#I have been thinking about this A Lot. can you tell?

[beloveds-embrace]

(p2 of john price x reader who basically manifests him into her life)

It turns out that Captain John Price is, unfortunately, not a fever dream conjured by stress and blackberry pie. He is very real, very present, and very much making himself at home in your cottage.

The next morning, you wake to the unmistakable sound of your mother cooing like a particularly smitten dove. Your heart sinks as you stumble out of your room, still trying to rub sleep from your eyes.

There, at your kitchen table, sits John- completely at ease, like he’s been your husband for years. He’s drinking your favorite tea blend, bulky frame almost dwarfing the chair, and he’s listening attentively as your mother babbles on about your so-called “devotion.”

“Oh, she was absolutely heartbroken when she thought you wouldn’t come back,” your mother gushes, practically swooning, and your father nods his sagely alongside her tale. “You should have seen her, sitting by the window with her knitting, sighing over those letters. I’ve never seen a girl more in love. My poor daughter!”

John hums appreciatively, lips twitching into that insufferably smug smirk as he glances over at you beneath his equally insufferable beard and mutton chops. “Could tell from the letters,” he says, eyes practically sparkling. “All those sweet words. Such a lucky man I am.”

You grit your teeth, feeling the vein in your temple throb. “I was trying to avoid Thomas.” You mutter, but your mother (thankfully) doesn’t hear you over the sound of her own gleeful rambling.

“Oh, and when she baked those little honey cakes just because you said you liked them! I told her it was too much, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

You freeze. You most definitely did not bake any little honey cakes. Your mother, bless her meddling heart, is getting so caught up in the fantasy she’s started making things up. You shoot her a glare, but John is already giving you that half-lidded, knowing look.

“Honey cakes, eh?” he rumbles, sounding far too interested. “Didn’t know you were so sweet on me, lovey.”

You snatch the teapot from his hands and pour yourself a cup, resisting the urge to pour it over his head instead. “Don’t get used to it.”

Your mother beams, entirely oblivious to your silent war. “Well, I’ll leave you two to catch up. So happy to see you’re finally together!” She bustles out the door, humming cheerfully, and drags your sagely smiling father along with her.

The moment she’s gone, you whirl on John, a fierce glare on your face. “What are you doing?”

He leans back, stretching leisurely, his grin nothing short of wicked. “Having breakfast with my wife. Not how I pictured it, but it’ll do.”

You scoff. “I’m not your wife.”

Price shrugs. “Your letters say otherwise. And your mum’s convinced enough. Can’t exactly leave you now, can I? Wouldn’t be right.”

Your mouth opens, then snaps shut. It’s as if your own trap has snapped back at you, jaws clamped tight around your life. You cross your arms, glowering, and think of something else to say. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, barging in here like you own the place- drinking my favorite tea blend, too!”

He just looks at you, eyes twinkling. “Funny. That’s not what you wrote. Said you missed me. Said you’d make me the sweetest of teas. Said you just couldn’t wait for me to come home.”

“That was fiction, you horrible man!” You hiss, but he just chuckles, entirely unbothered.

Otjer than John, though, you also had another problem that was also caused by him; wedding preparations, the bane of your existence as you’ve come to realize.

Some people look forward to their wedding day- the flowers, the vows, the promise of a life shared. You, however, never pictured it like this, and never expected your “fiancé” to be a man who waltzed into your cottage like he owned it, dropped a stack of letters on the table, and declared himself your soon-to-be-husband. You certainly never imagined he’d take to it so naturally, like he was born to sit at your breakfast table and make himself comfortable with your family.

Your mother, thrilled to bits and practically floating on a cloud of matrimonial bliss, has begun planning the “official” ceremony. Blissfully ignoring your protests (and your thinly veiled threat to elope with the next traveling bard) because she assumes her sweet, beloved daughter is just nervous, she’s already halfway through arranging the entire affair. John, meanwhile, seems to find the whole ordeal oh so terribly amusing.

You find him at the kitchen table one afternoon, carving a piece of wood into something vaguely useful. He’s taken over the end seat- like he’s the head of the household now, of all things, and your father merely laughs sagely- and seems perfectly content to whittle away while you stew in frustration. His coat hangs on the back of the chair, sleeves rolled up, revealing the strong forearms that seem permanently smudged with wood dust and effort.

The door bursts open, and your mother flutters in like an overly enthusiastic magpie, clutching swatches of lace and muttering about floral arrangements as if the fate of the world depends on which flower goes where.

You can practically feel your sanity slipping through your fingers like the flour dust you use in your baking.

“Oh, I’ve spoken to Mrs. Beech about the flowers- she says lilacs would be perfect for the bouquet. Don’t you think so, John?”

Fuck you, Mrs. Bitch-

John doesn’t even look up, his knife still scraping curls of wood from his project. “Lilacs. Sounds nice.” He says with that slow, sure nod of his, like he’s contemplating the tactical advantages of the flower choice even though you just know he has no fucking idea what flowers lilacs are and just knows them by name, not shape.

You glare at him as if sheer force of will could make him combust. “You’re not helping.”

He finally lifts his gaze, an eyebrow raised, amusement curling along his lips, while your mother now frets and flutters around your father. “Don’t think your mum would take ‘no’ from either of us, love.”

You slump back in your chair, arms crossed tight against your chest, trying to will away the traitorous warmth blooming in your stomach. Curse him and his voice. “… I was hoping to at least have a say in my fake wedding.” You mutter in the end.

“Now, now,” he drawls, leaning closer, his voice dropping to that familiar rumble that makes your stomach do a little somersault- so much worse (better) than his usual voice. “A proper husband lets his wife plan the details. I’ll just stand there lookin’ pretty for you.”

Your jaw clenches. You open your mouth to retort, but your mother interrupts with another idea- apparently, she’s already been thinking about colors for John’s suit. “John, you’re so thoughtful! And I’ve been looking at suits- do you prefer navy or charcoal? I do think charcoal brings out the blue in your eyes.”

John glances at you, his lips twitching in a barely suppressed grin. “Whichever makes her happy, ma’am.”

You’re torn between strangling him lightly and strangling him harshly. The worst part is that he doesn’t even sound insincere; he just leans back, all relaxed confidence, like he was born for this domestic chaos just as much as he was built for fighting in ward. You try to glare again, but your resolve falters when he shoots you a quick, soft wink.

Your mother, oblivious to your internal crisis, claps her hands together, now planning the guest list. You sink lower in your chair, wondering if you’d survive being exiled to the woods. John, ever the menace, just gives you a look that promises he’d happily follow you even there and maybe build you a cottage so he can show off those arms of his.

A few days later, you’re back in the kitchen, trying to reclaim some semblance of peace by kneading dough with a vengeance. You don’t even know what you’re baking anymore- scones, maybe? Bread? At this point, it’s less about the final product and more about taking out your frustrations on something pliable and innocent that won’t screech for its life.

John wanders in like he owns the place (again), smelling like the outdoors and freshly chopped wood. He leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, and watches you with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Another batch of sweets?” he drawls, leaning against the doorframe. “Didn’t know you were so dedicated. Those famous honey cakes of yours?”

You shoot him a glare. “They’re not for you.”

He raises a brow. “Oh? Someone else in line to be sweet on you?”

You huff, too tired to argue. “They’re for your men.” You snap, your hands practically mauling the dough now. Almost strangling it, to be honest.

A little smile spreads across his face, almost fond. “Didn’t know you were so sweet on them too, love.”

You huff, flour smudging your cheek as you try to actually shape the dough. “They’ve had to put up with your grumpy ass, haven’t they? Thought they deserved a treat… and mum said to, anyways- so don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Before you can blink, his hands slip around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His chin settles on your shoulder, scruffy beard tickling your skin. “You keep spoilin’ them like that, they’ll think you fancy ’em.”

You squirm, but his grip tightens, his breath warm against your neck. “Can’t have that, can we?” His voice is a growl, low and deep. “Better make sure they know who you belong to.”

Forget somersaults, your stomach actually flips. “They know,” You mutter. “Doubt they’d go against their own Captain.”

He hums, nuzzling your temple. “Good. Only one man gets to come home to your bakin’.”

You manage an eyeroll despite your heart pounding like a trapped bird. “You’re ridiculous.”

His lips brush the shell of your ear. “You like me that way.”

When he finally releases you, it’s only to snatch a fresh scone off the tray, biting into it with that satisfied grin of his. “Perfect,” he murmurs around the mouthful, nodding his approval. “But I’ll make sure to tell the lads you made ’em for me.”

You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “What are you, five?”

“Nah. Just a man who likes showin’ off what’s his.”

When he reaches to take another scone, you smack his hand away and he just laughs, the sound rumbling low and warm. He stays with you after that, bothering and pestering you like a stubborn pustule, until all of the scones have been baked and cooled.

And when he kisses your cheek before heading out the door, tipping his boonie hat with a teasing, “Be good, love.” You realize that maybe- just maybe- you should have strangled him when you had the chance.

As revenge for upsetting your stomach, of course.

[rcmclachlan]

I don't know if the comparison between Eddie and Tommy is intentional on the writers part, but they're turning me into an Eddie hater and I don't really want that, but it's so fucking hard to like Eddie at this point, even taking grief and regression due to grief into account. I mean am i supposed to like this fella who doesn't apologize or do what he promised and belittles his best friend? When I see that there's a Tommy who genuinely likes Buck and treats him well and risks his life and/or career willingly for his ex-colleagues and his ex-boyfriend? The contrast just highlights how much Eddie isn't bringing to the table in their friendship and it sucks so much because I do think he's an interesting character and I want to like him

PQ, I'ma be honest about something I've forced myself to downplay ever since I started watching 9-1-1 last May: I don't like Eddie, full stop. Never have. I just never clicked with the character, and the more I saw of him, the less I liked. But he's loved by so many in this fandom that I felt it prudent to keep my mouth shut about how much I don't like him—mostly because I was trying to make friends 'round these parts. Also, I'm not here to yuck on anyone's yum.

I really feel for the people who have loved this character, or at least loved the potential of what he could be, for years��and who have given him a lot more grace than I think he deserves—just to have him turn around and be the worst version of his worst self when faced with a supposed loved one's pain. To be deliberately cruel and weaponize the love Buck has for his son against him. To have the audacity to call Buck selfish for grieving his surrogate father's death.

Eddie's been a terrible friend to Buck from the get go and their relationship has always been incredibly one-sided, but this episode really exposed the imbalance. Like, Eddie may be Buck's best friend, but Buck sure isn't Eddie's.

And nothing made it clearer than 8x17's opening scene when Hen asks Eddie when he's going to tell Buck he's going back to El Paso. And Eddie asks Hen to do it. Actually, he doesn't ask Hen—he says something like, "I was hoping his acting captain would do it." Eddie wants Buck to hear the news in a professional capacity so he doesn't have to deal with Buck getting emotional about it. What kind of fuckass prick would do that to a "friend"?

I said to @screamlet a couple of days ago that if Eddie had posted any of this in r/amitheasshole, there'd be 6.1k comments all saying variations of "YTA, your friend should've left your ass in the dust ages ago, and you should probably live alone in the woods until you get that bitch-ass attitude under control."

Meanwhile, Tommy—who is operating under the impression that Buck feels nothing for him and that he's good for no-strings sex and nothing else—gets one (1) phone call from the man after weeks of radio silence and happily steals another helicopter so Buck can commit some light domestic terrorism.

Like, Tommy, my lad, you have nothing to worry about. There's no competition in this game. Eddie's name isn't even on the roster.

[bullet-prooflove]

Positive: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fadeinsol @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @cowardlycandy

Companion piece to:

The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.

Ethical Thieving - You introduce Pope to a new skill set.

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Everything - Pope's family life clashes with your time together.

The baby comes as a complete surprise to Pope. He sits on your couch staring at the three pregnancy tests, each one lined up one after the other, each one positive. You sit across from him, your hands pressed between your thighs waiting for him to process this new information.

“I’m having a lot of feelings right now.” He tells you, his voice rough as his eyebrows furrow. You can sense the panic raising up in him as he gestures to his chest. “Like too many feelings…”

“Alright Andy, take a deep breath.” You say climbing into his lap, your arms wrapping around him holding him close. He buries his face into the curve of your throat, inhaling the soothing scent of the ocean that lingers on your skin as your fingertips comb through his curls. It’s the only thing that grounds him when he’s overwhelmed, that keeps him here in the moment.

“Is this real?” He mumbles as he looks up at you, his whiskey eyes glistening. “Am I really going to be a father?”

“Do you want to be?” You ask him, your thumb brushing away the salt that mars the freckles on his cheeks.

“It’s what we talked about.” He whispers. “You, me, a baby of our own. I just didn’t think it would happen this soon.”

“That’s kind of on me.” You explain as your fingertips trail over his features. “When you were in prison, there was no need for birth control. I wasn’t on it when you turned up that night, I didn’t expect-”

“Hey.” He says softly, his palm cradling the nape of your neck as his mouth drags over yours. “It takes two to make a baby and I was just so excited to see you I didn’t think about any of that either. It’s like the stars aligned or something.”

“You think the baby was fate?” You ask him and the edges of his mouth twitch up into a smile.

“I think you were.” He tells you, his gaze fixing on yours as his hands come to cradle the little lifeform residing inside you. “I gotta think that maybe this is too. I mean it was always the plan…”

“When we had our own place outside of Oceanside, where your mother couldn’t find us.” You remind him.

His grip on you tightens because your words, they’re a reminder that Smurf can’t let   Andy have good things. She always snatches them away so she can keep him close, keep him chained to her like a dog on a leash, desperate for freedom but never obtaining it.

“We don’t have enough money for a clean break now but there’s a few jobs I’m working on-”

“No.” He says resolutely, his ferocious gaze meeting yours. “I can’t take the risk of something happening to you and the baby.”

