 months

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I Hate You

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader One-Shot: SMUT

Request by @kateversca1011: "y/n has these weird mind powers where she can feel others feelings or make others feel hers...she accidentally during a very heated fun time projects everything she is feeling to Bucky, basically doubling his pleasure"

Summary: After ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, one bed trope, unprotected sex, hate sex, dirty talking, praise, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 9.3k

A/N: I fucking LOVED this prompt yet I feel like my (4th) attempt at it is as horseshit as the other attempts. This may get another attempt one day. Thank you @kateversca1011 for the wonderful prompt inspo, I hope this entertains you at least a little bit.

You have the worst luck in the world. In fact, your luck is so bad that you might even be able to call it a curse. It was one of those unfortunate things that started early in your life and has carried on throughout the years, affecting seemingly everything that you do. You thought it came to a head when your hometown was obliterated twelve years ago, when your parents were killed as they lay asleep in their bed across the house that you grew up in. You thought that was the pinnacle of your misfortune. Then, you thought that maybe it was two days after that, when you were sure you were being rescued from the rubble you laid under, only to be taken away by soldiers with unmatchable strength and brutality and stripped of not only your rights, but your dignity. You were held captive for so long that you stopped attributing your dark times to bad luck and started to think this was how life was supposed to be. By the time they started experimenting on you, you didn’t even feel bad for yourself anymore. You simply accepted it as the next era of your life that you had no control over.

“Okay, we’re all done.” Shuri’s voice rings out through the speaker in the MRI machine. The flat surface that you’ve been lying on for the past forty-five minutes begins to slide out of the narrow tube it held you in, slowly exposing the rest of the room to your view. You take a deep breath in, stretching your arms out in front of you and wiggling your legs a little. Your lower half always falls asleep when you have these scans done.

Shuri watches you intently through the glass of the MRI observation window. She watches as the nurse helps you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the tabletop. She watches as you run a hand through your hair and offer the nurse a kind smile before moving to stand on the floor. She watches as your eyes narrow in the slightest and a look of surprise crosses your face. She knows what you just did. She knows that the moment the nurse was in your personal space, you had no control over the unusual chemistry of your brain. You invaded the nurse’s mind and picked up on the fact that she’s afraid of you.

“She’s not ready to go free yet, is she?” Fury asks tersely. He entered the observation room so silently that Shuri didn’t even notice him until he spoke. As the nurse leads you out of the MRI room and begins taking you back to the main area of the medical bay, Shuri turns in her chair to face Fury.

“She doesn’t have enough control over her abilities yet. I think she’s still psychologically stable, the program you put her through did its job, but there’s no guarantee that she’ll simply go out into the world and behave.” Shuri chooses her words carefully. She doesn’t think that you’re a threat in your current state, but should you ever desire to be, you could easily become one. Your powers rival those of Wanda Maximoff’s, except even less is known about the extent of yours thus far. You’re the equivalent of the Winter Soldier without anyone having used his activation words yet, a ticking time bomb.

That’s what leads to Shuri and Fury both addressing you in the medical bay moments later. You sit on an exam table picking at a loose thread in your frayed jeans as they approach you, trying your hardest not to read into their thoughts, their feelings. You’d like to experience what it’s like to be surprised by what comes out of someone’s mouth for once.

“That was your last fMRI for a while.” Shuri says happily, her smile looking truly genuine. You smile back, but continue picking at the thread, not wanting to make any prolonged eye contact. Eye contact always seems to make it easier to read people, and easier for your own thoughts and emotions to spill over into their consciousness if you’re not careful.

“I’m guessing there isn’t all good news though, right? Since you’re both here this time.” You ask knowingly, your gaze darting between the two who stand before you. Shuri gives Fury a sideways glance, as if she’s waiting for him to take the lead. His eye narrows at you, his forehead scrunching up above his eyepatch as he studies you.

“We can’t let you go out and live your life just yet. There are too many unknowns right now. I’m going to be putting you up in the Avengers tower.”

“But—” Fury holds up his hand to silence you, as if you’re a backtalking teenager.

“It’s not permanent. This is just until we can help you gain more control over your abilities. We can reassess after. When you’re finished here, I’ll have someone waiting outside to take you over to the other side of the compound and show you around.” Fury’s gone before his words have even fully sunk in.

“He’s a straight-to-the-point kind of guy, isn’t he? No bullshit with him.” You say quietly, shaking your head as you come to terms with everything he’s just said. You’ve been staying in what you can only call a high-end holding cell at the nearby SHIELD base since the day you appeared on their radar and they brought you in, very much against your will. Another bout of bad luck, you’d told yourself, as you were restrained with some sort of technologically advanced handcuffs and later forcibly put through multiple rigorous evaluations. After the evaluations came the decompression and psychological rehabilitation that they had originally designed to be used for victims of capture and torture, agents who were in too deep and didn’t have backup when the worst happened. After that, you started undergoing medical testing, constant scans and blood draws, on a weekly basis. Shuri was brought in because no one else could figure you out.

“It’s the eye patch, he has to be short and gruff with people to fit the look.” Shuri jokes. She stands closer to you than most people would, within arms’ reach. You offer a light laugh and she considers it a small victory. “I think you’ll find that living in the tower, around other people with unique abilities, might actually help you. You’ll get a really nice room too, probably nicer than just about anywhere else you’d find in the city.”

“A nice room that I never get to leave.” You point out. Shuri’s gaze softens and she looks you over. Most people wouldn’t look at you and see a bomb that hasn’t yet been detonated. Hell, you could probably weaponize that fact if you wanted to, the fact that you look normal, innocent even.

“You can leave your room, but I think it’s best if you don’t get too close with anyone, physically or emotionally. Give yourself some time to learn boundaries when it comes to your abilities first.” Shuri advises. She notices the way you take in her entire appearance as she speaks, but you avoid looking into her eyes. You’re trying to give her mind the privacy it deserves. You’re making an effort to stay out of her thoughts, and to keep from projecting your own onto her. She thinks that you’ll get the hang of the control thing soon enough, and Fury will either free you to go about your new life or he’ll make an attempt to recruit you as an asset. Only time will tell which direction you’ll go, but she finds herself hoping that this won’t be the last she sees of you.

---

Bucky’s heard about the girl who reads minds, the girl who can make others feel her pain, the girl who could take away someone’s mental anguish with just one shared look. He’s heard enough about that girl that he formed his own mental image of her. He pictures her as an evil cartoon witch, with long, dark fingernails that curl up at the ends and a characteristic black and purple outfit, maybe even flying around on a broom. When he heard that this cartoon witch would be moving into the empty room across the hall from his, he imagined cardboard boxes filled with crystal balls, spiders, and cobwebs being dropped off before the girl’s arrival.

Bucky didn’t think for a second that you’d show up so quietly and uneventfully, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible. He didn’t think you’d show up with nothing more than a small, government-issued duffel bag and a profound avoidance of eye contact. And he sure as hell didn’t think that you’d end up being so goddamn pretty. As you stood in the lobby of the tower with Maria Hill and two other SHIELD agents, Bucky was just getting back from a therapy session with Dr. Raynor. He saw you as you stood there with your duffel bag and blank stare aimed at a wall. He saw you as you made sure to board the elevator last, letting everyone else enter before you and then staying a few steps behind on your way in. You saw him as the doors began to slide shut. You caught one little glimpse of the man, dressed in dark jeans and a dark Henley tee. Unreasonably attractive. That was your first impression of him, as the doors closed and he disappeared from your sight.

An hour later, you’re sitting alone in your new room, carefully folding and putting away the few pieces of clothing you brought with you. Your wardrobe consists of a couple of pairs of jeans, a sweatshirt or two, and the same pair of sneakers you always wear. Or at least that’s what it consisted of until today. When you arrived to the room and finally had the chance to shut Maria and the other agents out and settle yourself in, you quickly realized that Tony Stark, or more his wife Pepper, had taken it upon their shoulders to have your closet filled with a wide range of pants, shorts, dresses, workout attire, and far too many shoes for someone with only two feet. You thought it was a mistake at first, that maybe you’d been given the wrong key to the wrong room. Until you saw a white envelope sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. It contained the only note you’d ever received from anyone, detailing how all of the items in the closet now belong to you, and were picked out by Pepper upon Tony’s request. As you stand in the closet now, running your fingers along the various fabrics and colors hanging in front of you, it feels as though every birthday that you missed out on celebrating after your parents’ deaths and your own capture are being celebrated in this moment.

---

Bucky sits in one of the briefing rooms with Sam and Torres, only half-listening to whatever they’re droning on about as he traces the golden crevices of his vibranium arm with his flesh index finger. He doesn’t chime in at all as the topic shifts from one of last week’s missions, to a piece of intel Torres intercepted yesterday, to the mission that could potentially be coming up at the end of this week. It isn’t until Torres brings up the girl that just moved in upstairs that Bucky’s flesh hand falters and his eyes flit up to take in the image that’s holographically displayed over the table in the center of the room.

“I gathered as much information on her as I could.” Torres says, as he begins flipping through a few different files on the display. He stops on one titled First Event. When he opens the electronic file, Bucky’s heart drops instantly at the words his brain sorts through and picks out. Terrorist attack. Intentional target. Orphaned. HYDRA. He swallows hard when the picture of your childhood home, completely reduced to smoking ash and rubble, appears before him. Another picture shows a small girl, seemingly around age eleven or twelve, covered in soot and dirt, with her hands bound in front of her as she’s being lifted and placed in the back of a truck. “She was taken by HYDRA operatives when she was 12. It was an operation with the sole aim of taking twenty children, disguising the entire thing as a brutal terrorist attack. The missing children were all presumed dead in the attacks, which was what HYDRA wanted. There was never an investigation for any of them.” A few pictures show a grimy prison-like holding cell, an operating room with different pieces of technology and equipment that definitely aren’t standard in normal medical facilities, and a few brain scans. “All of the twenty children underwent testing and experimentation. Some died within a couple of weeks, some within a couple of months. She was the only one to survive to be rescued. She lived in this underground HYDRA facility for at least ten years that we know of.”

“Ten years?” Sam asks incredulously, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “How did she end up on SHIELD’s radar?” Torres pauses his biography of the worst years of your life and opens up a different file on the display, one titled Second Event.

“Skipping the details of how she was rescued in the first place, she doesn’t have much control over her abilities. She tried to lay low, that much was obvious, but SHIELD has a program to seek people like her out, to keep an eye on them.” Torres explains. Bucky’s eyes are glued to an image of the girl he saw in the elevator only an hour ago. You’re at an outdoor farmer’s market, with a ballcap pulled low over your forehead and your gaze cast downward as you browse a fruit stand. The image is eerily similar to a moment of his own life that he remembers, buying plums at a Romanian market when he was trying to go unnoticed and live a quiet life on his own.

“So, she made a misstep somewhere along the way, becomes property of SHIELD, and then Fury sends her here.” Sam recaps, looking to Torres to make sure he’s got it all right.

“Pretty much, yeah. He doesn’t think it’s safe to let her be out in the real world on her own yet.”

“Not safe for her? Or not safe for everyone else?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow. Bucky turns his attention to Torres this time as well, curious about the answer.

“Both.”

A few more details are shared around the table as Torres flips back and forth between all of the available information that he has on you. Bucky, however, is deep in thought. He watches as new and old images flit back and forth on the screen, his mind digesting everything and piecing you together. You’re pretty, that’s for damn certain. You’re pretty and he can tell from your past, from your known abilities, that you’re likely good as hell at manipulating people. He imagines with your looks alone that you could get just about anyone to do just about anything for you. With your looks and your abilities? You could do more damage than most. You’re dangerous. Dangerous and unpredictable. And now you live across the hall from him.

Those two words repeat in Bucky’s head as he takes the stairs up to the main living floor later that same day. Dangerous and unpredictable. There are a few more words floating around in his head but he’s actively ignoring those. So goddamn pretty.

You really are pretty. You wouldn’t necessarily think so yourself, as you stand in front of the full-length mirror in your room, crossing your arms over your chest. FRIDAY’s voice rang out through a speaker somewhere in your room just a few minutes earlier, letting you know that dinner would be at six. Of course, FRIDAY didn’t offer you a dress code or even a very solid answer when you asked her what one should wear to such a dinner. The last time you had dinner with anyone, you were twelve and you were wearing a sparkly pink Barbie shirt. Though you could double check your closet for a shirt like that now, you have a feeling you won’t find one in your size. So, you remain in your distressed jeans and oversized gray SHIELD sweatshirt.

“Do you think she’ll show up?” Torres asks, mainly directing his question to Sam more than anyone else. Sam shrugs as he continues stirring the spaghetti sauce he’s been cooking on the stovetop.

“If she’s hungry she will.” He responds. Truthfully, he has no idea if you’ll come out of your room or not. If you don’t, he’ll take a bowl of food to your room at the very least, but he’d prefer it if you came out and interacted with everyone so he could at least get a feel for you. It was obvious by the way Bucky sat so narrow-eyed and steely in the briefing room earlier that he doesn’t like you, that he doesn’t trust you being in the tower. Sam hasn’t yet jumped to such a conclusion.

“What do we do if she does? If she shows up?” Torres almost sounds nervous. Sam chuckles before propping his wooden spoon on the edge of the saucepan and moving to wash his hands in the kitchen sink.

“We eat dinner.”

---

You don’t look like a scared, vulnerable twelve-year-old girl, and you most definitely don’t look like someone who has the power to manipulate thoughts or feelings. As you sit at the table, twirling spaghetti noodles around your fork, you’re trying your best to ignore the eyes on you. You feel a bit relieved that it’s not the entire group staring, no, it’s just that one unreasonably attractive man with the black and gold prosthetic arm. He stares. He stares as if it’s the only thing he knows how to do. Honestly, maybe it really is the only thing he knows how to do, because he sure as hell hasn’t participated in any of the table small talk this evening.

“So, you were just laying low before SHIELD found you?” Torres asks kindly, tearing apart a piece of garlic bread with his hands as he peers over at you. He’s seated immediately to your right and has been the most inquisitive thus far.

“Yeah, clearly I wasn’t very good at that though.” You respond lightheartedly, earning you a few small laughs around the table. You lift your fork to your mouth and take a small bite of pasta. It’s heavenly honestly. It’s so much better than the measly three meals that you’ve taught yourself how to cook.

“How do you feel about ending up here?” Torres is a curious one, you’re quickly learning.

“I’m not over the moon about it but the food is better than what I was cooking for myself so, it’s not all bad.”

As you answer questions and do your best to avoid making too much eye contact with anyone, to avoid reading into anyone’s thoughts or dropping your own thoughts into anyone else’s mind, Bucky stares. He watches you intently. You’re effortlessly charming, answering everyone’s questions with a shy smile and kind voice. He’s sure it’s a façade.

Bucky’s cold stare and the fact that you happily pretend like you don’t feel his gaze on you is the reason why Sam, at the end of dinner, stands up and assigns the two of you to clean-up duty. If Bucky’s gone ahead and jumped to a conclusion about you based on a few flimsy pieces of intel and some grainy pictures, then Sam will give him the opportunity to confirm his suspicions with half an hour of alone time with you. Either he’ll come out of clean-up duty realizing he was wrong about you or he’ll come out of it with an earful for Sam.

Fifteen minutes after everyone’s finished eating and gone their separate ways for the evening, you find yourself wiping down the dinner table with a wet cloth. Bucky is watching you from the open concept kitchen, where he stands in dim lighting, scrubbing dishes at the sink.

“I can feel you staring.” You say evenly. Though your back is to him, you know his eyes are following your every move. He sets a soapy bowl down in the empty side of the sink and gets to work on another, still watching as you lean over the table and scrub over the wooden surface. He says nothing. Daring a glance over your shoulder at him, you catch sight of his blue eyes, cold and calculating as they stare right back at you. That’s the moment you feel it, a wall around him, around his mind. As you look into his eyes, you can’t get even the slightest reading on his feelings, on his thoughts. His mind is impenetrable.

