#tag:[infidelity]

[theodysseyofhomer]

sorry for bringing up stupid discourse in the middle of the night again. remembered the time someone tagged my homophrosyne post complaining that odysseus gets to sleep around while loudly proclaiming that he'll kill his wife if she cheats. which: absolutely did not happen! not in homer's odyssey!

as i alluded to in that post, there is an implied threat to penelope. but it's not implied in anything odysseus says about or to her! i would argue that it's most heavily implied in how the telemachia is framed by the house of atreus drama. orestes has recently avenged his father's death at the hands of his mother's lover; it stands to reason (so the story would go) that if penelope were to accept a suitor, they would pose a threat to odysseus, and telemachus would have to avenge him. that is the implied layout of the poem. which it then subverts time and again by none of that happening with odysseus, penelope, and telemachus.

and it's also implied by the gendered double standards around marital fidelity in a multi-thousand-year-old text, which are overarching, and not particularly shocking in that context. i find it completely disingenuous to make it an odysseus problem when there is so much going on in their marriage that's more interestinggg

[mallahanmoxie]

someone keeps beaming these straight into my brain while im asleep. anyway, mel meets abby first AU. okay so probably not first first, but langdon's at rehab and mel's not seeing him around, and she gets into a book club that is not so much of a book club and more like an excuse for middle aged moms to meet and complain about their lives which is. okay. (mel can't leave, alright, she paid the subscription fee and becca keeps asking about her book club friends and it's nice to have something to talk about that's not strictly under doctor-patient confidentiality and you know what, most of the time they do read the books, so there's that. she's getting her money's worth.)

abby is there and mel doesn't not like abby, but it's a kinda hard to grow closer to a person you don't really understand much, and abby keeps complaining about her doctor husband and every little barb does feel a little pointed, after a while, because mel's told them she's a doctor a good five times already, but it's whatever. abby doesn't tell them about rehab or her job or her kids' names. abby doesn't really tell them much at all about her life, really, only her feelings, which might perhaps have been a clue all along but not one mel was about to pick up. (frank texts her once i could not tell you what the last thing she ate was but i sure could tell you how she felt about it.)

and then one time mel catches her at the tail end of an outburst, all on her own, and abby takes it out on her in that passive agressive, insidious way some people have that is all the more annoying for how roundabout it is. and mel calls her out on it because it is unfair and it's not mel's fault that abby's husband doesn't have the time or energy to be around her, and it's not just because they're both doctors because mel makes the time to be here, she is here right now with abby so!!! it's unfair!!! and then suddenly mel blinks and she's got an armload of wailing abby whose incoherent, tipsy mumblings (of course there's wine at book club) amount to half apologizing, half asking mel why her husband can't be a little more like her which is NOT a question that mel can answer.

so she does what she can which is she puts abby on an uber home and before she can think better of it, climbs in with her because, well, the woman is drunk. and on the drive home, abby gets very quiet and eventually goes my marriage is in shambles and i think my husband might be cheating on me with a woman at work and so when mel drags abby up to her front door, the uber waiting for her on the driveway, the only thing mel's thinking is thank god this conversation is over and not hey this garden patch looks awfully familiar so she gets utterly blindsided when abby's husband opens the door and it's... frank. frank who'd she'd been texting all afternoon. frank who she'd grown extremely close with in the months since he came back from rehab. frank who, apparently, hasn't been spending time around his wife because he's been spending it with mel.

[daemaid]

The goat fleece is funny. I thought the Bishops would acknowledge a new crown bearing caprine randomly showing up in place of the lamb that killed them but nope, they never make any mention of the goat (as far as I'm aware). Those guys just go along with it lol.

[katabay]

PAGLUIB

way back in like. march?? I took a stab at writing some kind of kabitserye type of story but it was a mess: it kept veering off into murder mystery drama territory because I was reading a lot of murder mystery novels around then and it Wasn't Good because I hadn't tried writing mysteries, let alone murder mysteries, before lmao

I did write a handful of short mystery stories since then, so next year I might take a stab at this idea again now that I'm no longer jumping head first into a genre pool I don't know how to swim in :)

[eddiegettingshot]

hang me up on your bedroom wall

buck/eddie • rated explicit • 6.0k • infidelity, pwp

“You’re going to be a great father someday,” Eddie says eventually, because he’s worse than he used to be and Buck’s reverent eyes make him feel—they just make him feel. “Eddie, I—” “You are,” he repeats, firm. “Don’t you think I’d know better than anyone?”