“Andy.” You say firmly, cradling his face between your hands. “There’s a bigger risk to the baby if she finds out about it.”

You’re right, he knows you are. It’s different with Baz and Catherine because Smurf knows she can control Catherine on some level. Catherine needs her to help with Lena, to provide jobs for Baz so that they can make rent, afford good things. 

You are a completely different ballgame. You’re fiercely independent, running your own jobs, making your own cash. This whole feud between the two of you started because you knew how to command a room and Smurf didn’t like it. When she did try and get you under her thumb you’d countered it with your own leverage.

Mutually assured destruction Janine, you’d reminded her. You fuck me, I’ll fuck you right back and trust me I’m harder and rougher than most of the men you play with. It created a healthy boundary between the two of you, you stay out of her business, she stays out of yours.

It’s Pope that’s the problem.

You falling in love with him is your biggest downfall because it places you directly in her scope. She’d put a bullet in you and the baby before she’d let him have either of you.

“There’s a big job coming up.” He says finally, running through the figures in his head, doing the math. “My cut from that with the money you’ve already saved should be enough to get us squared away. We just have to wait a couple of weeks, start looking for a place in Santa Barbara sooner rather than later.”

“We can get started tonight.” You tell him, reaching back towards the coffee table for your tablet. Pope stops you, his hands clasping your wrists before he guides them back around his neck, your fingers lacing together.

“Tomorrow.” He says, his mouth capturing yours before he raises to his feet, taking you with him. “Tonight we celebrate.”

Love Pope? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[nobigsecrets]

BuckTommy Fic Recs - Part 2 | Part 1

but sweet kisses i’ve got to spare by @26-cats-in-a-trenchcoat Rating: M, Words: 5,692 it’s 2 AM. tommy’s in pain. buck is the guy who likes to fix things.

the more you know by winterbucky (WinterLadyy) Rating: E, Words: 1,946 Tommy's nearing his 40s. He knows himself, experimented, learned his kinks and likes. There's not a lot that can surprise him. This is exactly why his reaction to Evan in a uniform, holding a clipboard, shocks the hell out of him. Thankfully, he has a caring boyfriend who's just as into this whole thing as Tommy is. or: tommy sees uniformed buck and ends up on his knees, calling him "sir" because you always can learn more about yourself. feat dirty talk, face fucking, leg humping, and a lot of softness

caught in the way you got me by @gaytommykinard Rating: E, Words: 2,465 Tommy’s brain short-circuits for a moment. He watches as Amalia slides up to him and he puts an arm around her shoulders, and they’re both looking at him kind of expectantly and he catches on only with seconds to spare before she asks, “You wanna come home with us?” (Threesome fic, Tommy/OFC/ OMC)

Tommy Kinard's Guide To The Best (And Worst) Places To Take A Nap by @salty-autistic-writer Rating: G, Words: 2,780 Tommy naps a lot. He’s not picky about where he’s taking his naps. But some places are better than others.

A Full-Body Workout by Persiflager Rating: E, Words: 7,901 When Tommy turns back to Eddie he finds Eddie giving him a knowing look. “Laundry and meal prep, huh?”

Big strong fireman boyfriend by @janekburza Rating: E, Words: 8,640 Tommy is a bottom. With his posture it’s hard to tell and not the first thing people think when looking at him. It doesn’t help that he likes to take charge and be more dominant in bed. Meeting Evan, as tall as him, as wide as him, made him hope that they’ll be compatible in this. Because Buck’s posture doesn’t take his adorableness away, and Tommy can work with that. Will their freaks match each other? (Of course.) Or: Sex positive look at Tevan’s relationship in season 7.

You’ve Got Me Up in a Frenzy by @emphasisonthehomo Rating: E, Words: 19,499 Between one breath and the next they pull apart. Tommy’s stomach is in knots. He keeps his eyes closed for just a second longer. Just to savor it. Before he needs to look at Evan and find out if he truly ruined this or not. OR Tommy seems more confident than he is.

Shattered Steel by @lovetommyactually Rating: M, Words: 3,041 Buck’s world came back in flashes. Pain—sharp and burning, radiating through his arm. Muffled voices. The distinct smell of metal and blood. A whisper—no, a voice he knew. A voice he loved.

AITA for trying to get my coworker and his ex back together? by @aringofsalt Rating: T, Words: 1,179 Some backstory: I (31M) have been at my job for about four years. My coworker B (30sM) is one of the boss's favourites, and has spent a lot of time hazing me, even after I passed my probation. He's a bit better now, but I've never considered him to be a particularly close coworker, let alone friend. Ravi turns to Reddit.

pinch-hit hero by @ashesandhalefire Rating: E, Words: 35,195 the one where Tommy is a veteran porn star, Buck makes a wish, and Chim calls in another favor

got my head checked by a jumbo jet by @beanarie Rating: G, Words: 5,254 "Natalia," Bobby parrots blankly. It's very unlike him. "I mean, I know we haven't been together long. I don't expect her to be here. But we- we probably had plans. I don't want her to- to think I ghosted her." Bobby leans forward in his chair. "Buck, what's the last thing you remember?" Buck's stomach does a flip. "Why."

leave that vision of hell to the dying by @26-cats-in-a-trenchcoat Rating: T, Words: 28,581 evan buckley's professional life as he knew it was over after he was struck by lightning. one year later, he makes a discovery that electrifies his life all over again. or: the forever young (1992) not-quite-au with cap trilogy & the shape of water vibes that's had me in a chokehold for less than a week. featuring man out of time!tommy kinard, too much trash, and a buck who is enough, just by being buck.

White Noise by @lovetommyactually Rating: M, Words: 5,900 Tommy never meant to chase after the call—he certainly never meant to get buried under a crumbling house with too many regrets and a body giving out beneath him. But one bad feeling led to a collapse, a broken leg, and a 9-1-1 call he almost didn’t make. With Maddie on the line and the 118 closing in, Tommy confronts more than just the pain.

the crash is coming soon by @screamlet Rating: M, Words: 3,926 "I just got put on administrative leave, pending an investigation." Tommy takes a shaky breath. "Can I stay at your place for a while?" (Post episode 8x15)

tomorrow never knows by jamesandanthony Rating: G, Words: 2,207 "Hello?" "Buck?" The voice scratches at Tommy's brain, familiar enough that he feels he should recognise it. "He's sleeping, can I help?" "Oh, good, I wasn't sure if he still had the same number," the voice says and suddenly it clicks. "Abby?" he says quietly, something like panic rising in his throat. (Post episode 8x15)

The Least Vulnerable Spot by @rcmclachlan Rating: T, Words: 4,405 Tommy doesn't attend the memorial procession. It's kind of Buck's fault.

in your (our) corner by @screamlet Rating: M, Words: 11,218 Sometimes, running is the answer. (Post episode 8x17)

[tucsonhorse]

I think much of the problem began with growing class sizes and emphasis on tests and concrete scores. Not specifically standardized tests (although as a millennial myself I can tell you that the teaching for standardized tests focuses on how to guess multiple choice, not how to comprehend the questions/material well) just testing in general.

If you have one teacher and 30 students, then ask the teacher to give them all numerical grades based on tests with concrete, objectively correct answers, the teacher may still be able to use short answer/essay questions to genuinely get a sense of students' abilities and understanding. But then give that same teacher 6 class periods per day of 30 students per class and now they have 180 students and little to no time during the day where they are not teaching. That means that any time spent reviewing and correcting tests will primarily be on their personal time, which they understandably won't want to spend a lot of on correcting tests. So they give multiple choice tests. And the "good" students, those who are quick thinking and conscientious, or those who obsessively study what they are told in class are able to do very well on multiple choice tests by regurgitating the facts that they have been given. This does not mean that they understand anything they have read, but the grades are high so those students are assumed to be understanding and not given extra instruction.

I had an accelerated English class in highschool where the teacher only gave multiple choice tests and when she handed back our tests the entire class would spend that whole class period arguing with her about the questions. I particularly remember one question on a test about The Scarlet Letter. It was asking what Hester Prinn's daughter symbolizes and (if I remember correctly, it has been almost 20 years) the "correct" answer was nature. I remember reading that question and thinking that she could symbolize any of the potential answers depending on how you looked at the details, so I chose a different answer from "nature" and got it wrong. When we as a class argued with the teacher on that one the argument wasn't why she symbolized the other options, it was "you never told us". And the teacher's response was "I shouldn't have to tell you" but without an explanation of how to find the symbolism in the text.

I feel like that entire situation is a microcosm of what is leading to the kind of results these researchers are seeing. Students aren't being evaluated on whether they can understand a text or explain their understanding, they are being evaluated on if they can memorize what the teachers tell them they should be understanding. And that is further compounded by teachers not explaining, it sounds like potentially not even knowing, how the text can be understood and rather teaching information for students to memorize and recite.

i appreciated this study: "They Can't Read Very Well: A Study of the Reading Comprehension Skills Of English Majors At Two Midwestern Universities"

essentially, a pair of professors set out to test their intuitive sense that students at the college level were struggling with complex text. they recruited 85 students, a mix of english majors and english education majors - so, theoretically, people focusing on literature, and people preparing to teach adolescents how to read literature - and had them read-while-summarizing the first seven paragraphs of dickens's bleak house (or as much as they made it through in the 20 minute session). they provided dictionaries and also said students could use their phones to look up whatever they wanted, including any unfamiliar words or references. they found that the majority of the students - 58%, or 49 out of the 85 students - functionally could not understand dickens at all, and only 5% - a mere 4 out of the 85 students - proved themselves proficient readers (leaving the remaining 38%, or 32 students, as what the study authors deemed "competent" students, most of whom could understand about half the literal meaning - pretty low bar for competence - although a few of whom, they note, did much better than the rest in this group if not quite well enough to be considered proficient).

what i really appreciated about this study was its qualitative descriptions of the challenges and reading behaviors of what the authors call "problematic readers" (that bottom 58%), which resonated strongly with my own experiences of students who struggle with reading. here's their blunt big picture overview of these 49 students:

The majority of these subjects could understand very little of Bleak House and did not have effective reading tactics. All had so much trouble comprehending concrete detail in consecutive clauses and phrases that they could not link the meaning of one sentence to the next. Although it was clear that these subjects did try to use various tactics while they read the passage, they were not able to use those tactics successfully. For example, 43 percent of the problematic readers tried to look up words they did not understand, but only five percent were able to look up the meaning of a word and place it back correctly into a sentence. The subjects frequently looked up a word they did not know, realized that they did not understand the sentence the word had come from, and skipped translating the sentence altogether.

the idea that they had so many trouble with every small piece of a text that they could not connect ideas on a sentence by sentence basis is very familiar to me from teaching and tutoring, as was the habit of thought seen in the example of the student who gloms on to the word "whiskers" in a sea of confusion and guesses incorrectly that a cat is present - struggling readers, in my experience, seem to use familiar nouns as stepping stones in a flood of overwhelm, hopping as best they can from one seemingly familiar image to the next. so was this observation, building off the example of a student who misses the fact that dickens is being figurative when he imagines a megalodon stalking the streets of london:

She first guesses that the dinosaur is just “bones” and then is stuck stating that the bones are “waddling, um, all up the hill” because she can see that Dickens has the dinosaur moving. Because she cannot logically tie the ideas together, she just leaves her interpretation as is and goes on to the next sentence. Like this subject, most of the problematic readers were not concerned if their literal translations of Bleak House were not coherent, so obvious logical errors never seemed to affect them. In fact, none of the readers in this category ever questioned their own interpretations of figures of speech, no matter how irrational the results. Worse, their inability to understand figurative language was constant, even though most of the subjects had spent at least two years in literature classes that discussed figures of speech. Some could correctly identify a figure of speech, and even explain its use in a sentence, but correct responses were inconsistent and haphazard. None of the problematic readers showed any evidence that they could read recursively or fix previous errors in comprehension. They would stick to their reading tactics even if they were unhappy with the results.

i have seen this repeatedly, too - actually i was particularly taken with how similar this is to the behavior of struggling readers at much younger ages - and would summarize the hypothesis i have forged over time as: struggling readers do not expect what they read to make sense. my hypothesis for why this is the case is that their reading deficits were not attended to or remediated adequately early enough, and so, in their formative years - the early to mid elementary grades - they spent a lot of time "reading" things that did not make sense to them - in fact they spent much more time doing this than they ever did reading things that did make sense to them - and so they did not internalize a meaningful subjective sense of what it feels like to actually read things.

like, i've said this before, but the year i taught third grade i had multiple students who told me they loved reading and then when i asked them about a book they were reading revealed that they had absolutely no idea what was going on - on a really basic literal level like "didn't know who said which lines of dialogue" and "couldn't identify which things or characters given pronouns referred to" - and were as best as i could tell sort of constructing their own story along the way using these little bits of things they thought they understood. that's what "reading" was, in their heads. and they were, in the curriculum/model that we used at the private school where i taught, receiving basically no support to clarify that that was not what reading was, nor any instruction that would actually help them with what they needed to do to improve (understand sentences) - and i realized over the course of that year that the master's program that had certified me in teaching elementary school had provided me with very little understanding of how to help these kids (with perhaps the sole exception of the class i took on communications disorders, not because these kids had communications disorders but because that was the only class where we ever talked, even briefly, about things like sentence structures that students may need instruction in and practice with to comprehend independently). when it comes to the literal, basic understanding of a text, the model of reading pedagogy i was taught has about 6 million little "tools" that all boil down to telling kids who functionally can't read to try harder to read. this is not productive, in my experience and opinion, for kids whose maximum effort persistently yields confusion. but things are so dysfunctional all the way up and down the ladder that you can be a senior in college majoring in english without anyone but a pair of professors with a strong work ethic noticing that you can't actually read.