You quickly look away and continue wiping down the surface of the table. What the hell was that? You’ve never been around anyone you couldn’t read before. Bucky sets another soapy dish into the right side of the sink and lets his gaze fall away from you for a moment. Did you look into his thoughts? Did you see what most people see when they look at him? A monster, an uncontrollable killer? He’s patiently waiting for you to flee, to run and lock yourself in your room after analyzing whatever you just saw in his mind. However, different thought is crossing your mind. You want to try again, to get closer to him and get a better sense of the wall you felt around him. You push a couple of chairs into their rightful places beneath the table and then look over at Bucky again as he works on the dishes. His blue eyes meet yours once more and there it is again, that wall. Before you lose your boldness, you begin walking toward the kitchen, your feet carrying you closer and closer until you’re only a foot away from Bucky’s right side. He acts uninterested and his focus remains on a dirty dish and a sponge in his hands. Your eyes dart down to the sink and you notice the clean, soapy dishes in the side closest to you. Before you realize what you’re doing, your left arm is brushing against his right arm as you start rinsing the dishes beneath a steady stream of hot water. Bucky tenses next to you the moment the sleeve of your sweatshirt brushes over the skin of his bicep.

“Are you scared of me?” You ask softly, keeping your eyes down on the suds that are running off of the bowl in your hand. You watch as they swirl around in the bottom of the sink before disappearing down the drain. Bucky scoffs and a low chuckle slips past his lips.

“Scared isn’t the word I’d use.” He says coldly, passing you another dish to rinse.

“Then why do you stare at me like that?” You question, matching his cold tone.

“Like what?”

“Like you think I’m going to try to get in your head.”

“Haven’t you done that already?” Another dish is passed over to you. The hot water is turning your hands pink, and the frustrating interaction with such an unreasonably attractive ass is turning your cheeks the same color.

“If I had, you would’ve known.” You point out, turning your head to look up at the side of his face. He doesn’t turn to meet your gaze at first, so you study his features. There’s a light stubble peppered along his lower face, over his jawline and chin. He looks young but something about him gives off more of an old soul vibe.

“You don’t have enough control over your abilities to be able to read someone without them knowing?” His tone has shifted from a cold one to a condescending one.

“I do, but I don’t care to put in any effort to hide it when I’m reading someone who already knows I can do it. I wouldn’t put in that kind of effort for you.” You retort. You’re unsure where exactly the animosity came from, but you feel it. It’s palpable in the air, the way the two of you already dislike each other. Bucky’s glad you’re returning the sentiment honestly. It’ll make it so much easier to ignore the fact that you’re fucking gorgeous. Gorgeous and pure poison.

---

The update Fury left his house at four in the morning for wasn’t at all the update he was expecting. When his assistant called and told him that there was a new development with the girl he put up in the tower, the girl that HYDRA had experimented on and practically raised with the goal of having her become weapon of mass psychological destruction, he expected to hear that you’d done something apprehensible. Maybe you’d turned the other occupants of the tower against each other and caused a modern-day civil war, maybe you’d figured out a way to level the tower entirely, he had no idea. It wasn’t until five minutes ago when he finally slid into his office chair and viewed the new intel that he felt a bit of relief, and yet a new kind of stress. HYDRA wants you back.

---

No one stays in the tower on the weekends. Sam heads off to see family, Wanda and Vision jet away for weekend stays seemingly anywhere but here, and even Torres has plans. You assume Bucky is gone too, considering you haven’t heard anyone else around since you last saw Sam leaving at sunset.

As you sit comfortably on the couch in the living area, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks, you feel almost at home for once. You’re flipping through the various movie options on Netflix when you hear the elevator ding and the doors begin sliding open. You freeze with your thumb hovering over the remote in your hand as your eyes slowly drift to the left. Bucky Barnes. Of course he doesn’t have any weekend plans. Why would he? The man is practically insufferable anytime he opens his mouth. He shoots you an uninterested look as he steps into the living area and starts pulling his leather jacket off.

Fuck. He’s the one freezing in place when his gaze floats down to your lap and he notices the skin of your thighs. He tosses his leather jacket onto the opposite side of the couch and narrows his eyes at you before moving toward the kitchen for a bottle of water.

“You don’t have pants?” He asks, his disdain for you evident in his tone.

“I was held in captivity for over a decade, what are pants?” He hates when you’re sarcastic.

“Fine, no pants. But you have a TV in your room, don’t you?” He wants you locked away in there where he won’t even have the chance to let his eyes betray the rest of him.

“Are you going to be here all weekend?” You turn your body so you can see him over the back of the couch. You lock eyes with him as he takes a gulp from his water bottle. He notices the way your gaze drifts downward, focusing on his lips for a brief moment before trailing even further down to the tight shirt he’s wearing.

“Yep.” He puts emphasis on the ‘p’ at the end of the small, simple word.

“Do you like movies?” An olive branch, you’re extending an olive branch. If you’re stuck with him as your only company for the next 48 hours, you sure as hell aren’t going to make it easy for him to hate you. Why make yourself any more miserable? In the event that it does that opposite and makes him hate you even more, you’ll still feel like you won.

Your question caught Bucky off guard. You turn to face the TV once again and he watches as you use the remote to rifle through a category titled Action Movies.

“I prefer books.” He says flatly.

“If you can get over yourself for two hours, you could watch something with me. It’s up to you.”

You didn’t expect him to go for it, in fact, you don’t even know if you actually wanted him to. At first, you thought he rejected the offer. He scooped his leather jacket up off of the couch, shot you an unreadable sideways glance, and disappeared into his room, locking the door behind him. You’ve just decided on a movie when Bucky reappears, wearing black sweats and stupidly, only his dog tags adorning his chest. When he comes into view, your eyes immediately wander, taking in the entirety of his build. Fuck. How does someone who acts like such an ass end up looking like such a god? Bucky notices the way your gaze settles just above his waistband and he can’t stop the smirk that takes over his features.

“You don’t have a shirt?” You ask, mimicking his tone from earlier.

“I was held in captivity for decades, what is a shirt?” He didn’t quite mean to let you in on his past, but there it is. You sit before him stunned, your widened eyes dropping down to look over his vibranium arm with a new understanding. “You really haven’t been in my mind, have you?” You shake your head, still unsure of what to say to him. Bucky solves the issue at hand by taking a few more steps forward and sinking into the couch one cushion away from you. “What are we watching?”

---

Shit goes sideways really fast in your life. You were only half an hour into the movie when the power suddenly went out and the dim emergency lights in the hallway kicked on. You and Bucky froze and looked at each other with a mix of confusion and anticipation, both of you feeling that something was off. It was less than a second later when Bucky heard the commotion in the elevator shaft and he knew exactly what was coming. He was on top of you in an instant, forcing your back down on the couch before rolling the both of you off and onto the floor. He managed a second roll once you landed on top of him on the hardwood, making sure that when the movement stopped, you were securely underneath him and his body was shielding yours. You watched his face as he seemed to move on autopilot, reaching up to the coffee table and breaking a glass vase with one hand before using the shards of glass to deter the two men rappelling in through the now blown-in elevator doors. It all happened so fast, seeming to begin and end in all under 10 seconds, before Bucky was shoving you down the hallway toward the emergency stairwell.

He led you down four flights before pulling you through another metal door, into yet another dimly lit hallway. When you were both safely tucked away in a briefing room, he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his sweats and called Sam, setting it on speaker and placing the device on the table in the center of the room. Now you stand still, frozen, unsure of why you feel almost nothing. No fear, no concern, nothing. You simply feel like you have no control over anything and there’s nothing you can do to help or hurt the current situation. When Bucky grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the table, lifting you by your hips to sit you on top of it, you don’t resist.

“Are you okay?” He asks hurriedly, scanning your entire body with his eyes as his hands cup your cheeks and tilt your head from side to side. He’s looking for any sign of injury, but there’s nothing. “Say something.”

“Bucky? What’s going on?” Sam’s voice rings out from the phone on the table, snapping you out of whatever silent haze you were in.

“The tower’s been breached, we need to get out of here, now.” Bucky responds tersely. He still holds your face in his hands. You blink a few times, coming back to your senses, before looking up into his eyes. Relief. You see relief soaking into his features as he realizes you’re fine. “You’re okay?” He needs to hear you say it. You nod slowly, his palms brushing over your cheeks as you do.

“I’m good, I’m okay.” You whisper.

“Can you get down to the garage?” Sam questions. You can hear the sounds of him typing through the phone, probably sending out an alert to everyone he can.

“We’ll figure out a way to.” Bucky assures him.

“I’ll send you an address for a safehouse, you take her there and you stay put. Let me know when you get into a car. Fury says a strike team is already on the way.”

So much for living in the tower being the way to keep you safe.

---

You wouldn’t have expected such a broad, muscular guy to be so stealthy. Bucky got the two of you down to the garage and into a car in what you imagine was record-breaking time. It truly would’ve been a feat if he’d managed to get back upstairs and grab you some pants or himself a shirt as well, but you can see how that wasn’t really an option.

You sit in the passenger seat now, using his phone to text Sam and let him know that you made it out safe and are on the way to the address he sent. It’s quiet in the car for a couple of minutes, the only sounds being the tires against the road and a light rain coming down on the windshield as Bucky speeds down a dark highway. You set his phone in a cupholder by the gearshift before placing your hands on your still bare thighs. In this moment, you wish you could read into Bucky’s thoughts. What’s going on in his head? Does he have any idea who those men might’ve been? What they might’ve been there for? You don’t want to come across as conceited or self-centered but you’re pretty damn sure they were there for you, most likely on behalf of HYDRA. Maybe if you could read into his thoughts, he’d have a different suspicion and it would ease your growing anxiety.

“Is that the first time the tower’s ever been breached?” Your voice comes out too soft, too meek for your own liking. Bucky lets out a deep breath before relaxing in the driver’s seat. He wanted to hear your voice more than he realized.

“As far as I know, yeah.” He says with a nod, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. That isn’t quite what you wanted to hear. Maybe something along the lines of oh no, it happened a hundred times before you moved in would’ve made you feel better. Bucky doesn’t like the quiet that takes over the car after he gives you his answer. It feels tense, and not your typical can’t-stand-each-other kind of tense. “There are a million different reasons they could’ve been there.” He knows what you’re thinking, that they were more than likely there for you.

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better.” Your voice isn’t so soft anymore.

“You think they were there for you.”

“It makes the most sense, HYDRA has never really been known to let shit go.”

“I know.” He says it so emotionlessly but the way the realization settles on your shoulders is anything but. You feel what can only be described as a fist wrapping around your heart and squeezing it. He knows. He knows about HYDRA, he knows how they operate. He knows because he’s been through their shit, probably even more intensely than you.

“I don’t have any pants.” You mumble, pushing away the heavy topic of the most heinous organization that you know to exist. Bucky chuckles under his breath as he steers the car around a curve. He finds you annoyingly likable for someone he’s intent on hating.

When you pull up to the safehouse forty-five minutes later, you’re more than relieved to see that though it’s a very small cabin on the outskirts of a national park, there are two bedrooms. After checking in with Sam on the phone, you leave Bucky in the living room while you wander down the short hallway, trying to decide which bedroom you’ll be calling your own tonight.

“Did you take me off of speaker?” Sam asks Bucky in a hushed tone, praying you’re out of earshot. Bucky sinks into the couch and pinches the bridge of his nose with the index finger and thumb of his vibranium hand.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“She was the target tonight. HYDRA wants her back. They don’t want her dead, they want her back.”

“And you didn’t want to say this to her?” Bucky asks in a whisper.

“She probably has PTSD from what they did to her all of those years, there’s no sense in upsetting her if we don’t have to yet. For now, as long as she’s safe with you, we don’t have to tell her.” Sam explains quickly. Bucky can hear the din of an airport coming through the phone speaker. Sam’s trying his best to get back to New York on short notice, which tells Bucky it’s definitely serious.

“She already has her suspicions.” Bucky points out. He glances over his shoulder and down the hall, just as you’re stepping out of one bedroom and into the next.

“Just…don’t let her out of your sight. At all.”

Bucky stays seated on the couch for a few seconds after hanging up the call with Sam. His mind is speed running through the various outcomes of this whole situation. There’s a chance HYDRA already knows about the safehouse and they’re planning to hit it sometime tonight. There’s a chance HYDRA doesn’t know shit about where the two of you are right now and you’re safe at least while you’re here. There’s a chance you get pissed at Bucky and climb out a window in the middle of the night. Fuck. How did he end up being the one here with you?

You’re rummaging through a dresser in the largest bedroom at the back of the cabin when Bucky taps his knuckles on the already open door and steps in. You’re on your knees, digging through the bottom drawer, with your hair falling forward and obscuring your face from him. His eyes follow every move you make as you tuck the hair behind your ear and glance over at him.

“Is this where you’re sleeping?” He asks, tilting his head in the direction of the queen-sized bed. You follow his gaze, taking in the thin blue quilt and sad, flat looking pillows. You nod slowly.

“Yeah.” You respond, pushing the drawer shut and rising to your feet. You were looking for an extra pair of pants but the dresser only seemed to hold various extra blankets, sheets, and towels. Bucky nods, his eyes drifting back to the bed as if he’s deep in thought. When he tosses his phone onto the bed, you narrow your eyes at him. “I said I’m taking this one.”

“We both are.” He says defiantly, taking a step further into the room before closing the bedroom door behind him. He fishes the car keys out of his pocket and drops them on top of the dresser before heading for the bed.

“What the hell does that mean? There are two rooms, two beds. There isn’t a chance in hell we’re sleeping together.” You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head aggressively. You watch him as he starts pulling the covers back on the far side of the bed.

“You just told me that you think those men were there for you. If you’re right, those guys were able to breach the equivalent of a maximum-security prison on steroids. And you want to sleep alone? In a room with a window?” He questions you as if he doesn’t already know that those men were most definitely there for you. He sees hesitation in your eyes, and he knows he’s got you there. You crave safety, security. You won’t fight him very hard on this and he knows it.

“I’m not wearing any pants.” As soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, you’re aware that you sound like a damn kid. A whiny kid.

“I’ll give you my pants if you shut up about it already.” Bucky promises. He stands next to the bed, with his hands firmly on his hips, waiting to see what your next move will be.

“Fine, give me your pants and I’ll suffer through the night.”

“In this bed?” He gestures toward it with his vibranium hand. You nod. “Say it.”

“In this bed.” You agree, with every bit of a bad attitude brimming your tone.

It’s not long after that that you find yourself wearing another man’s baggy sweats as you lay mere inches away from him. He’s close enough that you can feel his body heat warming the space beneath the covers, but not so close that there’s a threat of bodily contact.

Bucky’s wide awake beside you. He’s watching in the darkness as the quilt over your side rises up and then drops down again with every inhale and exhale. He usually has trouble sleeping, but knowing exactly who’s after you and what they’re capable of is giving him even more trouble.

“Are you still awake?” You whisper almost inaudibly. You’re facing away from Bucky so you didn’t notice the way he’s been staring at your back, watching you breathe.

“Yeah.” You’re silent for quite a few seconds after his response, but he knows your mind is working overtime. “What?”

“Nothing, I was just wondering.” Another minute of silence goes by before you roll onto your back and heave a deep sigh. Bucky waits patiently. He counts the seconds as they go by. One. Two. Three. Four. F— “If you weren’t there tonight—”

“Don’t think about that.” He warns. His eyes coast over the side of your face. He can see the worry, the stress playing on your features.

“But if you weren’t, I would’ve ended right back where I was.” You voice trembles in the slightest, and you hope he doesn’t notice it. He notices. Bucky’s fists clench beneath the bedsheets.

“You don’t even know if it was them, or if they were after you.” You roll over to face him now and he can see the tears gathering in your eyes, glinting in the moonlight from the window.

“I know.” You say assuredly, without a trace of doubt behind your words. Bucky knows he can’t lie to you, he can’t convince you that you didn’t nearly end up back in HYDRA’s clutches tonight. He can’t lie to you, and he won’t.

“Do you feel safe right now? Here?” He asks, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it before. You search his face before answering with a small nod. “Focus on that. Don’t work yourself up over what could’ve happened. Just rest tonight and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“I’m already worked up, I can’t sleep.”

“I gave you my pants for you to lie here all night and not sleep?” He asks jokingly. You move your leg under the covers and kick his shin lightly. When you start to pull your leg back to your side of the bed, something stops you.

“Do you want them back?” You offer. Bucky raises an eyebrow at you, unsure of where you’re going with this. It’s as if the playfulness of the moment is erasing the fear and stress in your mind, so you go with it. “I’ll give them back.”

“So, all of that complaining about not having pants was what? An attempt to get me out of mine?” Bucky teases. He props his head up on one hand over his pillow, a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.