[writeraquamarinara]

not exactly long enough to post on ao3, so I'm dropping this here (below the cut)—it's a little kingdon drabble, inspired by the fact that it's been pouring buckets outside my apartment for two days straight <3

She’s fidgeting with her hands, as far as he can see—squeezing her right hand’s knuckles with her left thumb and index, before settling them back down in her lap. Then they’re back up near her chest, fidgeting again.

He can’t see much else. He could see, really, if he was okay with getting them both into a car accident. But he’s not, obviously. So he keeps staring at the road ahead, content with taking brief glances to his right.

“Everything okay?” he finally asks, when the concern weighs a little too heavily. His bones ache, and not just because of the impending storm bearing down on Pittsburgh.

It’s a silly question. Things are never exactly okay after a shift at PTMC. And this one had been particularly bad. She hadn’t even put up her usual fight when he’d offered her a ride to Becca’s center.

When she responds with a soft hum, he turns to watch her. Her face is turned away from him, and she’s staring outside, through the passenger window. And then Frank swears, under his breath, because his car’s drifting into the right lane without his permission. He jerks the wheel back to the left. 

The winds pick up around them, slamming into the car as it attempts to climb one of Pittsburgh’s infamous hills. Mel finally turns to him, and Frank knows without looking that her face is scrunched up—the way it looks when she wants to say something while Santos is presenting a case and Mel isn’t sure if she’s allowed to jump in.

“It’s going to start raining, Frank,” she tells him, and he doesn’t respond. There’s more to this thought, and she needs the space to process it.

After a beat, she starts again. “Maybe we should pull over.”

Other cars on the road have their headlights on, and Frank flicks his on as well. The winds haven’t stopped howling. But he doesn’t let his foot off the gas.

“Becca’s waiting, right? We stayed late as it is.”

After a last minute IABP insertion, Frank had wandered the floor in search of Shen, or anyone on night shift, to hand off his patients. Mel had stayed behind too. She was talking down a distraught single mother whose little girl lay wrapped up in the bed behind them, awaiting surgery. It was a shitty case to end the day on—the odds of her pulling through were, well, not fucking good.

“Becca can wait a little,” Mel tries. Her voice has a pitch to it that he can’t place. But a thunderclap shakes the air around them, water falls out of the sky like some sort of dam broke above them, and Frank gets distracted.

“Jesus.” Both of his hands are on the steering wheel, and he’s staring straight ahead of him. The windshield wipers are going fucking crazy.

“Really, Frank—”

“Mel,” he says, through gritted teeth—someone nearly cuts him off trying to make a left turn—“we’ll get to Becca, and everything will be fine.”

But when he turns his head, a quick glance, Frank’s foot nearly slams on the brake. She’s crying, her lower lip quivering as she wipes the tears from her cheeks with her hands. Frank pulls over as soon as there’s an opening next to the curb.

“It’s not fine, Frank, the roads are slippery, and—” she hiccups through a sob, “and we could get hurt, people get hurt all the time. And people are dying, Anna—Anna is dying, even though I did everything I could—” she takes a heaving breath.

Anna, the burn victim awaiting primary excision, her last patient of the day.

He watches her eyebrows pinch together as another sob racks through her chest, and Frank has never felt so wretched in his life. He should have pulled over earlier, but all he can do now is frantically search the car’s compartments for the tissues he keeps in here for his kids. 

Normally he would reach for her, wrap her in his arms and murmur reassurances into her hairline, but it’s hard to do with the center console between them.

He reaches out instead, and takes her trembling hands in his. She’s looking down into her lap, the tears still coming.

“Mel, listen to me.” She pulls one of her hands out of his to wipe at her eyes, and he uses his newly freed hand to tip her chin up. When his eyes catch hers, they’re shining, watery, and—god—so incredibly beautiful.

“Sweetheart,” she cries a little harder at that, and he squeezes her hand hard. “You did everything you could. It was a tough way to go out today, but you handled it. And I’m so proud of you.”

“I don’t know if she’s going to be okay.”

“We can’t know, but you gave that little girl the best shot at pulling through.” He rubs at her jawline a little, smiling softly when she finally closes her eyes and takes a breath. “I’ll call Walsh in the morning, for an update. How does that sound?”

She nods at him, slowly coming back to herself. The rain continues to pound on the roof of their car, but now Frank finds it somewhat soothing.

He says what he should’ve said before, when she first suggested pulling over.

“We can call Becca’s center—we’ll stay here as long as you want.”

“Just a bit,” she hedges, and he wishes she’d said forever, instead. But he can’t tell her that—not while Abby’s waiting for him at home.

