#dispute between husband wife

[babaji12]

Are you also fed up with daily quarrels with your husband? Solutions are here, Call +91-8968620218

Constant quarrels with your husband can take a toll on your emotional well-being and strain the bond you share. It's disheartening when the love and companionship that once brought you joy turn into a source of frustration. However, it's important to remember that conflicts are a natural part of any relationship, and there are effective ways to address and resolve them. This article aims to provide you with practical strategies to find peace and harmony in your relationship, minimizing daily quarrels with your husband. 

Know the story of a woman from Delhi who was very upset due to daily fights with her husband.

That woman was very upset due to the quarrels in the house, she could not see any way out. Then he called our astrologer Pandit Rohit Sharma ji and got the solution to his problem.

I live in Uttam Nagar, Delhi. I am a housewife. There used to be fights everyday. My husband used to quarrel with me everyday without any reason, I came to know that there is a woman in his life, due to which my husband quarrels with me everyday, I called Pandit Rohit Sharma ji and told my problem to him. Then he told me some such remedies, by doing which my husband is with me today. Now I am very happy in my life. I heartily thank Pandit Rohit Sharma ji who saved my married life from destruction. He is very kind and humble and his remedies are always effectfull. 

Maintaining a healthy and harmonious relationship with your spouse is crucial for a fulfilling and joyful life together. However, it's not uncommon for couples to face challenges and conflicts along the way. This article aims to provide you with effective strategies and solutions to overcome husband-wife relationship problems and nurture a strong and loving bond.

Communication is Key:

Open and honest communication serves as the foundation of a successful relationship. It is essential to create a safe and non-judgmental space where both partners can express their thoughts and feelings. Active listening, empathy, and mutual respect are vital components of effective communication. Regularly engage in meaningful conversations to address concerns, share aspirations, and understand each other's perspectives.

Prioritize Quality Time:

Amidst the hustle and bustle of daily life, it's crucial to prioritize quality time together. Set aside dedicated moments for shared activities, such as date nights, weekend getaways, or even simple walks in the park. Fostering a sense of togetherness and creating lasting memories can help strengthen the emotional bond between you and your spouse.

Nurture Emotional Intimacy:

Emotional intimacy is the glue that holds a relationship together. It involves being vulnerable, expressing love and affection, and supporting each other through both triumphs and challenges. Make a conscious effort to understand your partner's emotional needs and provide them with the support and reassurance they require. Regularly express love, appreciation, and gratitude to deepen your emotional connection.

Respect Individuality and Boundaries:

Each partner in a relationship has their unique needs, aspirations, and boundaries. Respecting each other's individuality is crucial for a healthy and balanced relationship. Encourage personal growth and provide space for pursuing individual interests. Set clear boundaries and communicate them effectively, ensuring that both partners feel valued and respected.

Address Conflict Constructively:

Conflict is a natural part of any relationship, but how you handle it determines its impact on your bond. Instead of avoiding or escalating conflicts, approach them constructively. Use "I" statements to express your feelings and needs, focusing on the issue at hand rather than attacking your partner. Practice active problem-solving, seeking compromises and win-win solutions. Consider seeking professional help, such as couples therapy, if you find it challenging to resolve conflicts on your own.

Build Trust and Honesty:

Trust and honesty are the pillars of a strong marital relationship. Be transparent with each other, avoid secrets, and foster an environment of trust and reliability. Follow through on commitments and be accountable for your actions. Trust is earned through consistent behavior over time, so make trust-building a priority.

Seek Support When Needed:

Sometimes, resolving relationship problems may require external support. Don't hesitate to seek guidance from trusted friends, family members, or professional counselors. Marriage or couples therapy can provide valuable insights and tools to navigate challenges effectively. Remember, asking for help is a sign of strength, and seeking support can lead to significant breakthroughs in your relationship.

Conclusion:

Every relationship has its ups and downs, but with dedication, effort, and the right strategies, you can overcome husband-wife relationship problems and cultivate a deep and fulfilling connection. By focusing on effective communication, quality time, emotional intimacy, respect, conflict resolution, trust, and seeking support when needed, you can create a strong foundation for a lifelong partnership filled with love, understanding, and mutual growth.

Call Our Astrologer Pandit Rohit Sharma ji +91-8968620218 for your all Problems. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

This idea is so funny that i couldn't keep it to myself, imagine if stanford wife/husband/spouse is constantly followed by the gnomes and they always try to kidnapp his s/o, probably ford had to tell the gnomes to fuck off every time and is like "i know they're beautyfull BUT THEY'RE MINE"

After going on a recent anomaly hunt with your husband Ford, you’ve begun to noticed that something or someone might’ve followed you back to the shack.