“You gave in pretty easily, didn’t you? I think you wanted to take them off.” You retort, nudging his leg with yours again. Bucky licks his bottom lip as he gauges the tension growing between the two of you. Is this what you do to help you fall asleep? To test the waters, he places a hand right above the knee of the leg you keep nudging him with. It’s as if his touch sets off an electric spark, you feel it dancing from your knee all the way up to your chest and then right back down. The feeling settles between your legs.

“I was doing you a favor.” He rasps, rubbing light circles on your leg with his thumb. “And I was trying to shut you up.” Silence is becoming familiar between the two of you. You look at him for a long moment, mesmerized by the way his thumb is circling against the fabric of the sweats that he gave you. You find yourself staring first into his eyes, and then at his lips. You’d ask yourself what the hell you’re thinking but, let’s be honest: you’re not thinking.

“Would you do me one more favor?”

“What’s that?” Bucky asks as his hand inches a bit further up your thigh.

“Shut me up.”

---

There are a thousand reasons Bucky can think of to not be doing exactly what he’s doing right now. A thousand reasons to not be sucking on your bottom lip and grinding his erection against your clothed cunt. Maybe even a thousand and one reasons not to be absolutely fucking loving every second of it. But every filthy little moan and whimper that graces his ears only spurs him on. He’s doing you a favor, right?

“This isn’t really shutting you up.” You can feel his smirk against the skin of your neck as he slows the movement of his hips and begins grinding against you at a tortuously useless pace. “Maybe we should try it with the sweats out of the way, see if that shuts you up.”

“Yeah, that’s an idea.” The words come out breathlessly. You place your hands against Bucky’s shoulders and push him off of you. He returns to his side of the bed, trying to calm himself down as you lay beside him and shimmy out of his sweats. As far as he knows, that’s all you’re taking off. But in a moment of boldness, you decided to speed things up a bit and take your panties off with them. When you glance over and see him lying on his back, with the moonlight highlighting the sweat that glistens over the ridges of his abs, all you can think about is him. Being on him, being under him, you need him. He looks back at you with a daring look and you’re sold, you’re straddling his hips, hovering right over his boxers in an instant.

Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat when his flesh palm lands against your hip, just beneath the fabric of your t-shirt, and he only feels skin. Where’s the waistband of your panties? You see the surprise on his face as he grips your hips tighter, keeping you from sitting down and fulling straddling him.

“I thought I said try it with the sweats out of the way.” He tsks playfully. You have no idea how badly he wants to rip his boxers off and plunge his cock so deep inside you that you scream.

“Oops, I must’ve misheard you.” Your mischievous smile makes his cock harden that last little bit, and he can feel the way his balls begin aching to be emptied. He fucking hates you for making him feel this way.

“I should’ve known that being a good girl and listening wasn’t going to be your thing.” He says with a shake of his head. You’re about to say something else teasing and sarcastic when Bucky’s fingers dig into your hips sharply, surely leaving bruises, and he forces you to sit down across the hard shaft of his cock. Your wet cunt instantly soaks the fabric of his boxers and within two seconds, he can feel how wet you really are for him. For him. He hates you. He hates you. He hates you. He has to remind himself repeatedly as you begin circling your hips, because he fears he’s quickly forgetting that fact. You grind down with a little more pressure and he can feel a bead of precum slipping down the head of his cock. A soft groan slips out of him and he starts pushing your t-shirt up higher and higher until he’s pulling it over your head. The pale moonlight is just enough to let him see your bare chest and again, he’s chanting in his head. He hates you. He’s just doing this to make you feel better, to get your mind off of the HYDRA shit so you can sleep tonight. That’s all it is, right? A favor. As you lean down and start kissing and sucking on the skin of his neck, he feels your fingertips slowly dragging his boxers down by the waistband. He hates you.

At some point, Bucky helped you get his boxers all the way down his legs and he kicked them off and away until they were lost beneath the mess of sheets and blankets atop the bed. When your hand fisted around his cock the first time, he rutted into your hand without meaning to. It was like instinct. You wrapped your fist around him a little tighter and pressed your lips against his in a desperate kiss as he thrusted into your hand a second time, letting his precum wet your palm and then using it as lube. You would’ve been satisfied letting him fuck your hand, honestly. You probably could’ve orgasmed just from that experience alone, but you didn’t need him knowing you were that easy for him. That’s what got you to where you are now,

“I hate you.” You lie straight through your teeth as you drag your cunt back and forth along the length of his cock. Every time the head of it rubs against your clit, Bucky can feel your thighs tremble on either side of him and he’s fighting the urge to bend you over the bed and ruin you.

“I hate you too.” He lies right back. When you look into each other’s eyes, you both know there isn’t much truth coming from either of your mouths. “Sit on my cock.”

Never have you ever been one to listen when a man tells you what to do, until this moment, with Bucky Barnes. He watches as you position the head of his cock just right at your entrance. You’d think a man would want to watch as his entire length disappears inside of you, but no. Bucky looks up at your face as soon as the tip notches inside you. He watches with heavy breaths and groans falling from his lips as your mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ shape and your eyes scrunch closed at the way your walls stretch to fit him in.

“That’s it, don’t stop until you take it all.” Filthy. He’s fucking filthy. And you listen to every word he says, sinking down until you feel his balls pressing firmly against your ass. “Shit.” When he finally tears his eyes away from your face and gets a look at where you’re so deeply connected, he can’t fucking stand it. It’s too much and not enough all at the same time. “You have to move.” He groans, slipping his flesh hand further back from your hip to grab your ass.

“I can’t.” You whimper, leaning forward and bracing your hands on the mattress, on either side of his head.

“Move or get off of my cock.” You’d almost be offended if you didn’t know that he’s saying that because he’s close to blowing his load in you too early. You can feel the way his balls are tightening against your ass and you know he’s desperate. So, you try. You lift yourself up one single inch, and then slide back down. Then two inches, then back down. You repeat it over and over slowly, building up a rhythm as your own pleasure begins to grow. “Fuck, maybe you’re a good listener after all.”

“Stop talking.” You moan out, picking up the pace. You’re fully fucking his cock now, your bodies making obscene sounds as skin slaps against skin repeatedly. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, hate me a little more and see what that gets you.” He taunts, squeezing your ass with both hands and using his grasp there to help guide the up and down movement of your hips. You’re close and truthfully, you don’t even want to tell him.

The trouble really starts when he moves his flesh hand to your lower stomach and presses his thumb against your clit, offering a delicious friction there as you ride his dick. The increase in pleasure makes it even harder to think straight. You’re not thinking straight in the slightest when you move your hands to his chest, not paying attention to the fact that you have one hand over his heart.

“I’m close.” You whimper, earning you another squeeze of your ass with his vibranium hand and a bit more pressure against your clit. Your eyes are shut tightly as you focus on the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls and the tip of it nearing your cervix with every snap of your hips.

When you open your eyes and look down at him, his blue eyes flit up to meet yours and that’s when you realize the mistake you’ve made. He starts rubbing circles against your clit the moment your eyes meet, sending you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes in like a tidal wave, sweeping and relentless. With your hands on Bucky’s bare chest and your eyes locked, you lose the last shred of control you have, the last morsel of control over your abilities slips from your grasp. He feels it. Bucky feels every bit of pleasure that’s coursing through your body, he feels every thought in your mind, he hears your inner voice screaming for him. In the heat of the moment, you pour every sensation that you’re feeling straight into Bucky’s nervous system.

He can’t even speak as his orgasm hits ten times harder than it ever has before. He knows it’s coming from the eye contact and your hand on his chest, he can feel the uncharacteristic coolness beneath your palm that rests over his heart. It’s why he clamps his own hand over yours on his chest and uses his vibranium arm to wrap around your back and pull you down against him. As Bucky’s cum paints your walls, filling you so full that it starts dripping down his shaft, he can’t stop thrusting up into you. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

�� “Bucky, I’m…” You suck in a deep breath as you collapse on his chest, though he keeps your hand anchored over his heart. “I’m full, I can’t…” He shushes you as he continues pushing his cock up into your pussy. He slows but doesn’t stop.

“Don’t move.” He’s begging. Though his tone doesn’t sound like it, he’s fully aware that that’s what he’s doing. You haven’t fully caught your breath yet, but a soft laugh leaves your lips.

“Move or get off of my cock.” You repeat his earlier words playfully.

“I hate you.”

TAG LIST:

@sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @blackhawkfanatic @kentokaze @nyashonality @h2oaffirmations @sadeyes61 @aka-tua-braindump @immortalfangirl

#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier #winter soldier

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simp4wom3n · 1 year

Text

Hidden Jealousy

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Reader

Requested: Yes/No ~ request @madullaoblangata

Summary: Y/n and Jenna's relationship was a secret to the public meaning as far as everyone else knew, you were both free game. At the Wednesday premiere, a reporter gets a bit too flirtatious causing Jenna to feel... Jealous? ~ Word Count: 1.167k ~ Warnings: jealousy?? otherwise none

A/N: Hi!! the first of MANY jealousy related requests is hereee. Let me know what you guys think of it so I can hopefully perfect my jealousy writing skills <3

As much as you hated large and public events, you had a soft spot for premieres, especially this one. Working on Wednesday was easily the best 8 months of your life. It was without a doubt the favourite cast you’ve ever worked with, making so many wholesome memories on and off set. And of course the highlight, you met your girlfriend Jenna. The two of you haven't gone public with your relationship yet, wanting to keep it within friends and family for now, which sadly meant as much as you disliked it, at events like these you had to keep your affection to a minimum. It also meant that as far as everyone else was aware, you were single and up for grabs, much to Jenna's dismay.

Despite both of you getting ready in your shared apartment, the two of you arrived in seperate cars in order to avoid speculation. Arriving just before Jenna, whilst posing for a few photos you heard the crowd go absolutely nuts as she walked into the premiere looking absolutely breathtaking. Trying your best now to gawk at her, you watched with a pleasant smile as she approached you, pulling you into a small hug as if it were two friends reuniting.

To your disappointment her touch didn’t linger as she pulled away promptly, giving you a sympathetic smile as she returned her focus to the press. Before joining the rest of the cast, you two stood for a few pictures with your arms around each other's waists. You all eventually split off for interviews after taking some pictures with the whole cast, with you and Jenna appearing next to each other in separate interviews.

"Hi Y/n! You look absolutely stunning thank you for taking the time to talk to us" the young interviewer smiles as you approach her. "Of course! and thank you I love your outfit as well". You notice the warmth of her cheeks as she adoringly smiles at you. "Aw thank you that's so sweet of you", she replies giddily earning a tight lipped smile in return.

"So, your character in Wednesday is very unique" she explains as you nod along. "Do you think that is the reason for everyone being so in love with your character? Because talking from experience there is just something so enchanting about her, like I fell in love in the first episode." You chuckle politely as you bite your lip in contemplation. "I mean... I think a person being undeniably themselves is quite an attractive attribute, so in that way I guess I could see where the fans are coming from."

"And don't forget your looks! I mean I can barely take my eyes off of you". You gave her a polite smile despite starting to feel a little uncomfortable with all the compliments coming your way, but you knew you had to be friendly and respectful to the reporter, even if you've had enough. "Thank you". As you tried to compose yourself you couldn’t stop thinking about your girlfriend next to you, 'Jenna's not going to be happy when I tell her about this'.

Jenna was in fact not happy at all. Participating in her own interview adjacent to you, she had to contain herself from showing her distaste for what was going on. Standing next to you allowed her to hear everything the interviewer was throwing at you, all the compliments about being 'in love with your character’ and how she can ‘barely take her eyes off of you'.

Jenna felt sick to her stomach and assumed you would feel the same, but when she glanced over at you, you appeared to be having a great time. The kind smile on your face said it all. Her heart sunk a little when she saw your expression. A random interviewer who was clearly interested in you had the pleasure of seeing a smile that was usually reserved for her. Her sadness was quickly replaced by an unfamiliar feeling… Jealousy? No, she doesn't get jealous, that's ridiculous. All she knew was that she'd had enough of seeing you being shamelessly flirted with.

"So I noticed that both you and your character are currently single," your eyes widening slightly in surprise as you gave an uncertain nod. "Give us a rundown on your love life and the love life of you character". Chuckling to fill in the awkward silence as you tried to think of a response to the intrusive question. "Um... well I guess my chara..." "Hey honey" Jenna suddenly interrupts, leaning into your side and slipping her hand into yours, squeezing it tightly. You turn to her in shock, innocence written all over her face.

"Hey" you look at her with furrowed brows, confused by her interruption and her use of the endearing term considering you weren’t public yet. Jenna ignores your gaze as she turns to the reporter, "What was the question?" she asks with a smile. "Oh I was just asking Y/n about their love life in and out of the show." she replies innocently. "Oh that's a good question. Well I'm personally routing for her character and Wednesday to get together. As for in real life, well..." she turns her head to look at you with a cheeky smirk, to which you look at her with an amused yet puzzled smile. "She's taken" she states assertively, pressing a kiss on your cheek as she pulls you away.

You mouth a 'Sorry' to the reporter as you let Jenna drag you away. As soon as the two of you are out of sight, Jenna pulls you into a tight embrace and you can't help but laugh. "What was that about?" you chuckle. "I didn't like the questions she was asking you! She wouldn't shut up about how you were so attractive and how everyone is in love with you." she mocks as she pulls back from the embrace. "Your my girlfriend and she was obviously flirting with you and you were enjoying it." your face drops at her confession. "Hey" you comfort, tilting her chin up so her eyes meet yours, "I wasn't enjoying it I promise". "But you were smiling" she retorts "Only because I have to Jenna. I didn't want to seem rude. Also why would I have eyes for anyone else… I love you and you only" you apologise placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "Besides..." you look at at her cheekily, "you look hot when your jealous"

"I was not jealous!" she quipped, feigning offence. You smirk at her rejection a let out a small chuckle. "Mhm. Whatever you say". "Oh shush" she shoves you jokingly before walking past you back into the premiere. You stand there for a moment, you lips upturned in a gentle smile. 'I made Jenna Ortega jealous. Huh.' you giggled in disbelief before turning on your heals and catching up with your girlfriend, instantly intertwining your fingers, the position in which they remained for the remainder of the night.

Tag-list: @nitchxhdc @emeraldevan @looseheartedlady @the-night-owl-blr @badassjaguar @txmxav @oh-thats-cute @blckrwidow @cacciatricediartemide @flaiire1805 @rainbow-love4ever

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega request #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem reader #jenna ortega imagine #wednesday netflix #wednesday premiere #wednesday #wednesday imagine #netflix wednesday #wednesday 2022 #wednesday addams x fem reader #wednesday addams x reader

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astroboots · 2 years

Text

RED FLAGS ║ PART 3

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)

Summary: For the first time since that night, Steven sleeps over, but it might not be him you wake up with in your bed. Or alternatively: Marc makes a dramatic ass entrance.

Warning/content: unease around male character, distinct lack of smex... (I know trust me when I say that I am the one most surprised by this).

Word Count: 4.6k

Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

For a man with a sleeping disorder, Steven sleeps like a baby, seemingly without a care in the world.

Despite his insistence that he wanted to stay up and marathon Blue Planet together, the poor man fell asleep on you (literally) not even twenty minutes in, right around when the crabs were playing football on the beach.

Honestly, it’s a miracle he managed to fall asleep at all in this position. He’s slumped over at an entirely awkward angle, head and shoulders nearly severed at a 90 degree angle, his cheek resting heavily on your shoulder.

Not that you mind. Sitting with him like this in your dimly-lit flat, as his shoulders rise and fall in sync with the sound of waves from the telly, is oddly comforting. Almost meditative. It would be nice if the two of you could do this together every night. Falling asleep together and waking up together, just like every other normal couple.

You reach down, brushing a stray curl that’s fallen into his eyes, and just marvel at him for a long second.

He looks so good like this, free from the tension that is constantly plaguing him. Not for the first time, you think to yourself how unfairly pretty he is. Golden skin, sharply defined cheekbones, curved lashes thick enough to make any woman envious. He’s a gift shop-ist, not a bloody supermodel for God’s sake! It’s entirely unnecessary of him.

You card your fingers through his hair, raven locks soft against your skin, and gently scrape the tip of your nails against his scalp. Instinctively you await the blissful shiver and sigh that usually accompanies your attention on him.

Not this time though.

He’s so still.

Tilting your head sideways, you scrutinise the sombre expression on his face.

Eerily still.