couple other notes:

obviously it's a small study but i'm not sure i see a reason to believe these are particularly outlierish results (ACT scores - an imperfect metric but not a meritless one IMO for reading specifically, where the task mostly really is to read a set of texts written for the educated layperson and answer factual questions about them - were a little bit above the national average)

the study was published last year, but the research was conducted january to april 2015. so there's no pandemic influence, no AI issue - these are millennials who now would span roughly ages 28-32 (i guess it's possible one of the four first-year students was one of the very first members of gen z lol). if you're in your late 20s or early 30s, we are talking about people your age, and whatever the culprit is here, it was happening when you were in school.

i think some people might want to blame this on NCLB but i find this unconvincing for a variety of reasons. first of all, NCLB did not pass because everyone in 2001 agreed that education was super hunky-dory; in fact, the sold a story podcast outlines how an explicit goal of NCLB was to train teachers in systematic phonics instruction, because that was not the norm when NCLB was passed, and an unfortunate outcome was that phonics became politicized in ed world. second, anyone who understands anything about reading should need about ten minutes max to spend some time on standardized test prep and recognize that if your goal is truly to maximize scores... then the vast majority of your instructional time should be spent on improving actual reading skills because you actually can't meaningfully game these tests by "practicing main idea questions" (timothy shanahan addresses this briefly near the top of this post). so i find it very difficult to believe that any school that pivoted to multiple choice drill time in an attempt to boost reading scores was teaching reading effectively pre-NCLB, because no set of competent literacy professionals would think that would work even for the goal of raising test scores. third, NCLB mandated yearly testing in grades 3-8 but only one test year in high school; kansas set its reading and math test year in high school as tenth grade. so theoretically these kids all had two years of sweet sweet freedom from NCLB in which their teachers could have done whatever the fuck they wanted to teach these kids to actually read. the fact that they didn't suggests perhaps there were other problems afoot. fourth, and maybe most saliently for this particular study, the sample text was the first seven paragraphs of a novel - in other words, the exact kind of short incomplete text that NCLB allegedly demanded excessive time spent on. i'm not really sure what universe it makes sense in that students who can't read the first seven paragraphs of a novel would have become much better reader if everything else had been the same but they had been making completely wack associations based on nonsense guesses for all 300 pages instead. (if you read the study it's really clear that for problematic readers, things go off the rails immediately, in a way that a good program targeted at teaching mastery of text of 500 words or less would have done something about.)

all but 3 of the students reported A's and B's in their english classes and, again, 69% of them are juniors and seniors, so like... i mean idk kudos to these professors for being like "hold up can these kids actually read?" but clearly something is wack at the college level too [in 2015] if you can make your way through nearly an entire english major without being able to read the first seven paragraphs of a dickens novel. (once again i really do encourage you to look at the qualitative samples in the study, lest you think i am being uncharitable by summarizing understandable misunderstandings or areas of confusion that may resolve themselves with further exposure to the text as "can't read.") not to mention the fact that most students could not what they had learned in previous or current english classes and when asked to name british and american authors and/or works of the nineteenth century, roughly half the sample at each college could name at most one.

the authors of the study are struck by the fact that students who cannot parse the first 3 sentences of bleak house feel very confident about their ability to read the entire novel, and discover that this seeming disconnect is resolved by the fact that these students seem to conceptualize "reading" as "skimming and then reading sparknotes." i think it's really tempting to Kids These Days this phenomenon (although again these are people who in some cases have now been in the workforce for a decade) and categorize it as laziness or a lack of effort, but i think that there is, as i described above, a real and sincere confusion over what "reading" is in which this makes a certain logical sense because it's not like they have some store of actual reading experiences to compare it to. i also think it's pretty obvious looking at just how wildly severed from actual textual comprehension their readings are that these are not - or at least not entirely - students who could just work harder and master the entirety of bleak house all on their own. like i don't think you get from "charles dickens is describing a bunch of dinosaur bones actually walking the streets of london" to comfortably reading nineteenth century literature by just trying harder. i really just don't (and i say that acknowledging i personally have had students who like... were good readers if i was forcing them to work at it constantly... but i have also had students, including ones getting ready to enter college, who were clearly giving me everything they had and what they had was at the present moment insufficient). i think that speaks to a missing skillset that they don't know are missing, because they don't have any other experience of "reading" to compare it to.

just wanna highlight again that although they don't give the breakdown some of these students are not just english majors but english education majors a.k.a. the high school english teachers of tomorrow. some of them may be teaching high school english right now, in case anyone wishes to consider whether "maybe some high school english teachers can't read the first seven paragraphs of bleak house?" should be kept in mind when we discuss present-day educational ills.

[dreammfyre]

too sweet ⊹ ࣪ ˖ frank langdon

SUMMARY. You knew Langdon from the time you started your internship at The Pittsburgh. You knew that a working relationship with him was not going to be easy, he was self-centered and had a fixation with pointing out your mistakes until you understood that this was his way of teaching you. Frank wanted you to be the best and let everyone know that he was responsible for making you the star. You didn't know what you were thinking when you thought it was a love relationship, it had been years before the connection went beyond work. But it wasn't easy to deal with his unpredictable personality, until you got to see his vulnerable side.

WARNINGS. fluff and soft!langdon.

There were days and days in ER. None like the previous one, that was the reason why you chose that specialty, how unpredictable it was, to wake up and have no idea what the fuck could happen. A constant adrenaline rush that wouldn't let rest for a single minute and made you feel alive, in no other specialty were you going to experience living minute by minute not knowing what was about to walk through that door. You loved this place, more than once it ended you and your peace of mind, but for some reason you ended up coming back every day because knew your place was there, and couldn't visualize yourself anywhere else.

ER was something beautiful, unpredictable and destructive.

If you could relate one person to that site, without a doubt the only name that would come to mind is Frank Langdon. Every word you use to describe your work fits him. Unpredictable, amazing, even exhausting.

Your relationship had ups and downs, you both knew it was going to be that way because your personalities clashed even before the first kiss. They both wanted to be right, that was a big problem, however, sex is amazing, it made feel unique among all the people around you. You could say a lot of good things about your boyfriend, he was attentive, intelligent, come on, a fucking genius, he loved you and every day reminded you of that. He has the best memory, remembered every detail about you even when yourself forgot the things you said without thinking.

"You look beautiful in that scrub. Hey, guys have you seen how hot she’s?"

"Frank, what the hell we're working." You replied as pulled on your gloves. An unconscious patient with weak vitals had arrived, but he always had the pep to blurt out comments like that.

"Just telling the truth." He raised his arms, adjusting his gown.

"Right now?" You put on glasses.

"Oh, please, don't fight now." Cassie McKay thought aloud praying to heaven not to deal with the two of you.

"We're not fighting, Doctor McKay." You said injecting an antibiotic.

"I'm not going to apologize." Langdon excused himself.

"I don't need your apology." You said as checked the patient's mouth finding dry mucous and cyanosis around his lips. With your flashlight illuminated his throat, it was closed and that explained the low saturation. "I'm going to intubate."

"I'll assist you."

You nodded immediately, trusted no one but Frank. He passed the instruments following your orders, correcting if necessary even though you had mastered the technique. Langdon was a third year resident about to finish his specialty while this was your second year of residency. However, he looked at you with admiration and attention, your movements seemed fluid although in your head everything was calculated not to make a mistake, Frank really loved that about you, you were the most studious person he knew because were willing to give everything to save a stranger.

"Perfect." He complimented.

"Thank you." You smiled contentedly. Your locks stuck to your face from sweat and your skin glistened under the white lights. "See how efficient you are when you shut up for a while, Dr. Langdon?" took off your gloves and threw them in the trash can.

The door to the room opened, it was Doctor Robby who poked his body out without entering so as not to contaminate the space.

"Road accident in three minutes. I need one of you." He said analyzing their faces, until he pointed his finger at you. "You, come on."

You couldn't refuse or question the boss's order so you took off your implements to get out of there. The patient was stable so there wasn't much else to do but administer medications, test results and wait for a progress. McKay and Langdon were left in charge.

"She's a genius, isn't she?" He smiled as proudly boyfriend.

"I'd tell you that you're too much in love and not thinking with your head, but you're right." Cassie replied sighing as she stitched up the wound on her arm.

"Oh, come on. You know I always have." That mocking, self-centered tone everyone was used to hearing from her. It came so naturally to him that no one knew if he meant it or if it was sarcasm.

"I still don't understand why he noticed you in the first place."

The shift flew by. Hours and hours attending patients, administering medications, receiving results, routine consultations, rounds, evolutions, more medications. The occasional accident. But that had been your perspective, it was a quiet shift that you knew how to handle. There were only a couple of hours left to go home to rest, eat a hamburger that you wanted to buy so badly, you wanted to ask Langdon if he wanted to go to your apartment to spend the night with you or if he preferred to stay at home, but for some reason you couldn't find him anywhere.

You watched the screen above the nurse's station in search of your next case. You put your hands in your pockets and perused the inpatients without finding anything but vomiting and stomach pains. Kind of boring really.

"Come on, Dana. Tell me you have something exciting to me." You leaned against the counter pouting.

The charge nurse looked at you with a smile, she loved seeing you with such enthusiasm, she had never told you but she was glad to work with you.

"Don't you think that's enough variety we have to offer?" she joked with you, you snorted. "Headache, stomach ache and vomiting. Specialty of the house."

"I have energy for something else." You jumped a couple of times in place making her laugh.

Dana leaned on the table imitating your posture, you approached her excitedly, she seemed to be about to tell you a secret by the way she looked around before talking to you so that only you could hear. She lowered her voice to tell you.

"He's not a patient, but I'm sure you can help him."

Frank Langdon's day had been a complete crapshoot. There was no other way to put it, and the worst part was that it wasn't over yet.

He was leaning against one of the ambulances playing with a bracelet you had given him a few days ago, one of your recent hobbies was making bracelets by hand, that was the second attempt which in your own words was complete crap, but Frank insisted it was good work. You told him that if he thought it was pretty he could use it, you never imagined he would.

"Do you still have it?" your voice was a big bucket of cold water. I didn't want you to see him that way, so dull from what you were used to seeing from him.

He lifted his shoulders trying to smile.

"It’s pretty."

"Of course not." You stood in front of him looking at your creation with disgust and disdain. "I can do you one better."

Langdon denied.

"I prefer this one." He pocketed it. "What are you doing here?"

"I haven't seen you for hours, they told me they saw you leave."

"You should go back inside. It's cold and I don't want you to get sick, you become unbearable."

A weak laugh came out of you, the worst part was that it was true, only Frank had enough patience for you to attend to you. Though deep down you felt Frank wasn't being himself, he wouldn't hold your gaze and his voice was serious, straining to hold a conversation with you. He would sigh in moments of silence and play with his hands as he said vague things to you.

"Dana told me what happened." You confessed gaining Frank’s attention completely. His yes widened in surprise not knowing what to tell you about it, his head still processing it. "It's not your fault. You know that."

Langdon looked at the sky that was gradually darkening, ending the day shift, the noise of cars passing by on the street could be heard in the background. He hated this kind of situation, when you came to comfort him by repeating cliché phrases that he also told you when you had a hard day. You knew you meant well, he was just… tired.

"Don't worry."

"Of course I'm going to worry about you." You took his hands between yours. "You can talk to me, I want to listen to you. Frank, things get to you and you don't ignore them, it's not good."

You were right, shit, of course you were. It was his way, keeping everything to himself because it wasn't impossible for him to open up that part of him. It wasn't the first time he had to take a breath before the shift was over, he hated doing that because it meant he couldn't take the pressure anymore. There are just times when he wished he knew the key to never see any person die again, surely all the doctors wished the same thing, a spell that would save every life, cure every disease, something that would take the pain away from the families.

He sighed deeply.

"It sucks sometimes." It was the only thing he could bring himself to say.

"I know."

"He was a kid." He confessed finally getting a weight off his chest, it felt strange to externalize it, but your soft gaze gave him the confidence he needed to converse. "I did everything I could, I know, but I wonder if I should have tried a little harder. I don't know." He ran a hand through his messy wet hair. "Insist."

You swallowed saliva but it felt like a ball of fire burning your throat as it passed. Yes, you loved your job, you wouldn't trade it for the tranquility of dermatology or the constant uncertainty of cardiology, you respected all the specialties, but you were in love with the ER. One thing Robby had told you on the first day of your internship at Pittsburgh was that sooner or later this job would end up breaking your heart, and that you were going to see suffering even in those you loved. He was right, what he didn't warn you about was how bad it felt to see frustration in the eyes of the one you love.

"Do you think you didn't try everything?" your question was direct, almost an interrogation. "Did you do everything you could?"

Langdon looked at you for a few seconds, nodded yes. You stretched the silence as the wind chilled your face. Unexpectedly Frank took a step towards you without saying anything, he rested his cheek on your shoulder wrapping his arms around your waist, you felt him pulling your body closer and you didn't put up any resistance. You took one of your hands to his back and the other to his messy hair, leaving small caresses while he closed his eyes, he was really taking refuge in you, you had become his safe place and where he wanted to return every day, you had not left him alone when everyone turned their back on him and from there he knew he was in love with you. You transmitted to him the peace he was constantly looking for, but you also gave him joy, headaches, a bit of anger when they argued. You were all the intensity he was looking for in perfect balance with the silence, you were that look he was looking for on the other side of the room, you became that person he seeks to make uncomfortable with his jokes because he liked it when you got mad at him. He loved knowing you were going to be there at the end of the day and into the night.

"I love you, you know that, don't you?" He babbled like a little boy. Squeezing you a little tighter against his chest hoping you would never part from him. You just didn't think about what he was saying and let it out.

You smiled, for real this time. Hearing those words from him knowing how hard it was for him to express himself was a gesture you appreciated, more than that, it made your heart beat fast.