And when lightning floods the street with light, he can’t help but notice how it bounces off the gold band sitting slightly askew on his left hand. He doesn’t look up to see if she notices it too.

[drsantosgf]

What if Evan Buckley decides fuck it I quit my job because nothing makes me happy anymore and opens a bakery and then Tommy starts ordering pastries from him for the 217 and they finally reconcile after buck makes him the best damn chocolate muffins Tommy's ever eaten

Tommy's been ordering from this bakery for the last five years. After he was promoted to captain of the 217, he made it a point to bring in treats to win over his old coworkers turned employees. He orders a couple dozen muffins once every week to keep people happy. Originally, it was supposed to be one time but goddamn if they weren't the best damn muffins Tommy's ever had. His crew was happy enough with the incentive and it became somewhat of a tradition at Harbor that a delivery boy would show up at their door with a few pristine white boxes to hand over to Captain Kinard. 

Five years and he's never had a problem getting the pastries delivered on time. Early in the morning of the day of delivery, before the sun even came up, he got an email explaining that his delivery had been cancelled and a refund had been processed. 

"Shit," Tommy wipes the sleep from his eyes and sits up. He has to get to work in a few hours and he knows his crew well enough to know how cranky they'd be if they had nothing to start the morning with. He fumbles out of bed, throws on his clothes, and heads down to the bakery to see what he can do. 

It's a little place not too far from Harbor. It's called something like Emergency Eats, it has a cliche first responder theme. First responders get a 15 percent off discount with each order so the weekly spending makes it a little worth it. 

Tommy rushes inside, the sun barely having risen and the cold morning air settling on his skin. The bakery is light and warm around him. It feels like one of those places someone would call home. The decor stays true to the theme and centers firefighters. On the wall behind the counter, there's a mural of a fire station. Along the wall in the dining area, there are pictures of different first responders. He recognizes Athena in one and smiles to himself. The tiles are black and white checkered and there's even a fire pole standing next to the counter. He walks up to it and rings the gaudy bell that hangs from the ceiling that says “pull for service” despite the immense amount of cringe he feels while doing it. 

“Be right there!” 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

He knows that voice. He’s spent five years thinking about this voice, dreaming about it, being haunted by it. He’s spent five years feeling terrified of hearing it on the radio, at an emergency, on the street. 

Evan Buckley walks through the curtain that covers the entrance to the kitchen, holding a tray of pink and white colored cookies. 

“Oh fuck,” Buck’s face goes ghostly white and his knuckles strain to keep grip on the tray. 

The room is still and quiet in the soft morning glow. The black and white tiles are painted with the delicate shadows casted from the trees lining the sidewalk. The two men breathe the same air and let the shock wash over them. 

Tommy isn’t allowed to break the silence first. He relinquished that right when he walked out of Buck’s life five years ago. Buck seems to pick up on the fragile air between them and breaks the quiet for the both of them, “Are you here about your muffins?” He sounds apologetic, maybe a little weak. 

“Uh,” Tommy kicks up invisible dust on the ground, “Yeah, I was gonna see if I could order something else if you’re out of the ones I normally order.” 

“Okay, listen, I’m sorry about the delivery mishap, it’s just that normally I have more people delivering but most of them are out sick and I’ve been so busy lately and I just-” 

Buck continues babbling while Tommy only half listens, questions burning in throat. 

“Is this your shop?” Tommy interrupts. 

Buck’s face dances between expressions before landing on surprised, “I thought you-” he cuts himself off and shakes his head, “Yeah. Yeah, this is my shop.” 

“You're not at the 118 anymore? You're-you’re not a firefighter?” 

Buck glanced down at his feet and puts the tray of cookies down on the counter. He takes a deep breath and speaks, “I thought maybe Eddie or Chimney would have told you.” 

Tommy furrows his brows, “We don't talk that much about-” he swallows, “you know…” About Buck. About them. About the breakup. He hasn't heard a word about Buck in five years. He hasn't even heard his name. 

“Yeah,” Buck nods his understanding. 

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees. 

“Um, yeah, this is my shop,” Buck continues, “I opened it about five years ago. A few months after.” 

They're dancing around saying it. Tommy's not sure how much longer they can keep this up for. 

“Why’d you quit?” Tommy asks. That's the question at the center of this whole thing. Why, why, why. 

Buck blinks, like he’s got something at the tip of his tongue but it caught between his teeth, “Few reasons.” He looks down at his legs again, “Uh, I got into an accident a while back. It took me out of the field for a while and I-” Buck stops and searched for the words, “I couldn't think of many reasons to go back to how things were before so I figured it was time for a fresh start.” 