The usual nervous energy in his body is all gone, leaving him relaxed in a way that you’re not used to.

Without the wide eyes and nervous movement that bleeds into every inch of his body language during his waking hours, he looks different. Not quite like your Steven anymore.

Your chest tightens at the realisation. A moment ago, you would have attributed it to affection, but now you’re not so sure.

You’ve only seen Steven this relaxed once before.

Unease pricks the tip of your fingers, an uncomfortable heat swelling under your nails. You still haven’t been able to make sense of it. That distorted night when the man you love was not himself, replaced by a stranger who looked exactly like him but acted differently. Who regarded you like you were something insignificant—an insect to be quashed. You can still hear it clearly. That oddly-accented voice ringing in your ears.

Sweetheart, he’d called you, but his voice had held not an ounce of the warm affection that Steven’s overflows with when he calls you love.

In the quiet privacy of your bedroom, the pace of your heart quickens until it drowns out the tv, pounding painfully loud in your ears.

This was a bad idea.

You shouldn’t have asked him to come over tonight.

It’s been several weeks since that first night you spent the night in Steven’s flat. Neither of you have spoken of it. Steven, for his part, still doesn't appear to remember what happened, and you've been too doped up on serotonin of the post-night love confession. Maybe it's foolish, but you've been enjoying the honeymoon phase your relationship has been plunged into and willfully ignoring anything that might derail your happiness. Most of the time you're able to chalk that night up to a one-time disturbance brought on by lack of sleep, but...

Since then, you’ve taken care to avoid this precise scenario–him falling asleep right next to you. You always leave early from his flat now. After the first few times, you learned not to look in his direction as you get dressed. That way you don’t have to face the hopeful expression in his eyes when he invites you to stay over or watch the way it inevitably dims when you make up some excuse to turn him down.

It’s not normal, and it’s not right. You shouldn’t have to be scared to sleep next to the man you love. It’s a thorn in your side in what is otherwise a perfect relationship. Except ‘thorn’ implies that it is a small issue, and this—whatever this is—is much more than that.

It’s not a tenable situation. You know this. It’s why you invited him tonight, in the hopes that you could move past it. Past the irrational fear that you’ll fall asleep with Steven and wake up with someone else.

Your fingers drop from where it’s threaded into his hair, slipping down to the side of his arm until your hand rests on his strong bicep. Deceptively strong. Even relaxed as he is in his sleep, the toned muscles are firm under your touch. Hardly the body you’d expect of a mousy souvenir vendor spending all his day in front of a till at the British museum.

In front of you, his eyes are fluttering behind closed lids, and you’re afraid of what will happen when he opens them. Is he going to greet you with sleepy murmurs and a sweet shy smile? Or will there be that snide, callous smirk across his lips again?

Every instinct is screaming at you to leave now before the answer presents itself. There’s a reason why there are so many cautionary tales about women prying into the secrets that men are trying to hide. Every version of that story ends with the woman ultimately punished for their curiosity.

Part of you just doesn't want to find out. You have no desire to play the role of Bluebeard’s wife and find yourself at the end of an axe. But the logical, responsible part of you, the one who wants to build a long-lasting, adult relationship with Steven, knows that you’ll have to face this eventually, and sooner is better than later.

Who is sleeping on top of you right now? Steven? Or is it the other man? The stranger, who is very much not your Steven.

You don’t know what you’re planning to do until you feel the warmth of his skin against the pads of your thumb and index finger. All you know is that you need to know.

Taking a deep breath, you squeeze your eyes shut, brace yourself, and pinch down hard on the soft flesh between your fingers.

A pained yelp sounds out in your bedroom. His body jolts up and away from you, the mattress bouncing from the sudden movement. You squint your eyes open to see wide eyes gazing back at you.

“Sorry, sorry.” His words are a slur as he wipes an errant line of drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

The constriction in your chest dissipates. It’s your Steven.

“Did I fall asleep on you?” he asks around a large yawn, “Guess I must’ve. Sorry about that, love.”

You shake your head, and heat spreads across your cheeks at how silly you’re being. Of course, it’s Steven. Why on earth did you think otherwise?

Next to you, Steven’s already fluffing up the pillow on your side making it comfortable for you both as he adjusts himself from where he’s slumped against the bed in an effort to stay awake this time.

You watch him as he’s settling back next to you. There's no sign of irritation from him, as if you didn’t just cruelly wake him up for no good reason. His eyes remain steadfast on the screen where dolphins are playing catch, but it’s evident that he’s exhausted. It is only a matter of minutes before his head lolls forward, the gravitation of sleep luring him back in.

“Steven, it’s okay. You can–” You hesitate, then steel yourself and make the offer anyway, “You can stay here tonight. You should go to sleep. You have work tomorrow.”

“Just a little bit longer,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t want to sleep just yet. If I could, I’d want to stay awake until morning. ‘Til you’re up."

Between the yawn that contorts his face and the soft stray curl bouncing on his forehead, any unease you felt seconds ago is gone. All you can do is smile at him. God, he’s absolutely adorable, isn’t he?

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

His eyes flutter closed, and for a second, you think he’s gone back to sleep, but then he strains them open again, only part-way managing. He looks like he’s barely awake, and his voice is so quiet it’s almost a whisper. “Don’t want to wake up to find you’re gone again.”

Your smile fades at that, and he must feel you tense because he shakes his head quickly.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have– I know you don’t like to talk about it– sorry.” He bites down on his lower lip, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Oh. Oh no. You thought he’d just forgotten and moved past it. But it’s clear now, with his midnight confession, that it still plagues him. His only reason for not bringing it up was to not upset you.

In your own ways, you’re both still reeling from the events of your first night together. For all the lovely love declarations that were made, resolutions are not found at the end of the love rainbow.

What can you say to him in this situation? That you did say goodbye that night; he just didn’t remember it? He’d think you were a complete nutter. Or accusing him of being one, and you don’t know which is worse.

How can you tell him what’s happening when you don’t understand it yourself?

“Steven, we… um… we need to talk.”

His eyes widen, all traces of sleep vanished in an instant. “Oh god, you're breaking up with me, aren't you?”

You blink in confusion and it takes several moments for you to recalibrate your brain before you can process the sudden panic in his voice.

Oh, shit. Of course that’s what he’d think when you’ve chosen to open with the ultimate break up line. Bollocks. Not off to a great start, are you? Clearly you should’ve thought this through a bit more, but it’s too late now.

“No. No, Steven. Not that kind of talk. I’m not breaking up with you,” you interrupt, cutting him off before he can spiral further. It's a little heartbreaking that he’s still so insecure. “That’s the opposite of what I want to tell you.”

Steven’s brows knit in confusion, a bewildered expression bleeding onto his face.

“You want to tell me that… That I’m…. breaking up with you?” He starts out slowly and incredulously, but a warm smile quickly spreads across his face. The amount of open affection there steals your breath. “Now I know for a fact that is not the case.”

You huff out a surprised laugh, shaking your head “No, Steven. Definitely not that.”

“Well then, what is it you want to tell me?” He’s still smiling, but you can see the shadow of fear in his eyes.

“Well, um…”

You pause, trying to gather your thoughts. In the background, Attenborough’s voice is now droning on about turtles shagging. It's distracting to say the least.

“Hang on a tic.” You blindly fumbling for the TV remote behind you, eventually managing to turn the bloody thing off. “Right. There. Now, just listen for a moment, please?”

Steven obediently falls silent, watching you expectantly. You take a deep breath, trying to sort out what you’re going to say, and realise that you have no idea how to begin this conversation.

‘I woke up, and you were speaking with an American accent.’

That won't make a lick of sense.

“Well… um… Remember that first night? Our first night… together?”

At the reminder, those signature wide brown eyes of his darken, boring into your own as his pupils dilate.

“Yeah, I definitely remember that,” he says, voice still hoarse from sleep. Your cheeks heat as you remember staring down into those eyes, just barely visible as his mouth devoured you, hot and hungry. “Don’t think I could ever forget.”

The words are sweet, but they hit you like a bucket of cold water to the face, because that’s just the problem, isn’t it? He doesn’t remember.

“Except, well– you did forget.”

“I did forge–? What? What d’you mean, love?” He tilts his head in confusion. “What did I–?” His words trails off mid-sentence, as he looks away from you, squinting at the black screen of the telly. He huffs out a small laugh, but it’s so obviously forced that it’s almost painful to hear, and it does nothing to mask his lack of composure.

God, is this even a good idea? What if he doesn’t believe you? Or gets really upset?

You watch Steven carefully, trying to get a sense of what he might be feeling, but his attention seems firmly focused on the telly, as though its empty screen might reveal the secrets of the universe. After a long moment, he shakes his head, eyeing the appliance suspiciously like it's done him some great wrong.

Following his gaze, you try to see if there’s something amiss, but it’s just the same blank screen as before. Even when you lean in closer, all you see is the reflection of your own worried face peering back at you.

Taking a deep breath, you reach out and touch Steven’s wrist to get his attention. He flinches at the touch as if startled, but then settles his attention on you.

“So you said the other day that your memory is dodgy sometimes… That you do things you don’t remember doing? And sometimes you disappear for a while and don’t seem to remember being gone…?”

Steven nods absently, but even though he’s looking at you, he doesn’t quite seem to be following along. Despite the seriousness of your conversation, his eyes keep flitting back to the screen.

“Steven!” you call out, snapping him out of whatever is distracting him.

He jolts back towards you, shoulders hunched with guilt. “Uhm– sorry, I thought I saw–” His eyes flicker to the screen again, but then he seems to think better of it, turning his head deliberately away and settling his eyes back on your face.

Part of you is annoyed that his mind is seemingly faraway and he isn’t paying attention to you. This is not a conversation you are over the moon about either. But as you watch him, you see the nervous tension in his face. It's there in the way he swallows convulsively, the way he doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with his hands, and you chide yourself for your own impatience. He’s clearly distressed. This can’t be easy for him to talk about. You soften your voice as you continue.

“So then the other night… I think it might have been a bit like that? It was like…”

This time, it’s you who looks away, unable to look at his worried face any longer. You drop your gaze to the bedding, tracing the lines of the wrinkled sheet as you try to pluck up the courage to put your worries into words.

“You were… different. Not your usual self. You weren’t…” You struggle to find the right words, not wanting to sound like you’re whinging or accusing him of anything. “Sorry. I’m not explaining this very well…”

God, you’re making an absolute hash of this, aren’t you?

Looking up, you find Steven staring at the screen again. It’s like he’s drowning in his own reflection, face pale, eyes lost and confused. You’re not sure if he’s even hearing you at all. Maybe telling him this isn't the right thing to do.

You drop your gaze back to the covers as you try to consider your options one last time before wading into the point of no return. You feel like you're standing in front of a locked chamber, key in hand. You can still turn back, go on with your relationship as it is, hoping that nothing will happen again (terrified that it will).

But...There really isn’t another way around this anymore is there? You can’t keep pretending things are normal, that the reaper’s scythe isn’t looming over your relationship ready to fall at any moment. If you want this to work, this relationship you have with Steven, you will have to drag the figure that is lurking in the dark into the light. Unpleasant as it may be—scary even—you need to tell him, and there are no pretty, perfect words that can make this a more pleasant conversation.

“Look, Steven, I didn’t leave your place before you woke up that first night. We were both awake in the middle of the night. I talked to you, but it was strange. Like you were somebody else. Like–”

The rest of your sentence dies with a squeak of alarm when a heavy pressure seals firmly over your mouth, trapping the sound in your lungs. You jolt in surprise and rear back, trying to escape.

You don’t get far.

The iron grip of a large, strong hand is bridging the span of your mouth, fingers digging almost painfully into the sides of your jaw. It's keeping you motionless and unable to pull away.

In front of you, dark, narrowed eyes, slit in anger, are boring into yours. Whatever you were intending to say dies on your lips as he hisses out a single word of warning.

“Don’t.”

This is not your Steven.

You try to protest, but all that comes out is an unintelligible noise muffled against the flat of his palm.

The initial shock fades into indignation at being manhandled. You glower at him, squinting your eyes as you attempt to convey the depths of your scathing displeasure through your glare alone.

The man seems unimpressed at best, unmoved by your poor attempt at defiance, as his eyes pin you down with an intimidating intensity. They’re less predatory than your first encounter but intimidating nevertheless.

“Do not tell Steven,” he reiterates. His voice is flat and commanding, like he wants you to know his word is final with no room for debate. Nothing like Steven’s chipper tone.

The harsh grip on your jaw gradually relaxes, and his hand slides slowly to the side. Despite the fact that logically you know this is not your Steven (can't possibly be), despite the fact that all your survival instincts are telling you to be careful, there is a part of you that has imprinted on the physicality of the man before you. Every nerve cell has been wired to respond to his touch. As his fingers slide across your lips, you feel the faint spark of attraction singing in your veins. And God, how fucked up is that?

You should be scared shitless. This man is nothing but red flags, and you should probably turn around and run away from all of this.

Instead, you think of Steven. Of how he’s never been able to lead a normal life with the small joys that are long due to him. Simply because he doesn’t know. A protectiveness swells up inside of you that overrides any self preservation instinct you have for your own safety.

So despite yourself, the next words coming out of you are: “He deserves to know.”

Not-Steven, closes his eyes as if your very words are embedding a deep-seated migraine in his skull. “Don’t. He’s alright as he is. ”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“Trust me on this. I’ve known Steven a lot longer than you have. He doesn’t need my mess.”

"He's got it though, hasn't he?” you exclaim before you can think better of it, your voice loud and sharp in the silence of the flat.

His eyes, dark and intense flit over your face, and you find yourself sitting up straighter and lifting your chin defiantly. In for a penny in for a pound.

“He's exhausted all the time. Missing hours, sometimes days of his life. Constantly in danger of losing his job, his flat… his girlfriend.” You think of the nasty wounds you saw on Steven's chest, black-blue bruises marring his soft skin on your first night together. “Maybe even his life for all he knows!”

You’re suddenly furious at the unfairness of it all. At the shit hand Steven’s been dealt; at all the people who never gave him a second chance when he messed up because of it; and most of all, at the man in front of you watching you with a furrowed brow and a belligerent set to his jaw. This bloody wanker who is asking you to lie to the man you love about something that’s making him unhappy.

You have to pause and take a deep breath before you’re sure you’ll be able to continue civilly.

"He's got the mess already. Your. Fucking. Mess," you say, quieter now, but with no less anger brimming in your chest despite your efforts, "and he deserves to know why."

There’s no answer. He’s just staring at you in silence. You press on before you lose your nerve.

“You’re asking me to trust you, but I don’t even know you. Not a single thing about you. The only thing I know is that you’re not Steven.”

The man looks to his feet, frustrated, and for the first time the forcefulness of his voice cracks. It's almost pleading despite the frustration that runs deep. “Steven deserves to be happy. A happy, simple, normal life. That ends the moment you tell him.”

You hesitate, and the two of you stare at each other for a long moment. Both firm in your conviction that you have the right of it, neither one willing to back down.

“Marc,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. It’s Marc.” He spits it out with impatience, like you’ve dragged it out of him and he’s begrudgingly been forced to say it when you haven’t even asked for it.

“Pleasure,” you say on instinct, then think better of it. “Well, sort of anyway. But that’s not what I need from you.”

Right now, in this moment, he looks more like a sullen child than the intimidating person you had taken him for just seconds ago. “Then tell me what you need,” he demands, “because I can’t have you dragging Steven into all this.”

The command draws you up short because in all honesty, you don’t know. Should your needs even factor into this? It’s Steven’s needs that are the priority first and foremost. But... does Steven even want to know? What if this Marc is right? What if whatever’s happening—this mess that Marc keeps referring to—is something that Steven would be happier not knowing about? What is the right decision in a messy situation like this?

The honest answer is you don’t know.

The only thing you do know, the most important factor in this ridiculously complicated puzzle that you’re unable to solve is Steven’s safety.

“I need to know that when you disappear and go off to wherever it is you go and do…”—you wave your hands at him vaguely—”whatever it is you do that makes Steven disappear for days, that he’s safe. Steven that is. I need some reassurance that Steven will be okay. It’s his body too.”

“You’ll keep all this a secret from Steven if I let you know he's safe?” Those familiar dark eyes bore into yours with an unfamiliar intensity.

You hesitate, not sure you’re making the right choice, but what other choice is there?

“For now, at least,” you acquiesce with a nod.