"I love you." You repeated with sincerity in your voice, a phrase you had been holding back from long ago that you dared not say for fear of not being reciprocated. Damn, you were in love with him ever since he stole your first kiss and passed it off as an accident, but you couldn't deny that a relationship with him was the closest thing to walking on a tightrope where the risk of falling was imminent.

You couldn't see it, but you were sure Frank was grinning like a fool too.

"I have to go back inside." You said taking his face in your hands, standing on the tip of your toes to reach his lips and leave a short kiss with little taste for both of you. Your rosy cheeks was a detail he didn't overlook, he loved making you blush because it wasn't a simple thing to do. "It's time to make rounds."

With all the regret in the world he had to let you go, feeling your absence from the moment you parted and the cold hit his body. He didn't know what you had done to him but you had him walking behind you much more animated.

"Hey, doctor, are you single?" He asked with his hands in his pockets following in your footsteps. You rolled your eyes and bit your inner cheek to keep from laughing.

"Sorry, I have a boyfriend." You turned around with raised eyebrows walking backwards. "And he's the hottest doctor in the hospital."

He accepted the compliment pretending to be surprised, you turned your back to him and Frank immediately hurried to walk beside you, he put his arm around your shoulders keeping you close.

"I thought we didn't accept compliments at work." He frowned.

You escaped his grip with a cynical smile on your lips.

"We don't." You moved closer to his face being careful not to graze even a millimeter of his face. "Because you don't want to know everything I think when I see you."

You went straight to the nursing desk to look for a case to attend. It was the ER, it was never going to be empty, you walked around trying to hide the love-struck smile on your face.

"I hope it's nothing bad!" Langdon exclaimed letting you go.

"You'd love to know." You replied before disappearing from his field of vision.

Dr. Robby walked past you with a tablet in his hands reading a file on the screen. He was concentrating walking until he passed you.

"You two. No romance at work."

[angelshizuka]

I've seen HB "critics" give Viv shit because she talks about how she already has the entire HB plot planned out and knows how it's going to end, because "it's the bare minimum when you're making a show", but... is it really?

I mean, it should be, but with the amount of recent media where creators have literally admitted to not knowing what they were doing and making major changes during production (either by own choice or being forced to by higher ups), we have in fact reached a point where it's applaud worthy that a show creator knows where their show is going and sticks to it.

They've also been giving her shit for clarfiying she still has full creative control over HB even with the Amazon deal, because they genuinely think she still has that over HH, too (and that creators in general have full control over their shows).

Like, tell me you have literally zero understanding of the production of shows without telling me. Just because HH is Viv's show and she definitely still has a lot of control, doesn't mean she has full control since Amazon got a hold of it. Not just the show itself, but also marketing, merchandising, ect.

And people who hate Viv so much they wish she loses these shows entirely to Amazon are downright disgusting. How they can hate someone so much they'd rather give a win to corporate capitalism than just let a woman live out her dreams.

[theamaus]

All I need is you

“Ah, so zhis is vere you’ve been hiding.” Friedrich closes the door behind him and steps out into the cool summer air. The music plays in full swing inside and the wedding guests are chatting and having fun. Ivan is standing outside in the moonlight, smoking.

“Hm.” he grunts in acknowledgement, “Is hot inside. And noisy.” He takes another drag of his cigarette.

“Ja natürlich, it’s a party. I haven’t seen you in a while, have you been out here long?”

Fritz goes to stand beside his lover, shoulder to shoulder. The air is not exactly cold, but the closeness is nice nonetheless. He hands Ivan the cold beer he brought. The larger man  accepts it and takes a sip. Fritz drinks from his soda.

"Немає, was talking to John and Tavish, then I go here.” 

“Are you not having fun?”

Ivan shrugs, “Eh, is not for me, but it does not matter. Is Mikhail and Herbert's day.” He takes another drag of his cigarette as he looks in through the window to the hall. Misha and Herbert are sitting together at one of the tables and seem to be busy in separate conversations. Misha is talking to Gabriel, the red teams spy, and Herbert to Dell, the engineer. They look nice together in their suits with matching red ties.

He turns back to Friedrich and puts an arm around him.

“You’re having fun, так? I see you talk with engineer.”

“Ah, ja, he vas telling me about how he made ‘improvements’ to his hand. Honestly it’s not a bad cut for an amature, although i vould have chosen a sharper saw. Zhe cuts are jagged and-” he looks up at Ivan, who is looking through the window again. 

“You are not listening, schatz.” Ivan looks down at him, “Hm? Sorry, ангел.”

His thoughts are elsewhere. He looks at Misha’s sisters, his mother. They’re so happy for him, and for Herbert. He wonders if his own mother would be happy for him if she knew where he was. If she knew he’d found a steady job, friends who cared for him. Love. Probably not, and he doubts Fritz’ mother would be thrilled if she knew her son had chosen to share his bed with a man like him. Or maybe the fact that he was a man at all would be enough to earn her disapproval. Who cares, he thinks.

“I zhink they’re about to dance soon.” Friedrichs voice interrupts Ivans thoughts.

“Hm, dance?” Ivan asks and looks down at the doctor.

“Ja, the first dance. Oh, zhis is your first wedding, richtig?” Ivan nods and takes a sip of his beer. “Ah, vell, at some point in zhe evening zhe couple has zheir first dance und after zhat everyone can join in on zhe dancefloor.”

“You know a lot about weddings.” Ivan says, “Do you want to get married?”

He doesn’t think about how that question sounds before he says it, but the speed with which Fritz looks up at him clues him in. “Excuse me?” 

Ivan quickly puts his hands up, “I mean not in future! As boy did you- argh! Fuck! Wording was wrong…”

He prepares himself for an awkward conversation, but to his surprise Fritz laughs. He relaxes a bit.

“I know vhat you mean, Süßer, but you could have vorded zhat better! To answer your question, ja, vhen i vas a child I thought I vanted to get married. But not anymore. I don’t need all zhis.”

He takes the beer out of Ivans hand and places it on the ground with his own drink. The music from the party quiets down.

“All i need is you”

He takes Ivans hand in his as the music changes to a slow waltz.

“I can’t dance.” Ivan says but he lets Friedrich guide his hands to the correct positions anyway. 

“It doesn’t matter” Fritz says as he begins to guide the large man in a slow simple waltz-like motion. He rests his head on his lover's broad shoulder as they sway to the muffled sound of music from the party inside.

“Do you vant to get married?” He asks. “No.” Ivan replies simply and smiles, “All I need is you.”

[peachesanmemes]

I also recommend just using the "whole message model." Similar to these examples but all-encompassing and you can literally just checklist it once you practice it a few times. Other people respond really well to whole messages instead of partial ones.

Partial message example: You don't really want to talk to me right now do you?

Lots of implications, lots of room for misinterpretation, isn't clear what the person wants done about the situation.

Whole message example: I've noticed we haven't been talking much and your responses have felt really short. I don't think this is the best way for us to resolve the thing that happened. I feel bad when we don't talk because I care about you/our relationship. Can you tell me what made you upset so we can work on a solution together?

Works really well, the other person doesn't have to guess anything, and they know plainly what you would like to see happen.

The whole message model also works for good things!

Happy example: You've really been picking up the slack for the team this week! It's really helping us all be more efficient and keep things running smoothly. I'm really glad we have you on the team, I feel better knowing you're around. :) I hope you know how meaningful your contributions are and I'd love to hear if there's ever any support you need from me.

I hate that thing some people do where it's like. "I left my wallet on the table to see if you'd say anything" or "I wanted to see if you'd wash the car if I stopped doing it"

Cause like

I dont know about anyone else

But I am perpetually hovering three inches above the strong subconscious belief that everyone knows what they're doing at all times except me, so if you change your normal patterns and I notice, then I will assume it is an intentional choice with a thought-out plan behind it and I will avoid interfering

And if I don't notice, because I won't, because why would I, because not much bothers me and if you don't say anything to indicate you are bothered then how would I KNOW

[myfictionaldreams]

Hiiiiii

Hope you are doing well🥺 ✨🦎

Sooo I thought about this one:

Natasha and Sam are helping the reader to defend herself with some weapons like a gun and a knife…

But Steve and Bucky don’t know this until she has to use those new skills…

Probably the hottest thing they have seen?

Their girl manhandling someone who hurts HER boys? Hell yeah

~ 🦎

⁀➷ Sweet & Armed // Mafia!Stucky x F!Reader

Summary: In a world of danger and dominance, she’s the soft center — until the day she proves she can bite just as hard as they bark.

Requested by: 🦎 -- Thank you for your request! I've also mixed this with your first request for the reader to do something nice for the boys. I hope you like it!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, threesome, attempted kidnapping, violence, mild injury (bruised hand), protective stucky, domestic fluff, poly, dom/sub, double penetration, anal, praise kink, sir kink

Words: 4.5k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The morning was peacefully quiet in the Rogers-Barnes estate—calm in the way only highly protected, 24-hour security could buy. Somewhere out of sight, a small army of guards monitored every inch of the surroundings.

But inside the homely kitchen, nothing stirred except for the soft hum of an old Sinatra vinyl playing low in the background, and the occasional bark from Dodger as he chased shadows across the polished floors.

You were barefoot, wearing only one of Steve’s soft white Henleys that dragged below your thighs, and a smile that only deepened each time the smell of cinnamon and warm sugar drifted from the oven. A few days ago, the recipe book you found had been shoved behind a row of aged Scotch bottles. The corners of the pages curving with age, handwritten notes smothering the recipes, add to the original recipes.

You’d found the jackpot with these books—the margins were filled with directions from Sarah Rogers and Winifred Barnes.

A surprise you were jumping on the spot to tell.

The dough under your fingers was sticky as you prepared another batch of treats. One tray was baking, and the other was already cooling. The boys would be up soon from the creaking of slow steps on the floor above your head.

As you were licking cinnamon sugar off your fingers, you turned, only to jump slightly as a low voice drawled from the doorway.

“Well, ain’t this a damn sight, Sweet Mama.”

Bucky Barnes stood shirtless in grey joggers, his hair a smidge longer than his usual buzz cut, facial hair freshly trimmed. He leaned against the doorframe, blinking sleepily, and still somehow looked like a sin.

You gave him a sheepish smile, hand on your chest, “You scared me.”

His blue eyes dragged down your legs, over the flour dusting your thighs. “My bad, doll. Didn’t realise angels made breakfast too.”

Before you could roll your eyes, he was behind you, wrapping both arms securely around your waist, his flesh hand warm and his vibranium one cool against your stomach. He nuzzled into your neck with a pleased groan.

“You cooking rugelach? My mom used to make this exact recipe. Damn near forot the smell.”

“I found an old book, I think it was hers.”

Bucky went still.

“You did?”

You nodded, wiping your hands on a towel and pulling it from the counter to show him. He stared down at the page and fading writing, then looked back at you with an emotion that didn’t often cross his handsome face.

“This…” he cleared his throat. “This means a lot, sweetheart. More than you know.”

Before you could reply, Dodger trotted into the kitchen, his wet nose nudging against Bucky’s leg, begging for scratches. “Good morning to you, too, Dodge. Have you been helping Mama bake?”

Just then, Steve’s heavy footsteps echoed from the stairs. Moments later, he was filling the doorway. “Something smells good.”

Bucky steps aside as Steve enters, tall, golden, and freshly showered. He pauses mid-stride, eyes landing on you standing barefoot surrounded by pastries, and his entire expression softens.

“Jesus, are you trying to kill us?”

You blinked. “What?”

He crossed the room, cupping your face in his warm palms, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You. Looking like this. Making my ma’s cookies.” Steve turned briefly to Bucky. “You see this? This is wife behaviour.”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Bucky smirks, stepping closer until you’re sandwiched between their bodies. Sighing into their hold, you spend a moment just breathing them in, thankful for moments like this where even simple actions could have so much appreciation from your boyfriends.

“Are we still on for that picnic later? I thought I could bring some of these treats along.”

Bucky’s the first to move away from the hug, moving over to the sink to fill a glass with water. “Yeah, Sam and Nat will be here around noon to load the car.”

“Dibs, I’m taking the bike”, Steve adds.

“Like hell, I own the bike, Steve,” Bucky snaps back, nearly choking on his water.

“Yeah? I ride it better.”

Dodger barked once, as if to cast his vote.

The argument might’ve gone on forever, if not for the moment you walked past them hours later, your sundress fluttering just enough to reveal the curve of your thighs as you bent to pick up your bag. You didn’t mean to do it. But you felt their eyes snap to you like magnets.

Steve’s voice dropped. “Forget the bike.”

“Yep, forget the bike, I’m riding with her.”

Bucky practically tackled Steve out of the way to the car to hold the door open for you, a move that had the blonde rolling his eyes and swearing under his breath for not thinking of it first. This was all after 10 minutes of arguing who would sit next to you, just to decide that there was plenty of room in the back seats for them to be on either side of you.

So there you were, with warm sunlight beaming through the tinted windows, the hum of the radio lowly playing in the background, and the subtle crackle of a secured radio line in the front seat where Natasha and Sam kept one ear tuned into security updates.

Steve and Bucky’s shoulders and thighs pressed firmly against yours, each had a hand resting possessively on your bare thigh, having pushed the flimsy material up slightly to be skin to skin.

“You smell like cinnamon. Are you sure you want to go outside today? I kind of want you all to myself. I don’t know how Buck’s feeling.”

Bucky's hand gently squeezes your thigh, smirking, “I’m trying to be a team player, Wilson’s been begging like a little princess for this for months.”

Sam, who was driving you all, calmly lifted his little finger towards his boss and best friend, causing a laugh from all three of you.

“You’re all ridiculous,” you say softly, leaning your head against Steve’s shoulder.

“Insanely in love with you. Not the same thing,” Steve corrects, kissing your temple for a couple of long seconds.