Tommy lets the information wash over him. He can't imagine Buck being content with being out of the field but this bakery- it's tribute to first responders, it's pictures on the wall of smiling firefighters and dispatch operators- it's peaceful. It's like he’s found the happiest middle ground possible. 

“P-plus, I teach on the side,” Buck adds like an afterthought, “Part time, it's good money. Only have class a few days a week so it gives me time to run the bakery and keep business up.” 

Tommy smiles at that. Buck was always a busy-body, constantly needing to be moving in order to stay stimulated. Without being a firefighter, Tommy had wondered how he manages with all the extra free time but of course Buck would fill the days however he could. He’s never been sedentary and he won't start now. 

“Sounds like you've been busy,” Tommy comments lamely. Like he's a stranger. Like this is just small talk. It's almost nice. The small talk- pretending these small intimacies are something he still gets to enjoy. 

A moment passes before Buck claps his hands, “Your muffins!” He disappears into the kitchen and bustles around. Tommy can see his shadow passing through the window in the center of the wall. 

When Buck re-emerges, he’s holding the signature box of muffins that gets delivered to his station. “For you. We had them, it's just that I couldn't get them to you. Sorry about that.” 

Tommy shakes his head and steps forward to grab them, “No, don't worry about it. They're just for my crew, I’m the captain now and I’m trying to keep everyone happy.” 

“Captain?” Buck quirks an eyebrow, tilts his head, and smirks. Tommy's heart hurts. “You've been busy too.” 

“You could say that,” Tommy tries not to overthink whether or not it sounds like he’s flirting. He doesn't know if he intends it or not. Instead he focuses on the way Buck ducks his head and hides his smile. Tommy feels like a wrong move here is going to cost him. He wants to be delicate, he wants to flirt, he wants to friend-zone him, he wants to reach across the counter and pull him in and never let him go. It's been five years, it's been seconds, it's been no time at all. Seeing Buck again feels like taking your first breath after being underwater for too long. His lungs are burning. The right thing to do is to keep burning. It's selfish to do anything else. To gasp for breath the way he wants to. But- 

“Listen, Buck, if it's easier on you guys,” Tommy mentally flays himself for starting the sentence, “I could swing by in person instead. So you don't have to worry about delivering to us.” 

Buck considers him. Tommy waits for him to say what they both already know. That it’s not a good idea, they should lose contact, forget each other. 

Buck sucks his teeth. Suddenly, Tommy feels a wall rise between them. Then he exhales and says, “On one condition.” 

Tommy shrugs, keeping himself nonchalant, “Of course.” Anything, obviously, I’d do anything. 

“You can't call me Buck. It’s Evan or nothing” 

Every alarm is going off in his head. Red, blaring sirens that have always told when to run sing through his skull and fall on deaf ears. 

“I can do that, Evan.” 

Evan smiles. For the time, the smile finally reaches his eyes. They twinkle like they used to. This is such a bad idea. 

“Same time next week?” Tommy holds the basket with one hand and does finger guns with the other. He’ll never stop embarrassing himself. 

“You know where to find me,” Evan leans against the wall, blue apron tied cutely around his waist. There's a pink tint to his cheeks that Tommy tries not to read into. Gentle is the name of the game and he’s trying not to let himself expect anything he shouldn't. They're just two old friends catching up once a week. Tommy's just a customer in Evan’s shop. They hardly know each other anymore. 

Maybe they’ll get to know each other better than before he cut loose and ran. Or maybe Tommy will just become a recurring customer. He’s nervous to find out which. Either way, he leaves the shop far too excited for the week to come to an end. His crew comment on his quote-unquote glowing cheeks and far off look in his eyes. 

Picking up muffins becomes Tommy’s favorite part of the week. 

[aylinaliens]

oh my god i cannot believe i just woke up to avocadomoon randomly dropping a 70k kingdon fic. holy shit we have been blessed

[regheart]

Do you have any fic recommendations that are jily but also have a jily critical tone to them (like it isn’t bash-y, but just something that doesn’t depict them as perfect and shows some flaws in their relationship)? Thank you!

anon, i think you might suffer from the same anguish as me. i love jily (i really do!) but sometimes i get tired of romcom plots and enemies to lovers and school sweethearts and i wish instead that i had something to explore the gruesome reality of war or the suffocating boredom of hiding. or even, maybe, something that is more honest about the obstacles of their get together, that doesn't ignore snape or the different social standing between lily and james or the war

fluff and yearning are essencial to the ecosystem of a fandom, i just want to get the other stuff half as easy

so i picked a few fics that diverge a bit from the genre conventions of your typical romance fic, and instead deal with the more human aspects of lily and james as characters and realistic troubles they might have faced during the war

morbid little game by darkbluedark has james and lily discussing how all of their friends would die before voldemort got to them, which is the bleakest pillowtalk ever, but a darkly funny fic

i desperately need to reread like a rabid dog by emerqldv and catch up with the sequel, but i remeber being so captivated by the messy of being essentially a child soldier and just learning to live a life as an adult. beautifully written!