He doesn't nod back, and there's no physical cue from him that he's accepting the bargain you're proposing to him. Instead, he turns away from you, leaning over to reach for something on your nightstand. When he turns back, he’s holding a pen.

“Give me your hand,” he orders flatly.

You hesitate, then extend your hand slowly, offering it to him.

He takes it, his touch surprisingly delicate compared to the tight grip he had on your face earlier. His fingers are warm–almost hot–against your skin as he holds your hand in his and starts scribbling on your palm.

It tickles, but you don’t let yourself squirm, craning your neck to watch him curiously as a long string of numbers appears.

Finally he finishes, capping the pen one-handed and tossing it back onto the nightstand. Then he turns your hand over in his and looks up at you.

You meet his gaze just in time to see the change happen: narrowed eyes rounding into large saucers. The sullen anger etched into every line of that chiselled face fading into a warm vulnerable softness. And there he is, your Steven is back.

“Sorry, were you saying something? I’m sorry, I think I must have slipped off somewhere for a second there.”

If only he knew how right he was.

You shake your head, lacing your fingers with his, and clasp his hands in yours. “It’s alright. I was just saying that it’s probably time for us to get some sleep.”

Steven’s lips tighten into a frowning line, clearly dubious of your answer. Even before he turns those big, round puppy-dog eyes on you, you feel the guilt in you fester.

“Is it… um…” he hesitates, and the uncertainty on his face breaks your heart all over again, “Would it be alright if I sleep here tonight? I don’t want to intrude, but I’d really like to stay. So we can wake up together in the morning.”

You want to say yes to him. You really do. But you’re still caught up in the emotional whiplash from the surrealistic events that unfolded in this very bed mere moments ago, your brain is trying to make sense of everything that happened. You don’t even know how to begin to answer him right now.

You’re sure you won’t be able to catch an ounce of sleep with him here.

But hell, you’re not sure you’ll catch an ounce of sleep with him gone either. So you fake a smile as best you can, because maybe if you manage to convince Steven, you can convince yourself that everything is alright.

“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning,” he throws in as an offer and you can’t help the way your smile melts into something real at the hopefulness of his tone.

“That sounds lovely, Steven.”

His smile spreads wider, then he scoots down to lay in the bed. You follow until you are lying on your side, with your ear pressed to your pillow as you find yourself looking up at Steven’s face. His features are soft and gentle and all so familiar as he closes the distance between you and presses his forehead to yours.

Maybe it’s just the adrenaline leaving your system, but somehow, despite the events of this evening, as Steven wraps his arms around you, you realise just how tired you are, and you let yourself succumb to it. Closing your eyes, you snuggle in closer to his chest, surrounded by his warmth and scent. As you drift to sleep, your last conscious thought is that you need to remember to write down the numbers on your palm in the morning in case it smudges.

When you wake the next morning, blankets drawn up warm around your shoulders, it’s to an empty bed. Steven is no longer there.

~ Continue ~

Author's note

This has truly been 84 years, and thank you to everyone who's still reading this. A big part of the delay (besides various irl factors such as me moving internationally) was that we wanted pre-write the whole series before we posted this next part to make sure that we don't just leave readers on a cliffhanger of an unfinished series. The first draft of the series is 90% done now. The rest of the parts should not take months in between to be posted (watch me jinx myself and get hit by a bus by saying this).

Big heartfelt thanks for everyone who has taken the time to read this series, and a special thanks to those who have gone above and beyond to comment/reblogged to let us know their thoughts and that they enjoyed the series. I know I'm rubbish at replying sometimes, but please know that we read these and absolutely gush like a little girl with a crush squeeing in excitement.

Dedications

I have a lot of people to thank for, while I've been trying to pound out the complete draft of this series: @jazzelsaur @radiowallet @write-and-buried @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @frannyzooey are just but some people who have been holding my hand when I've been screaming into the ether, duckrubbing and helping me with both plots, cockulations and vibes.

But most of all, I need to take time to thank my co-author, @thirstworldproblemss for bearing with me and humoring my roller coaster of -- despair, crying, laughing, more crying, debilitating horniness, utter despair again-- that has been me while we've been writing this one.

For listening to me whine and bitch and whine about furniture choices and sending 20 photos of the same damn reading chair in different shades of pink.

For not killing me when I keep giving her second by second live updates on how my ebay auctions for dinnerware sets that looks like vegetables.

For withstanding the weekly photobombs of replacement plants from Columbia Road, because I keep killing the ones I have.

For being the best friend a clown could ask for. Your presence in my life is one of the most precious and joyous things I could ever have asked for.

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myun-saidthoughts · 9 months

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My Theory on Dealing with the Intensity of 8th House Synastry

I believe one way to fully embrace what 8th house synastry brings is to fully accept your 7th house qualities that you may lack or feel uncomfortable with embodying.

(I also believe embodying 7th house qualities can also help you accept your shadow self, and accept characteristics you might be afraid to develop or accept especially if you don't have any natal Libra/7H/prominent Venus placements).

Furthermore this post may reign more true if you have active 1H/2H/12H natal placements, but if you share more 5H/7H/8H natal placements then the energy the 7th house brings may feel less energetically heavy.

If you're afraid or not used to accepting attributes that the 7th house elicits, and someone walks into your life who lights up your 8th house, then their energy will feel all-consuming, and you'll develop a scarcity mindset when they're not in your presence.

Their soul to you will feel like a "skip the line pass" to your emotional healing, therefore without them you'll feel this lack you can't shake.

So if you're struggling with 8th house synastry one way to actively move past these trials and errors is to heal the descendant part in you, especially if that part of you is hidden within or underdeveloped.

Examples:

Air rising - Fire descendant

With an air sign as your rising sign, you have rationality that some people may lack. You easily embrace objectivity, understanding, and intellectual depth that others might not possess. However, this can sometimes lead to excessive aloofness, which can cloud your thoughts and prevent you from fully experiencing all that life has to offer. If you fail to ignite and accept the passionate and free-spirited aspects of your soul, accepting the profound transformations and challenges of the 8th house can feel overwhelming and all-consuming. Especially if you have a habit with ignoring your needs, that alone might leave you to forget or feel uncomfortable when you are in the limelight or have attention, you might disregard who you have connection with because you outthink your way out of it. You might tell yourself that you easily become bored which leads you to jump from relationship to relationship; especially once things aren't entertaining enough or once they don't bring you enough stimulation. That alone prevents fulfilling you truest souls desire with holding onto a partner that you can call yours.

Learning this will bring less intensity with 8th house synastry, for every air sign you have an earth sign over your 8th house. Earth signs are the signs of maturity, growth, stability and exude long term partnership. Therefore when someone touches these parts of you they are only igniting the part in you that truly wants a stable, secure life long partner. Learning that true partnership can be deep and passionate and not running away from someone the second something doesn't objectively look right; this will lead you to profound change within; all you have to do is accept it.

Earth rising - Water descendant

With an earth sign as your rising sign, there is natural wisdom that you have that others might fail to hold onto. You more than likely had to grow up quite fast, you might've always been the sibling but never the child. Therefore with that brings a desire to ignore your deep rooted emotions or suppress your feelings that reign within your bones. You were always used to making decisions for yourself; leaving you unable to accept that sometimes it's okay to be sad, and that it's okay to want to be held. It feels uncomfortable with expressing emotions because perhaps you were taught that emotions were a sign of weakness or when you had emotion as a child you were dismissed in a way that made you block that part of you off. So, once you are fully accepting of your deep rooted emotions and accept that it is okay to allow someone in, and that it's okay to allow and trust others in a way you may not even know is possible will bring you the satisfaction your soul wants. You may not even be aware of how deeply you're even able to feel because you never had the chance to let that side of you out. Therefore if you have these wounds and are dealing with 8th house synastry, letting that person that touches the depths of your soul go just deepens that void you ignore.

Entrusting your 7th house characteristics will ease the 8th house intensity, since for you, there is a deep want of being emotionally vulnerable but with that want holds fear that you can't let go of, therefore processing these qualities will have the 8th house energy not become something you deeply "need" in order to fill that void you have within. Your 8th house is in a fire sign therefore you need that passion and full throttle of emotion when it comes to a partner. Accepting vulnerability and your own emotional intensity will allow you to have a partnership where safe love surrounds you, and you won't feel afraid that you won't be able to hold onto that type of vulnerability without that one (that touches your 8th house) person. Understanding that will create the truest type of love that you deeply want.

Fire rising - Air descendant

With a fire sign as you're rising, you have a natural open charismatic soul that others don't. A part of you loves receiving attention and it doesn't come from a shallow spot in you, your soul just has this carefree want to express and do whatever you feel is best for you. Your energy is captivating, you care about your needs and with that brings in qualities many people are afraid to showcase. You aren't afraid to be the loudest person in the room (especially with other fire placements but if you have earth or water heavy disregard). All in all your soul has this passion/excitement that you can't dismiss. Therefore your shadow self, the descendant part of you is saying it's okay to think sometimes. You aren't too boring or too rigid if sometimes you take a step back and reevaluate your choices and desires. It's healthy to make smart decisions when those decisions affect your future. Becoming objective and understanding of others needs will create a higher chance of accepting real authentic love that your soul wants. Developing self awareness on how your choices can affect others will create more harmony; especially with romantic partners. Emotions are a common experience for everyone but understanding the power of your words can lead to emotional growth and maturity.

Therefore to everyone who has a fire rising has a water sign in their 8th house, this alone ignites a deeper part of you that you may not even understand yet. And with someone lighting that part in you might bring in behaviors that you didn't know was possible, you might actually put their needs first (or you might start thinking how your choices will affect them) and that type of care is not common for you to give out to anyone, so letting that part of you go will feel extremely hard. You want to care and give love to someone in very deep passionate way, so allow yourself too.

Water rising - Earth descendant

With a water sign as your rising sign, you take on emotional intensity more than the average person. You feel things deeply, and a lot of the times it can be hard to turn off or close out that part of you. You hold compassion and empathy for others and at times can easily put their needs ahead of your own. You are giving and understanding of others people's hurt, leaving you to disregard unfair actions towards yourself. At your highest self, you are a deep and giving soul, and at the worst of it, people can use and take advantage of your giving nature. You can have intuition that most people are afraid to develop and have a discernment when it comes to others. You can use art as a means to express yourself, whether that be through painting, drawing, poetry, craftsmanship and so forth. Emotions can flood through you at an ease leaving you to be able to create and showcase your truest nature in the most rawest form. You can bring out emotional baggage when it comes with connecting to others because you are highly empathic and you aren't afraid to showcase that side of you. You understand that emotions are a part of your soul. And now with that brings in your descendant sign, having this area of life be earth showcases the need of high emotional regulation. If you don't possess the necessary tools with truly letting go or understanding your emotional nature; that alone will bring you chaos and miscommunication. Not everyone can read your mind, and not everyone will feel just as deeply as you; therefore taking on the understanding where it's okay when someone doesn't exactly feel or understand the way you do will create more harmony with partnerships. Becoming grounded and logical at times when needed will create a positive impact for yourself and others. You are whole and valuable with and without having someone tell you or "need" you in some shape or form. Creating patience and reliability for yourself will grant you the kind of love you desire, staying focused on your goals and future will leave you able in receiving the safe love that doesn't come at a cost.

Therefore to everyone who has a water rising has a air sign in their 8th house. This is the part of you that needs to intellectualize and process all your emotions through your heart and mind. At times when you are water dominant, falling in love or desiring a partner may waver over your head constantly, and you might think someone is your soulmate before actually ever getting to truly know them. You might be someones savior or even parent when it comes to how you show your love. But the 8th house in you is asking you to wait, and slow down. You won't find the love of your life if you're constantly giving yourself away to someone who doesn't deserve you. In some extreme senses this could just be a self sabotage act where you know the person in question isn't healthy or deserving of you; and yet you desire them anyway. To fully connect mind body and soul with another (which is what your soul wants), it's okay to sometimes wait it out and not instantly act on something or someone that ignites a pull in you. Become objective and aware of the importance of the relationship you have within yourself. This alone will ease and bring in clarity with your future partners.

P.S I believe this would be more increasingly accurate for those who share polar opposites in their big three, e.g., earth sun, water moon, earth rising, water sun, earth moon, water rising, etc etc, or if your inner planets fall in the polar opposites houses e.g,. your earth sun, moon, mercury, venus or mars fall in your 4th, 8th, or 12th house etc. The polarity within in itself already is present; therefore again as always the entire natal chart with its own natal aspects/house placements is needed. Sometimes individuals will naturally have balance and they may not struggle with accepting their shadow self.

This is all hypothetical and from my mind, so if it doesn't resonate just disregard.

#astrology #astro #astro observations #astro notes #12th house synastry #8th house synastry #8h synastry #scorpio moon #astrology notes #7th house synastry #8th house #understanding 8th house #karmic ties #romance #astro community #astrology observations #natal chart

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goemon-fan · 5 months

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I initially meant for this just to be a gifset, but after having watched this episode again, Goemon behaved in a very autistic manner.

Goemon has a cartoonish view of what a casino really is, to the point where Jigen even wonders if he actually understands. Although Goemon grew up sheltered, he is now aware of what a casino is, yet still has a fantastical view of this real establishment. He is making a dice throwing motion, but does not actually know how to play dice games, which makes it seem as if he has a rough idea of what a casino is but still does not understand exactly what it is. It seems that without a proper explanation of rules and how things work, Goemon simply doesn't understand standard societal norms or certain experiences.

Goemon is upset that he couldn't see his failure at the slot machines ahead of time, and mentions his emotions in a very neutral manner: "This is not good. I need to calm down." He is upset this game does not have a clear goal for him to work towards, or a clear method of winning that he could use. He also uses his mantra "Be free from all distracting thoughts," which, while commonly attributed to his meditation and training sessions, seems in this gif to be something he says and reminds himself of during certain emotional reactions and towards certain uncomfortable stimuli.

Goemon views the slot machine as an enemy to be defeated, and humanizes this inanimate object. He also mistakenly believes that a slot machine is a typical game that can be won with effort, rather than understanding this is an entirely different kind of game based on chance alone.

He does not know how to deal with his loss to the slot machine; he knows that in samurai combat it would be expected for him to commit seppuku, however does not understand that this is not appropriate behavior for a casino, nor does he understand that the slot machine is not a traditional enemy and that it is not fighting him, but is simply a machine with precalculated odds.

Lupin has to explain to him that it is not appropriate or necessary to kill oneself in response to a casino loss, and Goemon is completely oblivious towards unspoken societal norms such as how a casino operates and how to conduct oneself within one.

Goemon rationalizes his loss with a previously studied platitude (I don't know about anyone reading this, but I absolutely have found philosophy tremendously helpful in navigating social contexts, and it seems Goemon is the same way). He is detached from typical emotions that would be evoked towards a loss such as the one in this episode, and only knows how to conduct himself in accordance with philosophical guidelines of behavior. He is once again unaffected by social norms, and thinks and behaves in a somewhat-calculated and preplanned manner.

I just think that the Lupin gang has to regularly explain things to Goemon in a clear manner because he just doesn't understand unspoken rules, and I'm sure he finds himself in a lot of silly situations because of it

#i think that at some point they've had to teach him every modern thing he knows #lupin iii #lupin the third #goemon ishikawa xiii #goemon #arsene lupin iii #jigen daisuke #daisuke jigen

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sophiamcdougall · 1 year

Text

A TUMBLR CITIZENSHIP GUIDE FOR TWITTER REFUGEES

Welcome, stranger. Fear not, we were just kidding around. You're mostly safe here. We know you've been through it, and though our teeth are sharp and our unblinking eyes are unnaturally shiny, we're not really going to eat you.

Still, our ways must seem strange to you. Doubtless you feel bewildered by the hoots and growls we've developed over the years we roamed the twilit wastes of Tumblr, alone and gibbering, forgotten by God and Man.

While you basked in the daylight of Twitter.

Don't worry! It's fine. And these sounds actually mean something! It's really quite simple! And I'm here to explain.

A BLORBO

Your blorbo is, very loosely, your favourite character. But not in a casual way. You must be at least a little weird about them. Songs remind you of them. You picture them in scenarios. Maybe you don't write fanfic, but if you did, it would be all about this guy. They are in your thoughts more than you would care to admit anywhere else -- but here on Tumblr you can be free! Infodump about your blorbo without shame!