The car bumped gently as they pulled off the main road into a hidden field surrounded by tall forest and protected by surveillance drones overhead. You knew the place well. It was one of the few safe zones that hadn’t been compromised, a place where they could let their guards down just enough to breathe.

Blankets were spread across the trimmed grass, and the warm scent of late spring was in the air. Sam unpacked the drinks while Natasha laid out sandwiches and extra ammo clips with equal ease.

“Sometimes I forget how equipped you are. Where do you even hide these things?” you ask, nodding to the assortment of weapons.

Natasha smirks, flipping her red hair over one shoulder, “You say that like I didn’t grow up doing tactical training in sunflower fields.

Sam hands you a bottle of lemonade. “Enjoy the moment, boss lady. Days like this don’t come often.”

You nod thoughtfully.

For a while, everything is right. Bucy sat behind you with his arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders, tracing slow circles on your stomach as Steve fed Dodger bits of jerky and talked shit to Sam about his choice in baseball teams. Natasha laughed in a way you rarely heard, leaning in occasionally to give teasing digs to all the boys, but never you, she was always a girl's girl.

You were about to reach for another cookie when a football thudded into the blanket near your hand. Steve grins, “C’mon, baby. You ever tossed one of these?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you throw people.”

“Sam motion,” Steve shrugs, stretching. “Less screaming.”

You stand, wiping crumbs off your dress. “Okay. But if you make me run, you can walk home.”

That earned a while from Sam. “Boss lady’s got jokes now, huh?”

You return Sam’s earlier gesture with a middle finger, laughing whilst walking across the field. Each person had an exaggerated stance. Bucky was cocky, steve overly technical, and sam too smooth for his good. Natasha opted to watch from the blanket with her shades on, though you knew she wasn’t really relaxing; her eyes never stopped scanning the treeline.

Everything was perfect, until Bucky started with a ridiculous overhead throw, the ball whizzing past your head and landing a significant distance away in the field.

“Sorry, Doll!” but from his shit eating grin you knew he wasn’t that sorry.

With a deep sigh, you walked to the ball and, with more energy than necessary, threw the ball to Sam, which only landed halfway because everyone was so far away now.

Eventually, it was back to Bucky, who grinned and threw the ball past where you were standing, past even the field and into the edge of the forest.

Turning with a huff at your boyfriend's antics of showing off his physical skills, you disappear between the trees. Sunlight breaks into thin beams as the sounds of laughter fade behind you. The ball wasn’t too far away, easily spotted, and tangled in a bed of wildflowers and fallen branches.

You reached for it. And froze. The hairs on your neck lifted a second before instinct kicked in.

A presence behind you- too close, too quiet. Your fingers curled around the ball, but you didn’t turn just yet. Instead, you took a steadying breath, tucking it to your chest and walking quickly back toward the clearing.

And that’s when the air changed. Just as your foot broke the tree line, the sun's heat smoothing your face, you just knew.

There was someone behind you. Before you could fully react, an arm hooked toward your waist. You dropped the football and twisted hard, driven more by instinct than thought.

From the field, everything happened at once.

Steve;s gun was drawn, cock. “Drop her-NOW!”

Bucky was already moving, low and fast across the field, but you’d somehow managed to be so far away from the others with the little ball throwing that it would still take him more time than necessary to get to your side.

And what’s worse is that you were directly in front of the attacker, and there was no clean shot.

“Don’t move!” Natasha barked, her voice sharp, her gun drawn and pointed. “Sugar, pivot! Use your elbow! Disarm!”

The man’s grip tightened, but your training kicked in, Natasha’s orders reminding your shocked body to move. You ducked low, slamming your heel into his shin, and drove your elbow back into his ribs. As he flinched, you spun, knocking the gun from his hand, and delivered a clean, closed-fist punch to his jaw, just like Sam and Nat had drilled into you.

Pain burst through your knuckles, but you followed through. The man dropped, stunned, his nose gushing with blood, eyes dazed.

Your chest heaved as you staggered back, knuckles throbbing.

The unknown man groaned on the ground at your feet.

Natasha let out a low whistle from across the field. “Hell of a takedown!”

Bucky is suddenly there, hands cradling your injured hand whilst easily able to kick out his leg, booting the man straight in the head, knocking him unconscious. “You okay? Talk to me, Doll.”

You nodded, heart still racing.” I’m fine. I-he grabbed me, but I just moved, I don’t know what just happened.” You say a little out of it, the adrenaline thumping through your veins.

“You moved like someone trained by a fucking assassin.” Steve’s now at your side, checking the rest of your body, sounding both impressed and furious as he makes sure also to kick the man in the ribs, earning a wheeze. “You tell us everything, right fucking now.”

Sam and Nat appear on either side of you. “She’s been training with Nat and me for six months.”

Steve’s head whips around. “What?!”

“She asked. We said yes. Don’t act shocked, it’s saved her life, hasn’t it?”

“Holy shit,” bucky said, breathing hard as he stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time. “You- goddamn, hot mama.”

Steve lifts your hand, inspecting the angry swelling along your knuckle, checking each finger for movement. “You’re still hurt.”

“It’s just a bruise,” you try to justify, a little nervous that they’d found out about your training. It wasn’t like you were doing it for any specific reason other than safety. I hoped it wouldn’t get to a point where you’d have to use it, but with the type of jobs your boyfriends had, it was better to be safe than sorry.

“You punched someone, I mean, actually punched someone with those soft little hands-”, Bucky murmurs affectionately.

“And she won,” Natasha added, amused. “Flawless technique. You should see her with a blade.”

Steve looked like he needed to sit down. Or bend you over a table.

Instead, he kissed your throbbing palm reverently. “We’re gonna fix this. And then we’re gonna talk. And then…”

The blueness of his eyes darkened with the lowering of his eyelids, but it was Bucky who finished his sentence for him: “...we’re going to show you exactly how proud we are.”

The ride back was quiet. It was not cold but heavy, like the air was thick with unsaid things. You remained sitting between Steve and Bucky, your bruised hand resting on your lap, bandaged lightly from the first aid kit.

The clean-up team arrived just before you’d all left. The man was presumably taken back to the office and held there until Steve and Bucky began questioning him until they were satisfied with his answers.

Bucky hadn’t let go of your other hand. Steve’s fist was so tightly holding onto the door handle that you’re actually worried about it snapping off.

You’d been the one attacked, the one who fought back, but they were the ones unravelling.

No radio was playing, just the road humming beneath the tires, and the sound of Steve exhaling too often through his nose.

Glancing at Bucky, staring contemplatively out of the window, you nudge your shoulder against his to get his attention. “I’m really okay. It’s just a bruise.”

He didn’t answer at first, then quietly, “You shouldn’t have to be.”

Something low in your stomach tugs.

“I should have seen him,” Steve demands. I shouldn’t—Jesus, I'm trained to notice shadows moving wrong, and I let you walk into the woods alone.”

“Steve-”

He shook his head, jaw flexing, the door handle groaning as his grip tightened. “I swore to protect you, that's all I ever wanted. I dont give a damn about the name, or the territory, or the money. Just you and Bucky.”

“You do protect me. Both of you do, all the time,” you say softly, trying to sound reassuring.

His eyes darted to your injury, “You had to protect yourself.”

“I'm glad I could.”

Bucky interrupts as his fingers graze your chin, turning your face towards his, “That's not the point, Doll.”

You reach out, cupping Bucky’s jaw with your uninjured hand. “I love that you want to keep me safe. I love it so much, but it scares me sometimes. But I can't sit in a tower and wait to be reduced every time.”

The car rolls to a stop directly outside your home. Bucky opens your door, helping you out, his hand gentle on the small of your back. Inside, it is quiet. Even Dodger is tamer than usual, seemingly sensing the tension. Natasha and Sam have stayed behind to brief the others, leaving just the three of you—well, four, including Dodger.

Steve had his hands on his hips, staring down at the kitchen table where you’d once baked. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

Bucky moved towards the kitchen cupboard, returning with another first aid kit.

“Sit, baby. Let us clean you up properly.”

You perched on the edge of the counter as Bucky gently unwrapped the makeshift bandage, revealing the swollen skin of your knuckles. Steve hovered beside him, unable to stop touching you from your shoulder, your thigh, and the back of your neck. He needed to reassure himself that you were here, breathing and warm.

Bucky applied a cold compress, so delicately you barely felt it, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Was it Sam who taught you that follow-through technique?”

You nod, “Nat taught me how to use a knife, but I just didn’t have one today.”

It was meant to be a joke, but Steve’s hand curled tighter on your waist. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“But you didn’t freeze. You didn’t falter. You fought.” Bucky meets your eyes, his voice low and full of emotion.

You nod slowly, staring down at your hands. “I just knew what to do.”

Bucky kisses the inside of your wrist. That part of you? That fire? It's ours too. Don’t ever be ashamed of it.”

Steve took your face in both hands, brushing his thumbs under your eyes. “We were wrong. You’re not fragile, you’re so fucking strong, baby girl. But you shouldn’t have to be.”

Your voice cracked, and your eyes tingled with fresh tears. " I don't want to be strong all the time. I just don't want to be helpless either.”

“You’re not. You never were,” Bucky reassures, his hands now resting against the outside of your thighs.

Steve’s forehead carefully rests against yours. “Let us take care of you now. Let us make it right.”

Your lips parted. You could feel the tension changing, twisting into something deeper, darker. Something ravenous and entirely earned.

You swallowed, breath shallow. “Please.”

They didn’t need another word.

Steve kissed you first. Right there in the kitchen, with your bruised hand still bandaged and Bucky pressing cold packs against the bruising. Steve dipped his head and took your mouth like it belonged to him, which, truthfully, it always had.

It was tender at first, filled with warmth and able to speak every emotion running through the man's head. But his control snapped when your other hand curled into his shirt, and a whine slipped from your lips.

“You just have no idea what you do to us,” he muttered, sliding his mouth down your neck, tasting your skin. “Seeing you like that, owning that bastard. God, baby. You don't even know.”

Bucky's fingers brushed your sensitive inner thigh as he stepped between your legs. His voiceis  more guttural. “You don’t get it, do you? You flipped that switch, sweetheart. We’re fucking gone for you now.”

You were dizzy with the way they looked at you, as if you were something they worshipped.

“Bedroom. Now,” Steve demands with a gruffness to his voice, eyes stormy with hunger.

Bucky effortlessly swings your body into his arms without hesitation, and you squeak in surprise, gripping his broad shoulders. Your response has Dodger barking in the background. “I can walk, you know!”

“Too slow,” Bucky grins, kissing your cheek. “You took down a grown man with a gun, but this is our domain, doll.”

They laid you on the bed like something sacred. The curtains were drawn, and the dim evening light cast golden halos around them both. Steve stripped first, pulling his shirt off over his head, then Bucky followed. Their muscles flexed under old scars, symbols of the life they’d led, the war they'd found and the kingdom they ruled.

“Allow me”, Bucky smirked, reaching for your dress and ripping it down the middle, leaving you in just your bra and panties. “Been wanting to do that all day.”

“Hey, I liked that dress!”

“Yeah? I’ll buy you 20 more. Now, I want to make you feel so good that you forget you ever had to use that hand for anything other than holding on to us.”

You shiver, nipples hardening beneath the material of your bra.

“Colour?” Steve asks softly, removing the last item of clothing on his body—his boxers.

Whilst staring at his hard, throbbing cock that pointed in your direction you responded, “green. So fucking green.”

Steve grins, kneeling on the edge of the bed. “Good girl.”

That praise shot straight through you, warmth flooding between your thighs. Bucky joined him, his metal hand cool against your stomach as he slid it lower, spreading your legs apart.

“So wet for us already, doll. I can see that wet patch through your panties. Just from hearing we’re proud of you?” he questions, gently teasing your inner thighs as your hips move towards him.

You whimper, “always wanna be good for you.”

“You are,” Steve breathed, kissing down your chest, his facial hair rough against your sternum as he squeezes your breast through your bra. “You’re our good girl. Always. “

With a simplicity that was to show off his strength, Steve tore through the centre of your bra, your breasts slipping free, your underwear following the same response until you’re naked beneath them.

Steve covers your chest, his thumb and finger rolling one nipple whilst his tongue flattens against the other. With his big, bulky body covering your torso, you’re unable to keep an eye on Bucky, but you can feel him, especially the way his body now squeezes down between your thighs, legs resting over his shoulders.

You felt buckys tongue first, slow, flat licks up your slit, savouring you like a reward. His fingers held your hips down as you squirmed, moaning softly as your fingers grip Steve’s biceps, just for something to hold onto.

Bucky’s moan is your underdoing, just the raw, grunt of the tone, and the vibrations adding just enough pressure against your clit as his mouth circled it. He was moaning like you were the weetest thing he’d ever tasted. “She’s dripping, Steve. Every moan and word, she's squeezing around nothing. Our girl here tastes so fucking good.”

“Hmm, how about we wreck her, Bucky?” Steve's voice is ragged as he watches your body tremble and react to the man between your legs. “I want to see her fall apart, just for us.”

Hearing them talk about you like this, whilst you’re pressed down into the mattress, taking the pleasure is enough to have your eyes rolling back, your pussy tightening before wave after wave of your orgasm pulses deep in your core.

“That’s it, baby girl, you’re doing so well for Bucky, coming all over his face like that. You look so beautiful letting go,” Steve encouraged, his fingers continuing to tweak your nipple, only adding to the heightened stimulation of Bucky’s tongue.

“Sir-oh my god, sir!” you cry out, body trying to arch into the touches but unable to with their hulking forms holding you down.

“Say it again,” Steve’s eyes flare, widening as he licks his lips.

“Sir!”

“Fuck, Doll,” Bucky chants, groaning as he sucks on your clit hard, coaxing another whimper from you.

“Come here.”