the art of dying by the_wig_is_a_metaphor takes some creative liberties with a brand of dark lily, and because james is the narrator there's a huge dissonance between the two of them. unexpectedly, this is probably one of the funniest fics i've ever read

pretty white smile by clarewithnoi is a story about jily getting together in school but there's so much about what lily faces as a muggleborn that just makes it more realistic and more interesting

one thing (or the other) by rougeatre is another lily centric work, this time focusing on her relationship with other women. the section on bathilda has the most interesting jily commentary imo!

privilege and prejudice by acciosalmon explores a landmark on jily's relationship affected by the bigotry of others "and a well-meaning fiancé ignorant of his privilege", a likely fault for james to have

and my last rec is an ongoing fic that has just started and i only finished the last published chapter this morning but i'm very very excited to see how it goes. an ever fixed mark by thestralsofspinnersend is a portrait of a complicated relationship in complicated times. lily and james both feel very human and the secondary characters (remus, mary and snape being my favorites so far) are rich and complex on their own

[maudlin-scribbler]

"You knew he had a wife waiting at home–you didn't care."

House MD s1.e5 "Damned if you do" / The Other Girl, The Young Veins / s3.e20 "House Training" / Headfirst Slide into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet, Fall Out Boy / S1.e5 (again)

[swellinhell]

v v vvv rough, no clue how to animate but i wanted 2 try showing how mals demon pupils dilate

[misscloudiedays]

Clover Patch 🍀

[almostempty]

✍️ writer’s tag game

5 things you might find in a story of mine

thanks to @gothcsz , @probablyreadinsmut , and @secretelephanttattoo for tags <3

1. AUs or crossovers nobody asked for

2. More than one Pedro character (I don’t generally want to imagine other men I’ll get the ick or something idk)

3. Emotionally charged sex > communication (I’m not projecting, you’re projecting!)

4. Sentences with words missing bc adhd brain goes zooooooom

5. Vocal men and readers 🗣️ talk dirty 2 me

tags forrrrrrr: @auteurdelabre @ace-turned-confused @syd-djarin @joelmillerisapunk @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @slimybeth69 @yxtkiwiyxt @itwasntimethatdidit40 @sunshinehaze1 @bitchesuntitled

[erosology]

y’all are telling me you think the man with the world’s worst case of daddy and mommy issues who came back from the dead and became a crime lord just to ask his adopted dad “but why didn’t you kill him for killing me? i would’ve :((” is a sadistic dom with a humiliation kink?

that man is a sub with a praise kink who probably cries during aftercare do not question me

[dreamsofalife]

"It'd be weird to assume someone else's relationship is open. I'd rather know before I end up making my son and my son's father hate me for breaking up a marriage."

[cruyffista]

I have a fic prompt if you're interested: Pep pining over player!Mikel arteta, because I need that man to be objectified #assteta

thank you for the prompt and i hope you like this short drabble i wrote :)

The screen shows a mass of players swarming each other, the viewing angle so high up they might be ants rummaging over leaves and anthills. The figures aren’t really discernible through the frosted glass of pixels, and the stream shudders and jutters every couple of second. But when she looks at her husband she can see that his eyes are trained on one in particular.

“It’s late,” she says quietly.

The player gets fouled and flops to the ground. It looks painful. Pep’s brow furrows.

“Shouldn’t you get some rest?”

No response. She contemplates snatching the iPad from the man next to her but manages to hold herself back. They have so little time together anyway, she doesn’t want to spend it arguing.

Something like despair flashes through her mind, briefly.

The camera swoops, zooming into the fallen man. He has closely cropped black hair. On his blue jersey ARTETA is emblazoned in white bold letters.

She knows who he is, obviously. She remembers ten—or is fifteen? —years ago Pep used to excitedly talk about a boy in the youth divisions of Barcelona. At the time his enthusiasm had been charming even, it’s so nice to see you interested in the younger players and so forth.

She turns off lamp next to her side of the bed with a soft click. Pulls the blankets over her, curls into a C shape, away from the man she married

And yet, even with her eyes closed she can still feel the bright white light from the screen, and her husband’s attention drawn away from her like a moth to a flame.