You may deeply admire your blorbo, or regard them with fond contempt. Some will say that the latter type of blorbo becomes a scrunglo but we regard this as a fussy and unnecessary distinction. A POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW

Like a blorbo, but canonically evil. They have committed crimes against humanity. You either make passionate excuses for these or you revel in their excesses.

The point at which a shady blorbo becomes a poor little meow meow is necessarily subjective.

THE COLOUR RED

When you see an image prominently featuring red, especially a design resembling blood splatters, especially when this appears to be unintentional, it is correct and polite to respond either "a children's hospital!" or "colour theory!"

Why? Others will explain why. For now, just do it.

THE IDES OF MARCH

March 15th, the date of the assassination of Julius Caesar. A high holiday here on Tumblr, celebrated with a festival of memes and shitposts. Put on your best outfit and post a picture of bloodstained senators to mark the occasion.

Hey, maybe they work at the children's hospital! Haha. Now you're getting it!

HORSE PLINKO

This gif is highly regarded here.

That's it, really.

THE GOD OF AREPO

The key figure of the most prominent Tumblr religion. His scripture was begun by @sadoeuphemist in 2018, with @ciiriianan and @stu-pot contributing further to the canon.

(A collaborative modern folktale). EEBY DEEBY

While not mentioned in the scripture of the God of Arepo, Eeby Deeby is an additional name of the underworld region also known as Erebus, Tarturus, Hell, etc.

THE GOD APOLLO

"But I thought you said you worship the god of Arepo?"

We are polytheists. In Tumblr tradition, Apollo's aspect as the god who conveyed the gift of prophecy on mortals is most significant. Alongside the ancient bow, laurel wreath and lyre, Tumblr Apollo has gained a new attribute: the red dodgeball. This image alone is sufficient to mark a post as sacred to, or cursed by, Apollo.

Be careful about prophesying things on Tumblr! Apollo can be spiteful!

We'll leave it there, traveller. Of course there's more. But learn these basics and you'll be well on your way. Soon you will be truly one of us.

one of us.

#tumblr #twitter

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arcane-abomination · 1 month

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I recommend reading my blog on Void Magick before this one. As it explains the basics of Void that will not be covered here. This may cause some readers to be a little lost.

Leviathan’s Guidance

This information on the void was presented to me when I descended into a deep gnosis to make contact with lord Leviathan. He taught me the construction of the void and helped me to understand its makeup a little better. This seemed to be the missing piece I’ve heard many people talk about when traversing the void. And while it still holds truth that the void’s appearance is reflected in the individuals own perspective, it’s still important to understand the general structure of this vastly mysterious space.

I have taken the liberty to attribute my own terminology to each part that was shown to me in an attempt to bring further understanding and much easier categorization to the plains themselves, but you’re free to disregard these terms if they don’t suit you. In all there are 3, categorized by the upper, middle and lower spaces represented by the colors White, Grey, and Black. Now, please take note that these colors are rather arbitrary in the long run as each level presents itself uniquely to the individual. These are simply the product of my own journey, what appeared to me and thus how I label and associate the structure of the void that I experienced.

The Atherial Plain

We begin in the upper level I call the Atherial plain. Aptly named because it’s associated with the color white. While in this plain it appeared to me as though I was walking in the sky. It was bright, with clouds beneath me and around me. And all manner of things hung in the air, moving and shining without constitution or purpose. At least none that I could see. Stars, planets, comets, orbs, and a multitude of other items and creatures to unique to accurately convey in words, shimmering and shifting endlessly. There was no rest here, no silence. There was noise, endless whispers in the wind, music in the distance, and the random bustle of the many object’s collisions with one another. It was beautiful but intense. An energy compelling me to take action, not to wait or calculate. Just simply do without thought or meaning. This is the realm of everything and all things. Of motion, sound & fullness.

The Abyssal Plain

Or next stop is the lowest level, I call the Abyssal plain. You descend downwards into this place, into the vastness of an empty space. The association here is the color black, and all manner of silence, quiet contemplation, and letting go completely hang in the air. Energy here compells you to empt yourself of all things, and simply wait. All around me was blackness, a deep black that went beyond the understanding of simple darkness. Beneath my feet was an ink-colored ocean. Still, and calm, but full of power and strength laying in wait. It was from this ocean that lord Leviathan arose and greeted me, teaching me of the void’s structure. You see, like most people, it was this realm I came to first, like most people do. In fact it was the only real I had ever come to, until my work with Leviathan began.

It seems most of us who work with the void descend down into the abyss and the reason for this is simple. As mortal beings our subconscious has been taught that when we go up we come down. Gravity is always pulling at us. So, when we enter into the void, we can unconsciously descend, especially when we are overwhelmed with the intensity the void can bring. Once inside that comfortable place of familiarity it can be hard to ascend, especially since naturally speaking, falling down is easier than climbing up.

All in all, the energy of this realm beckoned me to listen, to wait, and patiently calculate my next move. It’s a plain completely opposite of its upper Aetherial counterpart. A realm of Stillness, Silence, and emptiness.

The Echo Plain

This was the final plain I visited, named the Echo plain, represented as the color Grey. It’s a special plain, a space full of liminal energy from the overlapping of the upper and lower plains. It was the most intense of the three, resembling a foggy wasteland with the faint light of the Atherial floating high above and the deep darkness of the abyss far below. The ground was as reflective as a mirror yet as clear as a window, that rippled like water wherever I took step. It was a confusing place, a space at which energy contradicted itself. It wanted me in motion and stillness, silent and loud, empty and full all at once. I felt like I was being pulled apart and smooshed together at the same time. It was confusing and overwhelming, but then…in a single moment, all the pieces fell into place.

Before me stood a group of creatures. Both beautiful and hideous all at once. I understood almost immediately what they were. Epithets…epithets of myself. Bits and pieces of who I was represented before me in kind. Some smiled warmly, some grimaced, and others showed no emotions at all. We did not speak to one another…we didn’t need to. But it was from that brief acknowledgment that I understood. This was the realm of reflection. A space where the conscious and subconscious became one, echos of one being existing in symbolic detachment from itself. None of us looked the same and yet we were. All knowing and understanding yet complete strangers to each other.

This is the space of contemplation and action. A realm in which one could truly reach into themselves and strengthen, build, heal, and empower in every way imaginable. A space not many seemed to know existed. Ascending and descending past it in their journeys through the void. It’s a testament to our need to learn quickly, and our unfocused and often misplaced goals. Sometimes we need to stop and look inward, to truly meet ourselves head on.

In Conclusion

The void is a wonderfully powerful and mysterious place. How these realms look to you and what you feel will ultimately be tied to your own perspective. How one sees the void isn’t always how another does. The lower realm may appear white to some instead of black. What makes it the abyss is not its color but it’s emptiness. How one acknowledges and uses that emptiness is always going to be unique to them.

#paganism #witchcraft #pagans of tumblr #chaos magician #chaos magick #eldritch magic #witches of tumblr #void magic #void magick #the void screams back #void state #screaming into the void #leviathan #lord leviathan

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theerurishipper · 5 months

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Your reblog about the senti thing make me LOLing so hard because of the senti defender when shoved a fact that contradict their theory mostly act like "Yeah, I didn't think that far" except they never said it out loud!

I remember when s4 still airing and these senti defender said "senti lives matter!" But whenever I ask, "what about that lolipop thing? Feast? Senti Moth?" They always said "They don't have the same level of intelligence as senti human, probably only at the level of animal"

So basically they said it's ok to kill a senti as long as they either don't looks like human or they have low intelligence. This came from the same people who preach that sentimonster is a good methapor for abuse or disabilities.

In the end it boil down to "if hero kill it, it's good but if villain kill it, it's bad" double standard and I couldn't even fathom what so good about the whole sentimonster!human thing except to make an obedient puppet.

"Yeah, hope Chat can have a upgrade power that could destroy the connection between amok and the senti" they said. Except he already did. TA said in his tweet the reason why Reflekdoll or any senti that gone berserk due to the cataclysm is /exactly/ because the connection was destroyed. It didn't free them, it make them berserk. And ironically, this tweet also what make people think the reason why Chat Blanc is so feral is because half of his amok got destroyed, instead of the long isolation and guilt that eat him.

Also a so called child psychologist preach the whole sentimonster is good methapor for abuse thing make me facepalmed, hard. Why need methapor if it's so obvious? Is miraculous going to put on disclaimer : Attention, no real child is being harmed here. Why take the whole abuse theme if they're not going to do it correctly? Who the heck approved this kind of theme??

Sorry for the long rant and thank you for reading my incoherent rant.

You said it, anon.

The Sentimonster theory is a shitty metaphor for abuse or disability. What it says to me is that if your disability isn't convenient or "normal," then you don't matter. Hence the "human" Sentimonsters like Adrien, Felix and Kagami who can fit into society are accepted, but the other Sentimonsters are disposable, despite them having the same amount of sentience and life as any of the human ones.

So Senti lives matter, but only if they're a particular type of Senti. If not, then they're not really alive and can be disposed of without a single thought spared to them (even though that's not true, because Felix treated Red Sun like a sister, and Feast, Sentibubbler, etc. clearly had emotions). Which means... only socially acceptable Senti rights matter. The rest of them only exist to be killed by the heroes. The heroes get to decide which Sentis matter and which ones don't, and the only ones that matter to them are the ones that look like them.

And like... if you're going to have an arc about making us understand that these creatures are just like us and have a life and emotions of their own, then don't create classes and divisions between them from the get-go. Don't portray some of them as more worthy than the others. Nothing in the show suggests that the creation of Adrien, Felix or Kagami was in any way different from the creation of Feast or any other Sentimonster. The argument that they are different because they were created to be humans is also bogus, because of Sentibug. She was created not to be a human, but to be a copy of Ladybug, yet she still had free will. All the justifications for this theory fall apart if we think about it for more than 5 seconds.

And the whole Chat Blanc thing you mentioned is part of a larger problem in this fandom, which involves attributing common reactions to abuse in abuse victims to them being artificially created beings. Adrien listens too much to his father? It must be because he's a Sentimonster and is being controlled, not because Gabriel has conditioned him to be subservient to him all his life! They are literally saying victims of abuse and their reactions to abuse are "unnatural," and can only happen if they weren't human at all. I despise this implication, especially since the show doubled down on it.

And it's not like this was a necessary writing choice. What does Adrien being a Sentimonster contribute to his's character? What did the revelation that he's being mind-controlled help us understand about him? What new facet to his character did we learn about? Nothing, really. There is no exploration of what Adrien being a Sentimonster means for him. He doesn't even find out about it. The only reason Adrien became a Sentimonster is so that the writers could justify leaving him out of the finale and so that they could have an obstacle for Adrienette. And I will say, introducing the whole "Sentimonsters deserve free-will" plot point and then using the characters' Senti status as an excuse to deprive them of agency in their own battles is... certainly a choice.

The Sentimonster theory isn't this groundbreaking exploration of the concept of humanity and free-will, nor is it this subversive metaphor for something that was already being portrayed blatantly in the show. It's something the writers used as a plot device to justify removing the three most plot relevant characters from the story so that Marinette could have the finale to herself. That's it. There's nothing more to it than that.

Which is why the concept is so poorly developed. The whole Senti rights thing is brought for about five minutes in Emotion and maybe two minutes in Pretension. After this, Felix, the main advocate for Senti rights himself falls back on all his ideals and creates a Sentimonster to use and then kill. The heroes have spent three seasons killing these livings creatures without a single care in the world. The moral implications of this are never questioned in any way, even though the show pretends it's presenting this thoughtful and nuanced commentary on the matter. No one cares about Sentimonsters. Sentibug is presented as this big deal, but they don't think about her for more than five seconds and then she is never brought up again. Sentimonsters do not matter in this show. Not to the villains, not to the heroes, not even those who start of advocating for them stick to that cause. The narrative doesn't care about Sentimonsters. Any justification made for it just paints in a worse light. It's a shitty metaphor for anything, and it's just a shitty plot point in general.

Thank you for your ask!

#ML Salt #ML Writing Salt #ML Writers Salt #ML Fandom Salt #Sentimonsters #Meta #My meta #Asks

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megistusmona-mp4 · 1 year

Text

random south park x gn!reader incorrect quotes

these are probably ooc (out of character)

gif by ﹫///jenoevil on twt.

Y/N: Favorite horror movie?

Christopher: It

Gregory: Saw

Damien: Annabelle

Pip: High School Musical. after watching it I spent all my middle school years terrified that the entire school would start singing something and I’d be the only one who didn’t know the lyrics

Y/N: Nothing in life is free.

Christopher: Love is free!

Gregory: Adventure is free.

Damien: Knowledge is free.

Pip: Everything is free if you take it without paying.

Y/N: Anyone d-

Craig: Depressed?

Tweek: Drained?

Clyde: Dumb?

Butters: Disliked?

Y/N: -done with their work... what is wrong with you people ...

Y/N: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the items you have lost throughout your life

Craig: Self-esteem, haven't seen you in years!

Tweek: Oh wow, my childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this!

Clyde: I knew I lost that potential somewhere!

Butters: My moral code, is that you?

Y/N:

Y/N: I was just gonna show you this cool trunk my mother left me but do you guys need a hug?

Y/N: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Craig: Several traffic violations.

Tweek: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Clyde: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

Butters: Also, that’s not our car.

Y/N: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me?

Kenny: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it.

Y/N: Three of us saw it, Kenny. How do you explain that?

Kenny: *points at Cartman* Sleep deprivation. *points at Kyle* Paranoia. *points at Stan* Delusional personality disorder.

Y/N: What if the person who named Walkie Talkies named everything?

Kenny: Pregnancy tests are Maybe Babies

Stan: Socks are Feetie Heaties

Kyle: Forks are Stabby Grabbies

Kenny: Defibrillators are Heartie Starties

Stan: Nightmares are Dreamy Screamies

Kyle: Stamps are Lickie Stickies

Cartman, annoyed: You are disappointments

Y/N: You're a loose cannon, Kenny.

Kenny: No, I'm not. I'm a cannon maybe, but a loose cannon? Is that what you think of me?

Cartman: I think you play by your own rules.

Kyle: No way, they think rules were made to be broken.

Y/N: Those are all attributes of a loose cannon.

Kenny: No, I'm just a reckless renegade. Stan is a loose cannon.

Stan: *smashes a chair*

Y/N: Dammit, Wendy!

Wendy: What?! It wasn’t me!

Y/N: Sorry, force of habit. Dammit, Bebe!

Bebe: Not me either.

Y/N: Oh...Then who set the house on fire?

Heidi: *whistles*

Y/N: Hah! 69! You know what that means?

Wendy: What?

Bebe: That you're a child.

Heidi: HOW'D YOU GUESS MY IQ!?

Y/N, to Stan: My life is in the hands of an idiot!

Stan, motioning to themself and Kyle: No no no no no, TWO idiots!

Y/N: Would you stab your best friend in the leg for 10 million gold?

Stan: You stab me, and then when my leg gets better, we buy a big-ass house.

Kyle: You can stab me too, then we'll have 20 million.

Stan: Good thinking.

Y/N: WHY. why did you give Kyle a KNIFE?!

Stan: I’m sorry. They said they felt unsafe.

Y/N: Now I feel unsafe!

Stan: I’m sorry.

Stan: ... would you like a knife?

Y/N: Pip, can I talk to you for a second?

Pip: Yeah, what’s up? Lemme guess. You and Damien are having problems and you want me to teach you how to kiss?

Y/N: What? No, stop that. I know how to kiss. I’ve read books.

Y/N: If I die, my funeral is going to be the biggest party ever and you’re all invited

Damien: If?

Pip: Great, the only party I’ve ever been invited to and they might not even die.

Y/N: I’m kind of crushing on someone, but I’m worried about telling you who it is, because you’re not going to like it

Damien: Just rip the bandage off.

Y/N: It’s Pip.

Damien: Put the bandage back on.

#south park #south park x reader #incorrect quotes #south park incorrect quotes #south park x reader incorrect quotes #christopher x reader #gregory x reader #pip x reader #damien x reader #craig x reader #tweek x reader #clyde x reader #butters x reader #kenny x reader #stan x reader #cartman x reader #kyle x reader #everyone x reader #oh ny god this tookk FoREVER 🤬‼️

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danger-xylophones · 1 year

Text

My Lady (x reader)

gif by arachasposts

warnings: she/her, reader referred to as 'my lady'

note: somebody wrote an elrond x celebrimbor's daughter! reader that inspired this and I cannot find it. If I do, I will link it here.

masterlist | elves

Lindon was more beautiful than you could have ever imagined. Lush and teeming with golden light, it seemed as if the very air was filled with the song of creation. And with every passing moment you were growing happier and happier that you'd begged your father to take you with him.