You’re not even in control of your body anymore with the after orgasm glow, but thankfully, Steve is moving you for you. With ease, he’s turning you over as he slips underneath your body, so you’re now straddling his waist. Your thighs are shaking, trying to hold up your weight, so you slump chest to chest against Steve, leaning into his warmth as his hands soothingly stroke up your spine.

“Colour?”

“Green”, you say without hesitation.

“What do you say now, baby? You want both of us? Want to be filled front and back?”

Your whimper is pathetic as you nod repeatedly, shifting your hips back until the tip of his cock is captured between your bodies as you grind down against it.

Cool metallic fingers press into your arse cheeks, massaging the muscles as you continue to rub yourself against Steve. “Gotta go slow, yeah?” Bucky’s voice drifts from behind you as he kneels further down the bed between Steve’s legs. “Gotta stretch you open first, make sure you are nice and ready for us, Doll.”

You hear Bucky reaching into the bedside drawer, followed quickly by cold lube squirted onto your tight hole. Slicking up his fingers, he starts with one, working it up to the knuckle before pulling out. Each time he slowly enters, you can feel your arse trying to relax before tightening as another wave of arousal bursts through you.

“Please, sir, I can take it! I need you inside me,” you beg, kissing over Steve’s pecs.

“Just wait, baby. I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky encouraged you, adding another finger as you’re grinding down onto him.

A third finger is inside you, and you’re reaching back to Bucky, trying to pull him closer.

Thankfully, he does as he eases his fingers out of you. “Shh, you’ve got to take Steve first, okay?”

“Yes, sir”.

Bucky reaches between your bodies, gripping Steve’s cock and manouvers hislength until you’re able to slide back onto it. Your cries of pleasure are nearly drowned out by Steve’s as his hands hold onto your hips, controlling your movements, keeping you still as his dick throbs inside your cunt.

Then Bucky is there, laterhing his cock in more lube and pressing his hips against yours. Slowly and deeply, he inches himself in. The stretch is perfect; you can feel it everywhere. So much, but never too much.

“Doing so good, baby girl. So perfect taking both of us. Breathe. You can take it. You were meant to take us,” Steve’s voice is gentle but authoritative, keeping you calm as you didn’t realise you’d been holding your breath.

Their movements were so fucking slow, perfectly slow to begin with, letting your body adjust to being full. Then you’re taking over, rolling your hips, their cocks inching in and out.

“Fuck, this tight little hole feels so good, always so good for us. You’re milking us both,” Bucky gasps, his fingers flexing on your hips where his fingers are linked with Steve’s.

Your mouth is hanging open, a constant string of explicits and cries as all you can do and want to do is lie there and take their cocks, being as close to them as you can get.

“That’s it, I can feel you squeezing us, Doll. Come for us,” Steve encouraged, rocking his hips into you with firmer strokes.

The orgasm hit like lightning, a burning tingle starting between your legs and spreading through your limbs. It doesn’t slow down either. The pulsing of your cunt goes on and on as Steve and Bucky just keep on fucking you.

“Please-” you whisper into Steve’s chest, body limp and beautifully sated.

“You want our come, baby?” Steve asks, already knowing the answer as he grunts with another thrust of his hips up into you.

“Yes, sir. Please!”

“Good girl, take it all,” Bucky shouts, his hips speeding up until he’s as deep as he can go, pausing and trembling, heat seeping into your insides as he cums. Steve, holding tightly to your waist, thrusts and thrusts until he, too, holds still.

They held you there, bodies pressed tight to yours, still buried deep but with their come mixing with your juices.

And then they were gentle again. Bucky cleaned between your thighs with a warm towel, drying the area afterwards to ensure you weren’t too sore.

Kissing your bruised knuckles, Steve makes sure you’re mentally well, that you aren’t feeling too spaced out, but you’re perfectly present and happy.

“We’ve got you now.”

“You’re ours, baby.”

[plutosunshine]

What Do You Need to Leave Behind? South Node in Houses

The South Node represents habits, traits, and experiences you’ve already mastered – whether that’s from past lives, early life, or just deeply ingrained patterns. It’s like your cosmic comfort zone, the stuff you’re so good at that it’s almost second nature. But it’s also the stuff that can hold you back if you cling to it instead of moving toward your North Node – your soul’s growth path in this lifetime.

South Node in the 1st house

Alright, so if your South Node is in the 1st house, it’s basically telling you that you’ve been the main character in your past lives – like, the star of your own movie. You were all about self-reliance, independence, doing things your way, and maybe being a bit... self-absorbed. Think of it like you were the lead singer of a one-person band.

But now? The universe is like, “Okay, cool, we get it – you’re great at doing you. But it’s time to let someone else hold the mic.” The North Node in the 7th House is where you’re headed, and that’s all about partnerships, relationships, and learning to dance to someone else’s rhythm without stepping on their toes.

So what do you need to leave behind? That “me first” mentality. The lone wolf routine. The urge to go solo when things get complicated. You’re not here to be the star of the show anymore – you’re here to learn how to share the stage, harmonize, and sometimes even be the supporting act. And yeah, it might feel weird at first, like wearing someone else’s shoes. But it’s not about losing yourself – it’s about discovering how much more powerful you can be when you’re not doing everything alone.

South Node in the 2nd house

If your South Node is in the 2nd house, you’ve been the collector, the builder, the hoarder of stuff – and not just material stuff, but values, habits, comfort zones. You were all about securing the bag, holding onto what’s yours, and feeling safe through stability and possessions. Think of it like being the dragon sitting on a mountain of gold, guarding your stash like, “Mine. All mine.”

But now, with your North Node in the 8th House, the universe is like, “Alright, Smaug, time to let go of that gold and dive into the deep, murky waters of intimacy, transformation, and shared resources.” Basically, it’s not about what you own anymore – it’s about what you’re willing to share, merge, and let go of. Scary? Yeah. Necessary? Also yeah.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The need to clutch onto stuff, money, comfort, and old values like they’re life rafts. The “I have to do it all myself” mentality. It’s time to loosen your grip and trust that true security isn’t about what’s in your bank account – it’s about being able to face the unknown, connect deeply, and transform through intense experiences.

South Node in the 3rd house

If your South Node is in the 3rd house, you were the communicator, the curious cat, the info junkie in past lives – or even earlier in this one. You were all about collecting facts, chatting it up, staying in the know, and keeping things light and local. Basically, you were the person who knew everyone’s business and had a hot take on everything. Gossip queen vibes, but like, in a scholarly way.

Now, with the North Node in the 9th House, the universe is like, “Cool, you know a lot of stuff, but what do you actually believe in?” It’s time to zoom out, go big picture, and step into deeper, more expansive territory – think philosophy, spirituality, higher learning, and straight-up life purpose. Less small talk, more soul talk.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The constant chatter, the endless trivia, the tendency to stay in your immediate environment instead of exploring the big, wide world. You’ve mastered the art of the quick convo – now it’s time to dive into something more profound, even if it means leaving behind what’s familiar.

South Node in the 4th house

If your South Node is in the 4th house, you were the homebody, the nurturer, the one keeping the family legacy intact – maybe even the one clinging to the past like it’s a cozy old blanket with a few too many holes in it. You were all about emotional security, family roots, and staying where it’s safe and familiar. Think of it like being the ultimate couch potato in the house of comfort.

But now, with your North Node in the 10th House, the universe is like, “Alright, enough with the Netflix and nostalgia – it’s time to get out there and make a name for yourself.” This lifetime is about stepping out of the family nest, taking on some big goals, and claiming your place in the world. It’s less about where you came from and more about what you’re building out there in the spotlight.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The urge to hide away, stay small, and keep all your focus on your inner world or family drama. The past was all about comfort – now it’s about courage. It’s not that you’re abandoning your roots; you’re just learning to stand tall and make your own mark.

South Node in the 5th house

If your South Node is in the 5th house, you were the life of the party, the artist, the drama queen, the romantic – basically, the one who was all about self-expression, fun, and chasing that main character energy. You were the star of your own soap opera, all passion and flair, soaking up the spotlight like a cat in a sunbeam.

But now, with your North Node in the 11th House, the universe is like, “Okay, superstar, time to get off the stage and join the crowd.” This life isn’t about your personal spotlight – it’s about the bigger picture, the collective, the squad. Less “Look at me!” and more “How can we make a difference together?” It’s about friendships, groups, causes, and the wider community.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The need for constant validation, the desire to always be the center of attention, and the tendency to prioritize personal pleasure over the greater good. You’re moving from personal passion projects to collaborating on something that benefits more than just you. It’s not about losing your shine – it’s about sharing it and making it count.

South Node in the 6th house

If your South Node is in the 6th house, you were the worker bee, the perfectionist, the one who always had a to-do list a mile long. You were all about routines, responsibilities, and getting stuff done – maybe to the point of overworking yourself or getting caught up in the little details. Basically, you were the person who couldn’t relax until everything was perfectly organized, labeled, and color-coded.

But now, with your North Node in the 12th House, the universe is like, “Hey, chill out. It’s time to let go, tune in, and vibe with the universe.” This life isn’t about micromanaging every detail – it’s about surrender, spirituality, and letting your intuition take the wheel. It’s less about the daily grind and more about the big, cosmic picture.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The need to control every little thing, the obsession with productivity, the constant hustle. You’re moving from spreadsheets to soul work, from checklists to dreams, from doing to being. It’s not about being lazy – it’s about learning to trust that there’s more to life than just ticking boxes.

South Node in the 7th house

If your South Node is in the 7th house, you were the relationship guru in past lives – the plus-one, the partner, the one who always had someone else to lean on or take care of. You were all about connection, compromise, and keeping the peace, sometimes to the point of losing yourself in the process. Basically, you were the person who’d say, “Whatever you want, babe,” even if it meant putting your own needs on the back burner.

But now, with your North Node in the 1st House, the universe is like, “Hey, it’s time to focus on YOU.” This lifetime isn’t about being someone’s sidekick or the ultimate team player – it’s about stepping into your own power, owning your individuality, and figuring out who you are without anyone else’s input. Less “we” and more “me,” but not in a selfish way – in a self-discovery way.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The habit of always putting others first, people-pleasing, and relying on relationships to define you. You’re moving from partnership mode to solo mission – from blending in to standing out. It’s not about cutting people off; it’s about learning to stand strong on your own two feet.

South Node in the 8th house

If your South Node is in the 8th house, you were the deep diver, the shadow worker, the intense, mysterious one. You were all about merging with others, dealing with heavy stuff like secrets, power dynamics, and deep emotional bonds – maybe to the point of being a little too entangled in other people’s drama. Think of it like being the detective in everyone’s business, always searching for the hidden motives.

But now, with your North Node in the 2nd House, the universe is like, “Hey, enough with the emotional rollercoaster – it’s time to build something solid for yourself.” This life is about grounding, stability, and learning to rely on your own resources rather than getting caught up in everyone else’s chaos. It’s less about intense, transformative connections and more about simple pleasures, self-worth, and making your own money.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The habit of getting too wrapped up in other people’s baggage, the obsession with digging for hidden truths, the tendency to rely on shared resources or emotional intensity to feel alive. You’re moving from deep waters to solid ground – from emotional enmeshment to self-reliance.

South Node in the 9th house

If your South Node is in the 9th house, you were the philosopher, the wanderer, the big-picture thinker – basically, the one who was all about seeking truth, exploring far and wide, and preaching your beliefs like you had all the answers. You were the traveler, the guru, the person with a passport full of stamps and a head full of grand ideas.

But now, with your North Node in the 3rd House, the universe is like, “Alright, professor, it’s time to bring it back down to earth.” This life isn’t about the epic quest for meaning – it’s about the everyday stuff. It’s less about shouting your truth from a mountaintop and more about having real conversations, listening to others, and staying connected to your local world. It’s about taking all those big ideas and breaking them down into bite-sized, relatable pieces.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The need to always be the teacher, the tendency to get lost in big theories while missing what’s right in front of you, and the habit of looking for answers somewhere far away instead of right here, right now. You’re moving from grand adventures to daily interactions – from searching for truth to sharing what you know in a way that people can actually use.

South Node in the 10th house

If your South Node is in the 10th house, you were the boss, the achiever, the one with the five-year plan and a LinkedIn profile that probably looked like a novel. You were all about career, status, reputation – basically, climbing the ladder, getting the gold star, and being seen as someone Important with a capital “I.” Think of it like you were the CEO of your past life, but maybe at the expense of your inner life.

But now, with your North Node in the 4th House, the universe is like, “Hey, it’s time to hang up the power suit and come home.” This life isn’t about external success – it’s about internal fulfillment, family roots, emotional security, and building a foundation that actually feels like you. It’s less about public recognition and more about personal connection.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The obsession with climbing the social ladder, the need to prove yourself through external achievements, and the tendency to prioritize work over real, heartfelt connections. You’re moving from boardrooms to living rooms – from applause from the crowd to quiet moments with people who truly know you.

South Node in the 11th house

If your South Node is in the 11th house, you were the social butterfly, the group connector, the one who was all about the collective – the friend who knew everyone, the activist, the team player. You were all about big networks, big ideas, and big visions for the future. Think of it like you were the president of every club, rallying people around a cause, but maybe forgetting about your own personal passions along the way.

Now, with your North Node in the 5th House, the universe is like, “Okay, cool – you know how to be a part of the group. Now it’s time to step into the spotlight and do your own thing.” This life isn’t about blending in with the crowd – it’s about standing out, expressing your unique creativity, and embracing a little (or a lot) of main character energy. It’s about going from “We” to “Me” – not in a selfish way, but in a self-actualizing way.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The tendency to stay detached, to focus on the greater good while ignoring your own heart, and the habit of putting the group’s goals above your own desires. You’re moving from the hive mind to the stage – from being one of many to being unapologetically, creatively, and vibrantly yourself.