But, sadly all good things must come to an end and it was almost time to return to Eregion. However, this time you'd be accompanied by your new friend Elrond Peredhel who was to assist your father on his latest project.

Elrond was as charming as any elf-lord, perhaps even more than some you'd been forced to suffer conversation with on your father's behalf. And just as noble but far kinder than one would think his station as the High-King's herald would encourage. He'd swept you off your feet with the first five words he'd uttered to you, "Welcome to Lindon, my lady." Words so simple, so cordial, and proper and yet something about his voice had enchanted them and bewitched you in one breath.

You were with him now, the two of you enjoying one last walk about Lindon before setting out. "I must thank you, Herald Elrond, for offering me your company on this fine evening." You broke the comfortable silence that had wrapped around the two of you. "Without it, I'm quite certain I would have gotten lost again."

"Please, my lady," Elrond laughed, "you do not need to use my title when you address me." He patted your hand that was hooked around his arm. "We are friends now, are we not?"

"But it is a title well-earned, herald. And I make a habit of celebrating my friend's accomplishments." You smiled, squeezing his arm and admiring the bashful smile that flickered across his face. "But, I will also tell you the same thing - my name is more than acceptable. 'Lady' is just an inherited title, after all." You added dismissively.

"Forgive me," Elrond hummed, a small smirk on his face, "although your name is elegant on its own, the title of lady makes it befitting your beauty."

You could feel your face flush and thus you had to look away before he could notice. "Oh you are a politician." You laughed nervously. "Your ability to flatter is truly admirable."

"High praise from the elleth who could move the stars to write poetry for her."

A thought struck you which caused you to stop and tug your arm free of his. Which made the ellon turn and face you, in kind. "Now is it just my beauty you find worthy of praise," you folded your hands primly before you, "or are there any other attributes you like?"

"There is much I could compliment, mellon nin." Elrond sent you a small, disarming smile. "Where would you like me to begin?"

Compliments, curse the compliments. Back in Eregion that was all anyone offered you, hoping you'd pass a good word onto your father. You frowned. "I'd like you to start with the truth, Elrond Peredhel." Your voice was level as you tried to bite back the accusatory tone that threatened to slip. Aside from the sudden flattery, you had no proof Elrond had other intentions in befriending you. Yet. "What do you want from me?"

An expression you couldn't quite name overtook his charming face. "I'm afraid I don't understand-" he stepped towards you, "my lady, have I offended you?" He reached out his hand for you to take, "If I have, please tell me how so that I may rectify my mistake."

"You have not offended me," you amended, softly - the look on his face made it hard to hold your own hard expression, "but you have said things eerily similar to that which I so often hear in Eregion." Your gaze zeroed in on his hand, "Words spoken only to gain my favor," you flicked your gaze back up to his, "that I may say a positive word in the flatterer's own favor to my father."

Elrond sighed your name, his expression softening as he lowered his hand. "I do not speak idle flattery to anyone," he stepped forward, bringing the toes of his boots nearly to yours, "least of all to you. I-" he brought his hands up as if to take your face in them only to pause, "-may I?" After a single, consenting nod, he proceeded, holding the sides of your face with a gentility you did not expect. "I find you truly captivating, my lady. And I wish to gain your favor not to sway the opinion of your father but because I wish for you to think highly of me." He rested his forehead against yours for a brief spell. "So that you will continue to bless me with your company." His eyes darted down to your lips and you understood.

"Elrond," you breathed out, your own hands came up to rest on his chest of their own accord, "forgive me, I-" your fingers curled into the soft material of his tunic. "For assuming you weren't genuine."

"There is nothing to forgive." He murmured, the movement of his lips effortlessly pulling your attention to them. Delicately, he bumped his nose against yours. "May I kiss you?"

"I would like nothing more." You grinned, returning the gesture with the same gentility he had used. Tilting your head a little bit up with his hands, Elrond pressed his lips against your own.

It was like drowning in sunlight, warm and gentle, it felt like new life breathed into your lungs. You felt safe with him. Truly safe, wrapped in the affection he held for you that spurred your own heart to release its hold on the feelings you'd been harboring for him.

Your hands reached up, taking the back of his head and neck into each. His hair was softer than anything you'd ever felt and it flowed like water between your fingers. Tilting your head once more, now to the side allowed you to deepen the kiss and further ensnare you in him, in Elrond Peredhel.

Elrond's own hands descended, finding your waist and bringing you chest to chest with himself so he could press harder against you. His lips worked against your own in a careful dance that left your head reeling and all senses consumed and overwhelmed.

At length, you separated and found yourself a little out of breath as you laid your head against him, your curled against his chest once more. "Melleth nin," Elrond hummed, his own head resting over yours while his arms wound tight around you. "Antan melmenya lenna."

"Ma meluval ni tenn' oio?" You murmered quietly, pressing a small kiss to his neck.

"Ni indome." Elrond sighed against the crown of your head. "Indome tye?"

Pulling away from you, you looked into his eyes which shone with soft adoration and placed a hand to his cheek. "I will, for eternity and after." His smile could put the brightest star to shame. "Shall we continue our walk, melleth nin?" You asked, an impish smirk on your face.

Laughing lightly, Elrond stepped back and offered his arm to you once more. "Of course, my lady."

#elrond x reader #rop elrond x reader #rop elrond #rop amazon #lotr x reader #lotr elrond #celebrimbor #lotr fanfiction #lotr #rop #rings of power

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toranekooo · 9 months

Text

TORANEKOOO 800+ FOLLOWER EVENT ONGOING:

The “Welcome to Nekodemy! One Week of Editing Prompts till Sotsugyou! ~Special Story~” Event will be held until 7/27! 🐈

EVENT SUMMARY: “After hitting 800+ followers, Lucia-sensei hosts their first ever editing contest! To participate, editors must choose from a variety of classes (edit types) and follow a list of seven lessons (prompts), all the way up to Sotsugyou/Graduation!”

Please look forward to the event! [PREV PINNED HERE.]

⏳ EVENT RUNTIME: 7/17 - 7/27 (10 days) 11.59 GMT+8

🎶 SPECIAL STORY EVENT THEME: Mix and match between classes and lessons! Repeating a lesson or class is NOT ALLOWED!

CLASSES:

🌌 Astronomy (icons)

📖 History (layouts)

🗣️ Social Studies (mood/stim/aesboards)

🧮Mathematics (wallpapers)

✒️ Language (gifs)

🐈 Free Period (surprise me! / any)

LESSONS:

#O1 — edit without using circles, squares, hearts, or stars.

#O2 — edit by changing the hair and eye color

#O3 — edit without using warm colors

#O4 — edit in black and white/monochrome

#O5 — edit using the colors of a pride flag

#O6 — edit multiple characters in a single frame

#O7 — edit a character you will defend at all costs (and why)

EVENT REWARDS:

EVENT BONUS ATTRIBUTES: @ this blog + tag #nekodemy800 for me to be able to see your entries! you can also send us an ask linking ALL your entries in case we missed them.

the final entries should be a total of 6 edits, covering each edit type + one free — and 1 excess prompt.

NEKODEMIC AWARD 🏅

Completing the event (7 days) will reward editors with 2 edits of their choice!*

PARTICIPATION AWARD 🎖️

Finishing up to 3 days of the event will reward editors with a simple icon set!*

Developer's Note: HELLO! sorry for the absolutely insane event formatting, im ill like that. the gist of the event is that you can choose which edit type to apply a prompt to, but you can't use one type/prompt repeatedly.

*Please be mindful of the blacklist and DNI all throughout the event. We will not be accepting any requests from our blacklist nor participants on our DNI.

this isn't TECHNICALLY an editing contest, because just like a normal graduation, everyone is lauded simply for succeeding. so if you manage to participate for at least 3 days, you will receive a consolation prize. if you complete the full week, you'll receive a set prize as well! if you have any questions, feel free to ask me~

#event tag

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maximumspider · 8 months

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[Super Mario World] : Luigi

Super Mario World: Super Mario Bros. 4 (SNES, 1990)

While Luigi is playable in the original version of Super Mario World, he’s essentially a recolor of Mario.

Super Mario All-Stars + Super Mario World (SNES, 1994)

In Super Mario All-Stars + Super Mario World, many of Luigi's sprites are redesigned to highlight his physical differences from his older brother.

The quirkiest difference in this revised set of sprites has Luigi now spitting fireballs when empowered by the Fire Flower. I don’t believe Luigi or any other character has used the Fire Flower like this since.

Super Mario World: Super Mario Advance 2 (GBA, 2001)

In the Gameboy Advance remake/reissue of Mario World, Super Mario World: Super Mario Advance 2 (who named these games?!) Luigi’s set of sprites is modified once again.

Luigi’s look in this game is like a fusion of his appearance in the original version of Mario World and its revision for the All-Stars collection. Most notably, Luigi no longer spits fire and now flutters his legs when jumping.

The latter attribute originated with Super Mario Bros. 2 and has become a staple of Luigi's repertoire ever since. And just like in SMB2, Luigi is playable in single player without any hassle.

As with many GBA games from this era, the colors look washed out. As a result, this version of SMW is much less vibrant and crisp looking.

Super Mario Maker 2 (NS, 2019)

After I finished my first version of this essay, I stumbled upon some Super Mario Maker 2 sprites and realized that Luigi's SMW sprite was updated once again.

I can't currently rip sprites and record lossless footage of Nintendo Switch games, so I'll just be posting a comparisons between all of Luigi's SMW sprites.

@DaNintendoDude on Twitter created this graphic explaining the potential process that might've been used to create Luigi's sprite for Mario Maker 2.

The Nintendo "Gigaleak" (2018)

A few years ago, there was a massive leak from Nintendo's internal servers, where among many things, prototype graphics from Super Mario World were discovered:

Interestingly enough, It appears that Nintendo may have originally intended for Luigi to get his own unique sprites in the original release of Mario World, but was then scrapped in favor of a simple palette swap of Mario.

---

[All sprites and animations were ripped, captured, edit and/or arranged by me unless otherwise noted below. Feel free to use, no credit needed!]

Media Sources:

Super Mario Bros. 2 (NES) Luigi jumping animation (website: Thrilling Tales of Old Video Games) (Article: The Legacy of Super Mario Bros. 2 by Drew Mackie)

Super Mario Maker 2 (NS) Title screen (YouTube Channel: PressStartOnce) (Video: Super Mario Maker 2 Title Screen [Switch])

Super Mario Maker 2 (NS) Luigi sprites (Website: The Spriters Resource) (Section: Mario, Luigi, Toad, Toadette and Items [SMW] uploaded by Random Talking Bush)

Super Mario World (SNES) Beta sprites (Website: The Cutting Room Floor) (Section: Development, Super Mario World [SNES]/Sprites)

Super Mario Bros.: Trapped in the Perilous Pit by Jack C. Harris, Art Ellis & Kim Ellis (1989) Luigi and Mario illustration (Scanned and Tweeted by @YourDailyMario)

#pixel art #pixel gif #sprite comparisons #pixel animation #luigi #mario #super mario world #super mario all stars #super mario advance #nintendo #super nintendo #snes #game boy advance #gba #write up

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talesofadragon · 2 years

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬

Summary: After the Second Wizarding War, Draco’s life was left gloomy and bleak. But an unexpected encounter with a certain girl makes him believe that the sun’s beams of light are far stronger than any cloud and any storm.

Warnings: None

Pairing: Draco x Muggle!Reader

Genre: Angst | Fluff

Word count: 1.6K

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐨𝐠𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬’ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲?”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose at his best friend’s mannerisms. When Blaise and Theo had shown up earlier at his doorstep and asked to go somewhere quiet to talk, the first place that popped into Draco’s mind was Y/N’s café.

It was quaint and cozy, bustling with life yet quiet enough to hold a conversation without being disturbed. But Blaise overlooked all its qualities, focusing on one attribute Draco seemed to forget more with every passing day: it was, indeed, a muggle spot.

“You said you wanted to talk,” the blond reminded his tall friend with a displeased frown. “So, unless you fancy going back to my deplorable excuse for an apartment, as you’ve so eloquently worded it—”

“Did you just say ‘eloquently’?” Blaise looked appalled, his eyes blown wide. He turned to Theo, who wore his usual aloof features. “Did he seriously just say that?”

“He did,” Theo replied, studying his friend.

Draco rolled his eyes and walked further ahead, ignoring the two. He made his way across the room while smiling at some of the regulars. He was sure this action alone caused Blaise’s confusion to increase tenfold.

“Oi, there’s a free table here,” Blaise declared from behind Draco, but the wizard didn’t turn around.

“This is the silent area,” he said over his shoulder, his eyes scanning his surroundings for a free space. “So, unless you want to get kicked out, don’t talk so loud.”

Blaise mumbled something under his breath, causing Theo to snort. But Draco was too preoccupied with finding a table to ask about the comments his friends made behind his back.

Locating a table on the right side of the vicinity, the three took their seats. Draco plopped down confidently in his chair while Blaise and Theo sat down hesitantly, their eyes scanning their surroundings.

With knitted brows, the blond looked between the two, bemused by their actions. Theo caught Draco’s gaze. He cleared his throat, placing his hands on the table. “You seem to know this place well.”

“I come here often if that’s what you’re trying to know,” Draco shrugged, shifting on the chair to find a more comfortable position.

Blaise snickered from his place. “Have you been hit with a Confundus Charm or something, mate?” He paused, gesturing to the area. “Since when do you get involved with muggles?”

Draco chose to ignore his friend’s comment. He scoffed and looked away, a smile blooming across his features when he noticed a familiar silhouette getting closer.

“Hi, stranger! Fancy seeing you here,” Y/N said with her normal gregariousness. She waved at Theo and Blaise politely, then focused back on Draco. “And you’ve brought company.”

Draco stood up, beaming. “Hello, darling.”

“Oi,” Blaise interceded, making Draco growl in irritation. “Mind introducing us?”

Y/N chuckled at Blaise’s abhorrent mannerisms, according to Draco at least, and extended her hand politely. “Hi, I’m Y/N. You must be Draco’s friends.”

Blaise skeptically eyed her extended hand, but one glare from Draco made him take it, albeit hesitantly. “Blaise.”

“Theo,” the brunette added, shaking Y/N’s hand.

Draco moved closer to the girl, placing his hand on the small of her back. The gesture caused the hair on Y/N’s body to rise, a faint blush coating her cheeks. “Y/N is the lovely owner of this place,” he said, looking at his friends.

Y/N blushed further, playing with the ends of her hair. She smiled bashfully at Draco and turned to his friends. “Would you like to drink anything?”

“The usual, as always.” Draco looked at Y/N. She nodded, her eyes concentrating on his silver hues.

“What is that, exactly?” Theo asked, his hazel eyes running between the pair.

“Oh,” Y/N giggled. She was unaware of the somersault Draco’s heart did whenever he heard her mellifluous laughter. But Theo might’ve noticed it, judging by the way his friend’s lips twitched. “It’s hot chocolate with marshmallows on top.”

Blaise made a face. “What the bloody hell is that?” Suddenly, he muffled a wince and glared at Theo, who’s eyes were outlined with a warning the tall boy knew too well.

“Umm, you don’t know what a hot chocolate is?” Y/N looked to be confused.

Draco sheepishly began to rub his neck while Theo inwardly cringed at Blaise’s slip. “They prefer iced coffee.”

“Oh.”

“Excuse Blaise,” Theo old her with a tiny smile on his face. “We’ll have what Draco’s having.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back then.” Y/N sent a small smile the trio’s way before walking away.

Just as Draco sat down in his chair, Blaise immediately assaulted him with questions. “Why the bloody hell are you associating yourself with a muggle?” was the first of them, which earned the boy a slap on the back of his head.

“Don’t bloody say it like she’s some rotten filth.”

“Isn’t she?”

Draco glared at Blaise, his hands clenching at the remark.

“What Blaise means to say is," Theo interjected, pulling Draco's eyes away from their friend. "Don't you think it's dangerous to be seen with a muggle like Y/N?”

“Dangerous?” Draco barked out a laugh. He shook his head and raised one of his brows. “Have you seen her? Y/N is the embodiment of sunshine. How in the name of Merlin would it be dangerous to be associated with her?”

A giggle forced Draco to turn his head, finding Y/N back with their drinks and a book. “I’m sorry, you must really be invested in the books you’ve read to start using ‘Merlin’ in your sentences.”

The atmosphere was tense and awkward as the three gazed dumbfoundedly at the girl. She awkwardly shifted in place, setting down the cups and the book she had brought. She gave Draco a weak smile, which he returned, then left.

“Is Merlin now a subject in muggle books?” Blaise asked cynically.

Draco sipped on his hot chocolate, sighing in bliss at the taste. “I’m not sure.”

The other two glanced his way, observing how casually he sipped on his drink. They each took the cup before them, smelling it before indulging in its taste. Theo was the first to venture and try a sip. His knitted brows relaxed as the exquisite taste of chocolate melted his trepidation.

Blaise, on the other hand, seemed to despise the sweetness, cringing as the hot drink attacked his senses. “Bet you that coffee thing was more delightful.”

“I don’t recall coming here to discuss your taste in coffee, Blaise.” Draco stretched his hand and grasped the book, beginning to go through it. “What was so urgent you needed to talk to me now?”

Blaise sighed, placing the cup back on its saucer, while Theo drummed his fingers against the table. “Mate.” It was Theo who began, trying to capture Draco’s attention. “Pucey is at St. Mungo’s.”

Draco hummed impassively, reading his book. “And how are Pucey’s whereabouts any of my concern?”

“Crabbe has been recently attacked, too,” Blaise added but failed to get a reaction out of the Malfoy heir.

“What did that idiot do this time? Get into a drunken fight?”

“Draco, we’re being serious,” Theo said.

“And I seriously don’t care,” Draco replied.

Frustrated by his behavior, Blaise snatched the book from his hand. He threw it Theo’s way just as Draco tried to grab it. “They’ve been receiving threats because of their Dark Marks.”

Blaise’s statement caused Draco to turn rigid. He stopped in his tracks, forgetting the book that was in Theo’s hands. As he sat back down, he gazed incredulously between his two friends, realizing from the looks they wore that they were being honest.

“What did you just say?” Draco all but whispered, apprehension crawling through his veins.

Theo exhaled loudly. He leaned closer, making sure to keep his head down. “Pucey, Crabbe, and several others have been targeted by unknown wizards. Their Dark Marks have been carved out, and they’re all in critical states.”

Draco gulped, looking behind his shoulder. He adjusted his posture and craned his neck, listening to every word coming out of his friends’ mouths.

“No one knows exactly what’s been going on and who those wizards are,” Blaise stated. He paused, letting the words sink in. “Aurors are trying to figure out who they may be, but the only available information is that they’re after Death Eaters, particularly the recently initiated ones.”

“Did Crabbe or Pucey say anything?” Draco asked. Theo and Blaise shook their heads. “Did anything else happen?”

Theo looked Blaise’s way. He glanced furtively at something behind Draco’s back, but the blond didn’t have time to turn around. “They threatened all those close to them.”

Draco immediately understood where the conversation was going. He quickly glanced Y/N’s way, observing the liveliness that radiated off her. She was happily conversing with an old man, probably talking to him about the book he had in his hand.

The boy’s shoulders slumped. His fingers clenched, hands fisted suddenly. He bit on his left fist, his silver hues closing due to the weight of the words he just heard. “Y/N is my friend.”

“It’s more than enough to put her in danger,” Blaise commented.

“And with her being a muggle,” Theo added from his place, looking sympathetically at his friend. “She’s powerless.”

“In other words, you’re saying I need to distance myself.”

Blaise crossed his arms. “We’re saying you need to be careful, mate.”

“You never know what’s going to happen.”

Theo’s words resonated in Draco’s mind. And as fear crawled stealthily in his entire being, he was surprised to find himself gazing at Y/N. Because something about seeing her hurt in any way, shape, or form pained him more than anything else.

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

taglist: @lazydreamer19@marajillana@wanniiieeee@thezodiakwitch @homepuffs@abbygraceasd@slythermuf@maylaysia109 @jackiehollanderr@hhesperidess@rosaliedepp @hhesperidess @ynalouis @kat-nee @dracosbloodychicken @danoodloo @i5hyv

Hey, witchlings. I hope you like this newest part! It's been a while since I wrote something about our favorite platinum blond 🤍

Two more chapters to go! What do y'all think of this series so far?

Read Part 4 Now!

For those who want to be tagged, head over to “The Owlery” section on my profile and send me a message!

Until the next one xx

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine

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joyfulsblog · 2 years

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Matt was a small skinny gay nerd

And zach was his worst nightmare a homophobic straight jock

After getting bullied by his bully zach matt had enough he he went online to look for something he could use to get back at zach for all the bullying he did to him, after hour of searching he found something call muscle growth theft cream he thought it was a scam but in he's desperate he ordered it with or night delivery.

Next day

There was a package waiting for him at the footsteps of his dormitory, matt was shocked that the package actually came and he didn't get scammed, He sprinted up to to he dorm room and applied the cream to himself without reading the instructions, but he waited for something to happen but nothing. Matt was pissed then an idea popped into his head "wait what do the instructions say I might be doing something wrong".

After finishing reading the instructions he found out that he had to apply the cream to himself then the person he was the muscles and other attributes of and it takes effect instantly,

That night matt slow left his room and sneaked into zacks room and when he saw zach he got the hardest boner he had ever had. Matt slowly applied the cream to zachs goddly body and he started to feel his t-shirt and shorts started to get really tite on his growing body his pecs exploded in size and the he applied the cream to the rest of zach slowly shrinking body but unknown to him he was slowing becoming dumber, he's giant quads burst out of his shorts and his now 12inch cock was free from it cage and balls the size of oranges pulled his growing body with huge amount of testosterone making his the horniest he has ever been once done he started feeling up his new body he felt his rock hard six pack and cock his 2inch arm he was a alpha jock now but while feeling himself up zach awoke a nerd, he was about to scream but matt notice in time and he was so horny he slamed his now 12inch cock into zach mouth and started pound nearly chocking but the more matt fuck zach mouth the dumber he became. Zach look up not recognised matt new jock handsome face, but he look into matt eyes as he fucked his face and saw nothing working nehinds his blank expression but a horny dumb jock

1month later

Matt fucked every twink in his town to satisfy his horny jock dick and zach was getting top marks and Matt was now failing very class bit he didn't care he was now the school best QB ever and he was fucking every gay nerd/twink he saw with his monster 12inch cock

#muscle theft #alpha muscle teen

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 4 months

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By: Aaron Sibarium

Published: Dec 11, 2023

Harvard University president Claudine Gay plagiarized numerous academics over the course of her academic career, at times airlifting entire paragraphs and claiming them as her own work, according to reviews by several scholars.

In four papers published between 1993 and 2017, including her doctoral dissertation, Gay, a political scientist, paraphrased or quoted nearly 20 authors—including two of her colleagues in Harvard University’s department of government—without proper attribution, according to a Washington Free Beacon analysis. Other examples of possible plagiarism, all from Gay’s dissertation, were publicized Sunday by the Manhattan Institute’s Christopher Rufo and Karlstack’s Chris Brunet.

The Free Beacon worked with nearly a dozen scholars to analyze 29 potential cases of plagiarism. Most of them said that Gay had violated a core principle of academic integrity as well as Harvard’s own anti-plagiarism policies, which state that "it's not enough to change a few words here and there."

Rather, scholars are expected to cite the sources of their work, including when paraphrasing, and to use quotation marks when quoting directly from others. But in at least 10 instances, Gay lifted full sentences—even entire paragraphs—with just a word or two tweaked.

In her 1997 thesis, for example, she borrowed a full paragraph from a paper by the scholars Bradley Palmquist, then a political science professor at Harvard, and Stephen Voss, one of Gay’s classmates in her Ph.D. program at Harvard, while making only a couple alterations, including changing their "decrease" to "increase" because she was studying a different set of data.

The four papers that include plagiarized material comprise a sizable portion of Gay’s academic work. Gay, who is Harvard's 30th president, has authored just 11 peer-reviewed articles.

"If this were a stand-alone instance, it would be reprehensible but perhaps excused as the blunder of someone working hastily," said Peter Wood, a former associate provost of Boston University, where he helped investigate several cases of suspected plagiarism. "But that excuse vanishes as the examples multiply," said Wood, who now serves as the director of the National Association of Scholars.

Some of the most clear-cut cases come in Gay’s 1997 dissertation, "Taking Charge: Black Electoral Success and the Redefinition of American Politics," which copied two paragraphs almost verbatim from Palmquist and Voss.

The paragraphs—from a paper Palmquist and Voss had presented a year earlier, in 1996—do not appear in quotation marks. One is unmodified but for a handful of words, and Gay does not cite Palmquist or Voss anywhere in her dissertation.

"This is definitely plagiarism," said Lee Jussim, a social psychologist at Rutgers University, who reviewed 10 side-by-side comparisons provided by the Free Beacon, including the paragraphs from Gay’s dissertation, which received a prize from Harvard for "exceptional merit."

"The longer passages are the most egregious," he added.

Academics say the pattern raises serious questions about Gay’s scholarly integrity and her fitness to lead the nation’s oldest university, which has been at the center of a political firestorm under her watch, particularly since Oct. 7. Student activists have blamed Israel for the Hamas terrorist attack and Gay herself offered equivocal testimony before Congress about whether calls for the genocide of Jews violate Harvard’s code of conduct.

Donors, alumni, and over 70 congressmen have called on Gay to resign. University of Pennsylvania president Liz Magill, who testified alongside Gay, tendered her resignation on Saturday.

"The question here is whether the president of an elite institution such as Harvard can feasibly have an academic record this marred by obvious plagiarism," said Alexander Riley, a sociologist at Bucknell University. "I do not see how Harvard could possibly justify keeping her in that position in light of this evidence."

Neither Gay nor Harvard responded to a request for comment.

Other cases of near-verbatim quotation occur in two peer-reviewed journal articles from 2017 and 2012, when Gay was a tenured professor at Harvard, as well as in an essay she published one year out of college, in 1993. Along with her dissertation, the decades-long pattern paints a picture of sloppiness, at best, and willful dishonesty at worst.

"It seems clear that Gay had a habit of using others' words in ways that violated Harvard's policies," a professor at a top research university, who received his Ph.D. from Harvard’s government department, told the Free Beacon. "And several examples would land any student in serious trouble."

Gay’s 1993 essay, "Between Black and White: The Complexity of Brazilian Race Relations," lifts sentences and historical details from two scholars, David Covin and George Reid Andrews, with just a few words dropped or modified. Covin is not cited anywhere in the essay.

In a section called "Suggestions for Further Reading," Gay does include Andrews’s 1991 book, Blacks & Whites in São Paulo, Brazil, 1888-1988, but not his 1992 paper, "Black Political Protest in São Paulo, 1888-1988," from which the offending text was drawn.

The 1993 essay "concerns me less," Riley said, given how early it was in Gay’s career. "However, it shows a quantity of plagiarism so egregious that minimally Dr. Gay should stop putting it on her CV."

The two peer-reviewed papers, by contrast, are "much more serious," Riley said.

In "Moving To Opportunity: the Political Effects of a Housing Mobility Experiment," Gay borrowed language from a 2003 report by eight researchers—three of them Harvard economists—prepared for the Department of Housing and Urban Development.

And in "A Room for One’s Own? The Partisan Allocation of Affordable Housing," Gay borrowed language from a 2010 book by Alex Schwartz, Housing Policy in the United States, and from a 2011 paper by Matthew Freedman and Emily Owens, "Low-Income Housing Development and Urban Crime."

Freedman and Owens are never cited, though Gay thanks them for letting her use their data. Gay does cite Schwartz and the eight researchers elsewhere in "Moving to Opportunity" but not in the sentences where their quotes appear. None of the passages have quotation marks, creating the impression that they are Gay’s own language and ideas.

Some examples are more borderline than others, scholars who reviewed them said, but clearly violate Harvard’s guide on sourcing, which requires citations even when using "ideas that you did not think up yourself," regardless of how much the language has changed. Plagiarism, the guide adds, is "unacceptable in all academic situations, whether you do it intentionally or by accident."

Even crediting a source in the wrong sentence, as Gay did repeatedly, is a serious offense under Harvard’s policies. The school’s sourcing guide includes multiple examples of "mosaic plagiarism," in which placing a citation too late or too early in a passage causes "confusion over where your source's ideas end and your own ideas begin."

Gabriel Rossman, a sociologist at the University of California, Los Angeles, said that several portions of Gay’s work met the definition of "mosaic plagiarism" outlined in Harvard’s guide. So did Steve McGuire, a member of the American Council of Trustees and Alumni and a former professor of political theory at Villanova University, who said the examples "violate the expectations Harvard has for its own students."

"As a professor, I would not have accepted this kind of work from a first semester freshman," McGuire told the Free Beacon. "It’s appalling to see it in the work of Harvard’s president."

Rossman, who specializes in quantitative research, noted that some of the examples involve technical descriptions of statistical methods, which "can require very precise wording" and are often repeated between authors, a potentially mitigating factor. But an editor at one of the five most-cited academic journals in the world pushed back on that notion, arguing that even that sort of duplication in academic prose is difficult to defend.

"The text duplication points to carelessness, sloppiness, and short-cut taking," said the editor, who has edited journals in both the natural and social sciences.

Some of the victims of Gay’s plagiarism were more sanguine. Jeffrey Liebman, one of the Harvard economists who prepared the Department of Housing report, said he and four of his coauthors did "not see any signs of plagiarism." Like Rossman, he argued that it was defensible for scholars to crib technical descriptions from each other.

Gay "had the right to use and adapt this common language," he said.

Voss, who coauthored the 1996 paper with Palmquist, said that although the paragraphs Gay quoted were "technically plagiarism," they were "not terribly important" to her argument.

"If I caught a student doing that, I would tell them it was inappropriate," Voss said. "But I would never consider taking action against the student."

But Wood, the former Boston University associate provost, said the feelings of the plagiarized are irrelevant.

The "willingness of the actual author to go along with the copying (whether before the fact or afterwards) doesn't change the deceptive nature of the act of plagiarism," he said. "The plagiarist is breaking the trust of the community of readers. In the case of scholarship, the whole university community is the victim."

It is common for plagiarized authors to come to the defense of their plagiarizer, Wood said. When Princeton historian Kevin Kruse was accused of plagiarizing Ronald Bayor, a historian at Georgia Tech, for example, Bayor dismissed the accusations as "politically motivated."

Other cases of possible plagiarism—all from Gay’s dissertation—were uncovered Sunday by the Manhattan Institute’s Rufo and Karlstack’s Brunet. Though the revelations are new, rumors of Gay’s plagiarism have been circulating on econjobrumors.com, a popular message board for social scientists, since at least January 2023.

"Most plagiarists turn out to be serial thieves," Wood said. "If the offense is discovered in one publication, typically it will be found in others."

In a statement to the Boston Globe, Gay said she stood by the integrity of her scholarship.

The Harvard Corporation, which held an emergency meeting over the weekend after Gay’s disastrous testimony on Capitol Hill last week, did not respond to a request for comment.

Update 10:10 p.m.: An earlier version of this story incorrectly stated that Gay had not cited Alex Schwartz in the paragraph where his quote appears. She did cite him in that paragraph, but not in the sentence where she quoted him.

This is what happens when you hire for DEI, not merit.

In spite of all of this, Claudine Gay should not be fired for plagiarism, any more than Kendi should be rejected for his financial mismanagement. Because this misses the point.

Harvard's own paper, The Harvard Crimson, reports that over 700 staff and faculty are in support of her remaining on. They cite "university independence." Which should reasonably be taken as an agreement to no longer accept public funding, even though that level of integrity is not what they meant.

What the 700 supporters does indicate is how far and how extensively the ideological corruption has set in. That's the reason she should be dismissed. She should be let go because Harvard has decided to abandon intersectional DEI garbage as its primary telos, and to reclaim its academic integrity and rebuild its - perhaps irreparably - damaged reputation.

The problem is that, unsurprisingly, its council have officially chosen the intersectional DEI garbage over any pretence to integrity.

#Claudine Gay #Harvard University #Claudine Gay is corrupt #academic corruption #plagiarism #eradicate DEI #diversity equity and inclusion #diversity hire #diversity #equity #inclusion #DEI bureaucracy #unethical #ethics violations

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