South Node in the 12th house

If your South Node is in the 12th house, you were the mystic, the recluse, the dreamer – basically, the one who lived in another dimension, always lost in the spiritual or subconscious realms. You were all about solitude, surrender, and escaping reality – maybe even a little too good at disappearing into your own world. Think of it like you were the monk on the mountain, meditating for days, but not exactly grounded in the everyday stuff.

Now, with your North Node in the 6th House, the universe is like, “Hey, time to come back down to earth and get your hands dirty.” This life isn’t about floating away into the ether – it’s about showing up, building healthy routines, taking care of your body, and being of service in a practical, grounded way. It’s less about transcending reality and more about mastering the art of everyday life.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The tendency to withdraw, to avoid responsibilities, to get lost in the dreamworld instead of dealing with the here and now. You’re moving from cosmic clouds to daily checklists – from “It’s all a dream” to “How can I actually make this work in real life?”

[onlyquinns]

OH MY DAYS I ACTUALLY LOVE YOU

Jack hughes ideas - meeting the family for the first time for Jack's birthday (bc its his birthday soon yk). Like you go the lake house for the weekend and you just feel really awkward but like he ensures u youre fine. Like you go on the boat with everyone and you get inclued and end up having a great time.

you rock on the balls of your feet as you knock on the door, gift bag in hand. you’re sweating under the sweltering summer sun, wearing another layer of clothes over your swim suit. at the time, it felt like a smart idea, but now you definitely regret the decision.

the front door to the house swings open and reveals jack. he smiles at you and pulls you into a hug, hands pressing into your back and holding you like he hasn’t seen you in years.

“happy birthday, jacky,” you whisper into his shoulder, smiling softly into the cotton of his shirt.

jack murmurs his thanks and holds you a little longer. you reciprocate, making sure the glittery gift bag in your hands doesn’t hit him, but then freeze when quinn comes into view. your soft smile turns into a straight line as jack pulls back, confused why you’ve suddenly gone rigid in his arms. he turns around to see what you’re looking at, eyebrows pinched together in confusion, but chuckles at the sight of his brother.

“oh, that’s quinn,” jack says, ushering you in gently. you scoot in slowly, avoiding eye contact as quinn waves. you lift your hand in an awkward attempt at a greeting.

“hey,” quinn says. he smiles a little to ease your nerves. “good to have you with us. jack’s been talking about you a lot.” he chuckles and you know he’s trying to just be friendly, but your nerves won’t settle at all.

“haha… that’s… sounds like jack!” you say, hands clasped together in front of you. you stare at quinn and then glance away, scared to make eye contact with him. “uh, jack, where should i put this?” you raise the gift bag out to him and jack’s mouth forms a gentle ‘o.’

“baby, i told you that you didn’t have to get me anything.” jack takes the bag and shakes it up and down a little as a joke, watching your facial expression for any tells.

your cheeks feel warm, “i wanted to…”

jack stops shaking the bag and pulls you into a gentle hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, quinn long gone from the premise. “i’m only joking, babe, i appreciate it.” he gives you another kiss, then pulls away. “i’ll put it here, yeah? we can open gifts after lunch.” he walks you through the house, all the way to the back door by the kitchen, and places the bag on the counter with a handful of other gifts.

you eye them wearily, suddenly thinking about how many people are already in the building. “just a quick question, how many people are here?” you ask, subconsciously picking at your nails.

jack helps you out through the sliding door and into the yard, where luke lounges on a chair and quinn tends to a grill. “just these guys—and mom and dad, obviously.”

at the mention of his parents, ellen and jim sit up from their spots next to luke—they’d been completely hidden by the furniture around them that you hadn’t even noticed. ellen gasps at the sight of you and rushes to greet you, jim taking his time to follow.

“oh, my goodness!” ellen squeals, warm hands coming to lightly cup your arms. “you’re absolutely gorgeous! jack is always telling us about you. it sounds like you’ve made an impact on him—right, jim?”

jim nods slowly, just having walked into the conversation. “yeah, it’s good to meet you.” he sticks out a hand and you slowly take it into your own, squeezing lightly as he takes the initiative to shake them up and down. “woah, now,” he says, words laced with laughter, “don’t squeeze too hard! don’t wanna break any bones!”

you’re mortified and loosen your grip, pulling back your hand and placing it firmly against your thigh. jim chuckles as if you aren’t fully panicking in your head, taking his words too literally. you’re about to excuse yourself when jack presses a firm hand to your lower back, grounding you.

“good joke, dad,” jack says, head tilted and a crooked grin on his lips. “why don’t we get her settled, and we can talk after we eat. looks like quinn’s about done.”

jim and ellen nod and walk off, joining their oldest at the grill. their words and laughter fill the air but you barely pay attention, too focused on standing like a normal person.

“you’re doing great,” jack says suddenly, pulling your mind away from what foot goes where. “i know you’re nervous, but you’re doing really good.”

you smile up at him weakly, “thanks. i’m trying.”

jack chuckles, “i know.”

eventually after dinner, you find yourself on the hughes family boat. it was jack’s idea to go out on the lake, just to show you the view and what the boys do for fun. you didn’t know it, but fun meant wakeboarding.

you watch as jack takes his turn, smooth and confident in his abilities. you’re amazed at how he makes it look easy, eyes wide as he goes through the boat’s choppy wake with ease. ellen claps next to you, grinning wide and then laughing when jack finally hits a rough patch and falls in.

“wow, that might’ve been the longest ride of the night!” she says once he surfaces, eyes crinkling with how wide her smile is.

jack laughs and pulls himself out of the water, taking a towel from luke’s outstretched hand. he shakes his wet hair out like a dog and sprays you with cold water, smiling as you squeal and giggle for—what feels like—the first time of the night.

“hey, why don’t you go next?” he suggests, stripping the damp life vest off to hand to you.

you shake your head, “no! no, i’ll embarrass myself.” you laugh awkwardly.

everyone around you suddenly rallies together, phrases like “oh, cmon!” and “you’ll do great!” coming from all angles.

you get up reluctantly, knees shaky as you take the life jacket. jack takes the time to clip it on you, adjusting it so it fits you perfectly. jack swaps spots with quinn once you’re in the water and situated for your turn, starting the boat slowly to help you adjust.

you wobble on the board, eyes glued to the gentle waves that you glide through. your tongue peeks out just a little as you concentrate, thoughts of being judged gone as you make sure you don’t suddenly capsize.

“good to go faster?” jack calls behind him, torso twisted to peer back at you and his arm slung over the back of his seat.

you nod, “yeah!” you adjust your feet and brace your knees as the boat picks up. a light casts over you and you’re acutely aware of someone recording a video of you but you don’t care, fully invested in your wakeboarding attempt.

ellen whoops as you hit a particularly large wave and land it, clapping and cheering your name as you move left and right. quinn and luke chuckle, clapping for you as well, and jim sits back with a smile. your nerves are long gone and your body feels lighter, lost in the sensation of the dip and rise of the board under your bare feet.

when you finally fall into the water, freezing cold waves hitting your body and face, you laugh. you fling your wet hair behind you and swim to the boat. quinn sticks out a hand for you as jack finally brings the boat to a stop, pulling you back aboard with ease. you shiver in the evening breeze but you still smile.

“that was awesome!” jack praises, helping you with the life vest and your wet hair. he wraps a thick towel around your body and holds you to his chest, rocking back and forth. “you did so good!”

ellen hums and you hear a camera click, but you pay no attention to it.

“i definitely lasted longer than you did,” you tease, pulling away and taking an outstretched beer from luke.

jim snorts, “you certainly did,” he agrees, scooting over so you can sit next to him. he holds out his beer to you and you clink your can to his, smiling at the gesture.

you take a huge gulp, still smiling against the rim of the can. despite how you’d felt in the beginning, you’re pleased with yourself. jack sits down next to you, luke having taken over the boat for quinn’s turn.

“with the way you wakeboard,” he starts, “you’re definitely always invited to the lake.”

you giggle and knock your head against his shoulder, passing your cold beer to him. he takes it me holds it in his lap, smiling at the bright look in your eye.

ellen giggles, “she’s a hughes—she’s always invited no matter what.”

[tootkin-goblin]

That's also a very important thing to be aware of, especially with things like posting online. Because sometimes you don't know what you're trying to obtain with your post and it can be very upsetting when you don't get it!

I think mostly about posting art online: as a beginner artist with a very small following, it can be very disheartening and feel like you're "screaming in the void". Why? Because you're not posting just for the joy of sharing your art, you're expecting something in return, and it can help a lot to know What Exactly Is It?

Maybe it's Validation: comments that says they loved your art, that you did this and that well, that they love how you handled lighting, or that your characters are very expressive, etc.

Or is it Engagement: people commenting on your ideas behind the drawing. They love that ship too, they find your worldbuilding cool and want to know more, they think your OC slaps and beg you to tell more about them!

Or it could be Reach: people reblogging your art far and wide, sharing with their friends, bringing you in front of as many eyes as possible. If you need commissions or patrons, that can be an important motivation.

Or maybe it's something else, that's for you to determine.

It's important to pinpoint what you want because, well, social media is kinda shit actually.

If your goal is to have some reach, you can follow marketing methods and have a very emotionally detached approach. Queue up reposts, use hashtags, self-reblog regularly, participate in jam/events/trends/fandom, etc. At some point it should work. But it will probably not get you any of the rest, the engagement, the validation, the human connection.

To get any of that, simply posting might not cut it, what you actually need is a small community! Be it fandom, discord, tumblr communities, or anything else. If your goal is actually to feel connected to other people, you need to find a small group of people and talk to them. Comment on their art, share your own in those smaller spaces of like-minded people, get some conversations started, etc. Not everyone will become a friend, but you only need a few.

And I know that's terrifying, I've only been able to do it since a few months. It's still hard sometimes. But realizing that I had actual need behind my actions, that I expected something in return for posting, was the first step in getting it.

Sometimes your actions are not what you need to do to get what you want. And sometimes your actions used to help you get what you needed years ago, but we change, and it's important to be aware of our need to reevaluate our actions.

there's a fine line between being wary of manipulation and becoming completely paranoid because you get very close to the realisation that pretty much all human interaction involves doing things we hope will lead to a result we like

[aussie-engene]

Husband!Jay x pregnant!wife!reader

Fluff

Warnings: Pregnancy, kisses, teasing, jealous Jay, misunderstanding

You and Jay have been married for 1 year, and you finally, after many tries, got pregnant. Once you found out, Jay cried out of happiness, and you couldn’t help but fall in love with him all over again.

Your baby bump was starting to be really obvious, but you never really saw it unless you took your oversized hoodies off. Well, not exactly yours...maybe Jay's...but you were his other half, which meant that they belonged to you as well. You always used that as an excuse as to why Jay's hoodies were missing, but he never actually complained. Just teased you about how big it was on you or how you were a thief.

Jay was at work, and you were just chilling at home all day. You were getting bored and decided to have a conversation with your baby until Jay would be back.

"Hello, little one! Hope you're comfortable in there!" You said while rubbing your bump.

"You might not actually understand what I'm saying, but I'm trying to bond with you, okay?" A chuckle left your lips.

Jay came home early today, but you hadn't noticed yet. As he was walking in, he stopped in his tracks when he heard your voice. Or better your words.

"You know I love you a lot, right? Sometimes, I fear that I love you more than Jay! It's so hard to decide between you too"

He clenched his jaw and fisted up his hands on his side. He heard you giggle. That was it. How could you do this to him? Wasn't he enough? You were literally carrying his child, and you're having someone over?...telling him you love him?...and that you can't choose between him and that someone?...

He quickly rushed into the living room where you sat and started to argue with the dude that was supposedly taking your love.

"Okay, listen here you-" his words were cut off. You were sat on the couch, eyes wide, looking in his direction. He looked around to find the guy, but then he noticed that you had his hoodie lifted up and your hands on your bump. His eyes widened, and you let out a chuckle.

"Love! This isn't what you think! I can explain!" You continued to giggle and tease him about his reaction. He let out a sigh of relief and smiled at the sight in front of him. He rarely saw your bump for the same reason as you. He slowly walked to your side and sat down next to you. He knew that you would never let his 'jealousy' slide that easily, but at that moment, he didn't care.

He gently placed one of his hands on your bump and smiled even softer now. He looked up at you, but you were already staring at him with a sweet smile on your face. He placed a kiss on your bump and then to your lips.

"Oh my god! Did you just kiss my lover?!" You continued the teasing, and he threw his head back, smiling.

"Hey~ I was scared, okay?"

"Well, you were right to be scared!" His eyes widened again, and you laughed

"You're never gonna let this slide ar you?" He said while side eyeing you

"Nope!" You kissed him, slowly showing him all the love in the world. He kissed back and got lost in you.

Once you pulled away, you said, "Oh and...you are really jelly"

"I'm really what?" He looked at you confused

"Jelly~" you said while getting up and heading to the kitchen

"What's that supposed to mean?!" He quickly stood up and followed you closely, trying to get an answer while you just laughed at his cuteness.

[cookiiefreak]

Meeting the Lamb

you heard of knight!reader and protégée!reader now get ready for sacrificial lamb!reader!!!! wooo 🎉🎉🎉

i am feral, unhinged, and a tad evil <3

word count: 1,827

ship: Burning Spice x Sacrificial Lamb!reader

additional tags: mentions of sacrifice, brief descriptions of violence, reader wants to KILL HIM and BS thinks it’s funny (and hot), reader thinks BS is attractive but hates it, LOTS OF SWEARING, you can tell this was written by a horny mf

⚠️ MINORS DNI ⚠️

———

When Burning Spice hears that the elders from some nearby village have offered him a sacrifice in exchange for mercy on their homes, he’s intrigued. He hasn’t had someone offered to him in quite a while so he decides to humor the elders and make his way to the altar sight. It has been decently cleaned and decorated with candles, trinkets, and other treats but his eyes zone in on the lovely creature chained down to the middle of the altar space.

You.

But you’re not lying there whimpering and weeping like some helpless prey animal, no, you’re actively fighting back against your shackles and attempting to attack the spice warriors that stand patiently nearby. Teeth bared and eyes wild as you struggle and shout obscenities at everyone in the area, the center of the altar where you’re at is coated in dried blood and dirt from previous sacrifices but you don’t seem to care about the muck, all you are focused on is escaping the hell you’ve been trapped in and it EXCITES him.

When was the last time someone actively challenged him? When was the last time he saw someone fighting to change their fate rather than simply kneel in front of him and beg for mercy?

Then your eyes land on him and he feels his insides boil at the searing heat held in your glare.

“You… You bastard!” You scream, straining against your restraints like a feral animal. “Once I get out of these witch-forsaken chains, I’m going to rip that tainted soul jam out of your chest!”

Burning Spice slowly makes his way towards you as a few of the warriors berate you for your threat, but to him their words are muffled under the oppressing sound of his own heartbeat. He stops just out of your reach and looms over your form, watching with unbridled glee as you stand up and press back against his menacing stare.

“What did you say, little lamb?” He asks, grinning as your chains rattle with every rough jerk of your limbs.

“I said, when I get out of here, I am going to fucking kill you and coat your beloved throne in your own filthy blood.” You talk slowly, making sure to enunciate each word as if he was stupid, which has his body thrumming with ecstasy.

“Oh? Really? And how are you going to manage that, hm?” Your eye twitches at his mockery before you lunge for him, teeth aching to dig into his flesh and rip until there’s nothing left but you simply strain against the weight of the chains. You’re yanked backwards by your hair and slammed on the ground face first, harsh words are spat down at your form as your world becomes faded and dizzy.

He watches the spectacle with mild interest, mind already mulling over a decision. You’d make a wonderful addition to his army, you’re bloodthirsty, aggressive, you could wreak havoc on the battlefield and bring chaos to any village he orders you to pillage. But while that sounds enticing in his mind, he would be at the risk of you dissenting and possibly even backstabbing him.

So what is he to do? It would be such a waste to simply kill you: Watching as you sluggishly stand before clocking a nearby warrior in the nose just confirms that fact. He bursts out in wild laughter at both the scene and the conclusion in his mind.

“Having a good laugh at the spectacle before you kill me? You sick fuck,” you growl as blood steadily slinks down over your mouth to your chin before dripping to the ground.

“Yeah, I could kill you. But why would I want to kill my brand new pet?”

“Y-Your what?” You gape at his statement, the spice warriors all seem to have the same reaction as you due to their collective hushed whispering.

“Pet. P-e-t. Do you not know what a pet is?” He murmurs and carefully reaches out to wipe the blood from your lip with his thumb, staring at the glistening red life source soaking the skin of his digit before dragging his tongue across it.

It makes your stomach churn with disgust. Or is that…?

“Tch. I know what a pet is, but I am not one. I’d rather get sent into the nearest sand pit,” you huff indignantly.

“Adorable, but you have no say in what I do, little lamb.” Burning Spice swiftly unlocks the chains around your wrists and ankles before picking you up by the back of your sacrificial garment and hoisting you up onto his broad shoulder, he shouts a command to his warriors and they follow him out of the altar sight.

“Put me down! You damn meathead!” You protest loudly, fists pounding against his back as he walks proudly towards his kingdom. After a few minutes he gives an order to one of his warriors before dismissing the rest of them and continues walking, turning down a couple of corridors before finally entering the room he was looking for. You let out a harsh yelp as he casually drops you down onto a massive bed, the force of it knocking the wind out of you.

He crosses his arms over his chest as he watches you lay there, chest stuttering and heaving as you struggle to bring air back into your lungs. You must feel his leering at some point because you manage to claw your way into an upright position and glare back at him, skin prickling with rage as you continue sucking in oxygen. He tilts his head as if to challenge your hostility but you’re not stupid, trying to fight the Beast of Destruction unarmed and in an unfamiliar location would be suicide. At least you knew where to go and what paths to take back at the altar sight, but here? In his kingdom? You were practically blind.

“What’s the matter? Lost your moxie?” Burning Spice chuckles and you immediately want to punch that irritating grin off of his face, you let out a sound that has his stomach clenching with desire.

You growled.

It wasn’t deep or dark sounding, but it resonated within your chest and practically vibrated through the heat-filled air. He lets out a breath of a laugh.

“A lamb who tries to imitate the wolves, how endearing.”

“We’ll see how much of a lamb I am once I shred your throat with my fucking teeth,” you retort.

“Go ahead,” he opens his arms wide as if inviting you. “You have an opening, so why don’t you strike already?” You halt and ponder his words thoroughly before crawling towards the foot of the bed and sliding down onto the floor, your eyes narrow as you take in his figure.

“…what’s your motive?” You ask, fingers flexing and legs twitching as if preparing your fight or flight reflexes. “Why didn’t you accept me as a sacrifice and kill me?”

“I told you, I don’t kill my pets.” His response is clipped and almost sharp but he doesn’t make a move, feet planted firmly in their spot.

“What the hell do you mean by that? What do you want with a pet?” He lets out a groan and rolls his eyes at your questioning, arms falling to his sides as he does so.

“If you keep asking me so many damn questions, I’m just going to muzzle you.” That seems to rile you up as you squawk at the statement, a flush crossing your cheeks at the implications.

“Like hell you will! I’m not some damn animal, you crazy bitch!” You holler, body reacting in an instant as he begins to stalk towards you. You’re quick to side step him and reel your hand back, curled fist colliding with his stomach yet the impact causes you to let out a pained cry. He barks out a laugh and grabs you by your wrist before twisting it harshly behind your back, using his free hand to grab you by your hair and shove your face into the bed. You can feel his body heat radiating off of him in steady waves, your brain unknowing if it wants to fight back or give in to the warmth that threatens to turn you docile.

He lets the overwhelming silence drag on for a while longer as if to tempt you to struggle back against him but a series of knocks on the door has him huffing out a breath and releasing you, your knees drop onto the harsh floor and you clutch your sore wrist to your chest utterly humiliated as he stomps towards the door and throws it open.

“M-My apologies for interrupting you, sir! I brought you what you asked for,” the spice warrior on the other side of the doorway is practically shaking under the Destroyer’s horrifying glare. Burning Spice wordlessly grabs the item from them before promptly slamming the door in their face, you watch as he turns back to face you before opening the intricate box in his hands and carefully pulling out a thick, dark leather collar.

“If that’s what I think it’s for, forget it.” You hiss at him, “I’d rather you stomp my brains out then wear that around my fucking neck.”

“You’re rather mouthy for a mortal who could barely follow through with their punch,” he teases.

“Tch, you’re just lucky I didn’t aim for your dick.” You try to move out of his reach but he already has a hand wrapped around your throat causing you to freeze in place, he catches a glimpse of frightened doe eyes but blinks and a sharpened glare replaces them.

“I have rules you will follow if you wish to stay alive and in one piece: wearing this is one of them.”

“Fucking dehumanizing piece of shit,” you mumble under your breath. He waves off your swearing as he releases your throat and begins fastening the collar around your neck, you observe him quietly as he goes through the motions.

He has eyebrows that are thick yet neat with long eyelashes that curl and flutter in a horrifyingly beautiful way, his nose is sharp and his lips are damn-near enticing, with the bottom one being slightly more full than the top. Two sharp antennae jut out from his forehead and seem to curl down towards you as he loops the strap of the collar down. You briefly debate headbutting him in the nose due to your lingering, almost salacious thoughts, but the throbbing in your wrist and nose stops you, your energy is already drained from when they first dragged you to the altar sight.

You’re basically running on fumes at this point.

Maybe if you play your cards right, you’ll eventually find an opening to escape to somewhere far away from here. Away from your treacherous village, away from his bloodsoaked kingdom, and away from him. Until then, you’ll just have to play along.

[moonstruckme]

i mean if you INSISTTTTT….can we see intern reader trying to be flirty back with spence. or like them hanging out/doing something together maybe outside of work, the rest of the team can be there or not idk i just love them and your writing so much hehehe

Thanks for your request angel <3

cw: football concussion statistics? idk not trying to piss off any diehard nfl fans. oh also american football being referred to simply as football because I'm also not trying to piss off the rest of the world, and lastly some borderline HR violations

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 1k words

“Alright, Jack!” Prentiss claps, before sticking her fingers into her mouth and letting loose a piercing whistle that makes both you and Garcia flinch in surprise. 

“Way to make the extra pass, kid!” Morgan shouts across the field. 

On the other side of the grass, Hotch nods like he seconds this, though his expression stays focussed and his eyes on his players. 

“He’s getting really good,” JJ says. 

Next to you, Garcia grimaces. “I wish he’d be good at something else.” 

“Beautiful,” Morgan chides, “don’t crush the kid’s dreams.” 

“He’s just a sweet summer child! There are, like, a crazy amount of concussions in football. I’m just looking out for him.” 

“In recent years, the NFL has reported a significant decline in concussions in professional football players,” says Spencer. 

Morgan makes a smug noise. “See? He’ll be alright.”

“But,” you raise your voice hesitantly, “wouldn’t the NFL have a bit of incentive to report that?” 

You’re looking at Spencer out of the corner of your eye. He meets your gaze, lips quirking. 

“Exactly,” he says. “That’s what I think, too. Independent studies have been less favorable.” 

Garcia mimics Morgan’s smug noise, victorious. Before she remembers to be worried and frowns again. 

Morgan laughs. “Hey, I didn’t sign him up. Jack likes football, you gonna tell him to quit?” 

Garcia comes back at him with some teasing remark, but you’re distracted by Spencer’s eyes still on yours. He’s looking at you like there’s something he can’t quite make sense of, which is happening so often lately it’s almost laughable. You have the most obvious crush in the world, and certifiable genius Spencer Reid can’t figure you out. 

You look away first. 

It’s sort of humiliating, how things have escalated between you in the last week. Every bit of that is your fault. You know it’s not professional, but you’ve spent lots of time thinking about it, and really a bit of flirting isn’t so bad if you know nothing is going to come of it. It’s harmless. Spencer is just so, so nice to you, you can’t help but want to be nice back; walking the line between friendly and something-else sort of comes with the territory. You would never actually endanger your position at the BAU. You only want Spencer to feel as special as he makes you feel. He deserves that. 

First it was bringing him breakfast after he helped you prepare your testimony. You wanted to thank him, so you picked up some breakfast tacos like he said he used to have back home in Las Vegas, and so what if you only know that because you’ve spent so much time chatting together? You’re training to be a profiler, remembering details is part of your job. Then you started complimenting him more, which was really just giving yourself permission to say your quiet thoughts out loud, making genuine observations about his taste in psychologists and the care he shows for witnesses even when the whole team is in a rush. And then maybe you began letting him teach you some things about chess even though you’ve never been interested in the game before, and bumping his knee gently under the table when he’s rambling without realizing everyone else has already moved on, and exchanging little smiles when you both look up from your desks at the same time. So what? None of that is a fireable offence. 

“I’m gonna go get water,” Spencer says, standing and starting to descend the metal bleachers. 

“Can you grab me one?” Prentiss asks. The rest of your team immediately chimes in with their requests, and you take a step down from the bleachers as well. 

“Want help?” you ask. 

Spencer seems to have been picturing the same thing you have: him coming back from the cooler in Garcia’s trunk with arms overflowing with plastic bottles, leaving a trail of them all the way back to the bleachers. He looks relieved. “Please.” 

You hop down, unable to look him in the eye when you take the hand he offers you for the last couple of steps. The sun is out in full force today, glinting off the metal of the bleachers and every car in the parking lot. The pavement radiates heat. 

Spencer hovers a hand above his eyes. “I wasn’t made for this.” 

“It’s a hot one,” you agree. 

“If Jack had a different hobby, we could be inside at a science fair right now. With air conditioning.” 

You chance a look at him. “Isn’t being involved in sports good for kids?” 

Spencer shrugs, though you’re sure he knows the answer. “I turned out okay.” 

Your lips tug. There’s no denying that. 

“Here.” You take off the baseball cap you’d put on for the game, holding it out for him as he pops open Garcia’s trunk. You pray to God the hat isn’t sweaty. 

Spencer only looks at it, surprised. “Oh, I—that’s okay. I’ll be fine.” 

“No, look.” You take a pair of sunglasses out of your bag, putting them on. “See? Now neither of us will have the sun in our eyes.” 

“Really?” Spencer asks, only taking the bill of the cap in hand once you nod. He settles it on his head like it’s his first time wearing one. “Thanks. Do I look stupid?” 

You shake your head, staring. “You look good,” you say. It comes out unchecked, before you can think about it. God, you’re so obvious. It’s true, though. Spencer’s still squinting a little even with the shade over his eyes, but it’s relaxed some; it reminds you of the way he looks when he’s puzzling something out. You’re hopelessly endeared by it. His hair, grown to what Garcia lovingly calls boy band length, wings out of the sides of the cap. Practically begging to be coiled around your index finger. 

“Thanks,” Spencer says again, the faintest tinge of pink—which can probably be attributed to the beginnings of a sunburn—kissing his cheeks. 

Bashfulness softens your voice. “No problem.” 

He opens the cooler, starting to scoop up waters and sports drinks (though one of the team moms is supplying drinks for the kids, Garcia had packed for you all like you’d be on the field too). Condensation drips down Spencer’s wrists. 

“Thanks for helping with this, too,” he says. 

“Pretty sure this is what interns are for,” you joke as you grab some too. 

“Always undermining yourself,” Spencer chides, something almost like teasing in his voice. It makes your stomach crowd with butterflies. “You know you’re more than that to us.”