‘Shmebulock.’

A gnome was standing in your shadow and the moment you looked him in the eye, you swore his pupils became hearts and a dopey smile crept across his bearded face as he fidgeted with his hands almost sheepishly.

‘So you’re the one who’s been following me?’ You asked.

‘Shmebulock.’ Replied Shmebulock as he averted his eyes from yours and down to his shoes.

‘Is Shmebulock your name or?’

‘Shmebulock.’

‘Okay.’ You said as you saw Ford come back out the shack when he saw you didn’t follow him, but before he could ask what was keeping you, his eyes were quick to notice the gnome by your feet and quickly outs his hand on your waist protectively.

‘Oh no, you’re not taking my wife/husband/spouse!’ Ford says to the gnome who glared up at him the moment he heard his voice.

‘Shmebulock!’ The gnome shouts back as he steps closer to you, touching your shoe with his hand, all the while glaring at your husband. You didn’t know whether to laugh or consider getting Ford therapy for picking a fight with a guy who barely reached past his ankle. Ford didn’t often show protectiveness nor possessiveness unless he thought you were in danger and needed to step in to take whoever’s eyes were on you.

Ford the suddenly kneels until he was at eye level with the bearded gnome, holding your hand tightly in his six fingered one as though he was scared of letting you go. ‘No. You’re not stealing them to be your gnome king/queen/royalty. End of discussion.’ Shmebulock’s glare only worsened as he shouted ‘SHMEBULOCK!’ Before kicking Ford in the shoe and ran off back deep into the woods;Thinking that he won the dispute, Ford gets up to his full height, kisses you on the forehead before ushering you back into the lonely shack before locking the door behind him.

‘What was that?’ You asked him.

‘A gnome.’ Ford replied and you looked at him unamused.

‘I know that was a gnome Ford, I meant what the hell was that back there between the two of you?’ You asked as you watched him cross the room and head straight towards his journal to scribble something down before moving back to you to hold you by the arms.

‘He got addicted to your beauty and is now probably telling the rest of the gnome populous that he has found them a new ruler.’ Ford tells you straightforwardly as you looked at him with wide eyes.

‘What?! You mean-‘

‘Yes they’re going to try to marry you…all of them.’ Ford replies as he watches you look back towards the door and shudder at the thought of having to marry millions of ankle sized men and women. You didn’t want to think about what happened to the previous rulers or what would happen if they didn’t find their current ruler beautiful anymore to be their leader if they’re that shallow when it comes to appearances. ‘You should’ve drop kicked him.’ You tell Ford who only chuckled a she brought you into his arms, kissing your forehead repeatedly as you melted into his warm, comforting embrace.

‘Trust me, I had to fight the urge to do so the minute he touched your shoe.’ Ford whispered against your forehead, making you smile at the thought of Ford drop kicking a gnome just because he touched your shoe.

‘Do you know how to stop them?’ You asked, waiting for the reassuring answer that you knew would await you.

‘No, I don’t I’m still trying to figure that out.’ Ford answered.

Well that wasn’t exactly reassuring but how much trouble could a bunch of gnomes could possible pose?

Apparently you were bound to find out sooner rather then later as later that night. You had awoken to the sound of many, many little voices and scurrying across the wooden floor of your shared room with Ford, only to find that an small group of gnomes had somehow managed to break into the shack and had begun tying up your legs and arms to your side so you couldn’t move or kick them. You had caught the eye of Shmebulock, the gnome from earlier that morning that Ford wanted to dropkick, and he was quick to alert the other gnomes that their future ruler had awoken earlier than expected; apparently they thought Ford’s snores was yours…how charming.

‘They’re awake!’ One of the gnomes shouted and they were quick to start pulling you off of the bed by the restraints on your legs.

‘Ford.’ You whisper shouted. Nothing, the man slept like a log after spending the entire day anomaly hunting.

‘Ford!’ You yelled as the gnomes managed to drag you halfway across the bedroom at this point, your yell only made Ford scrunch his face and readjust his sleeping position. ‘FORD!’ You exclaimed louder this time and it jolted the sweet scientist awake as he blearily blinked while reaching out to touch your side of the bed, gasping when he couldn’t feel you and managed to catch sight of your unamused expression as you were being dragged out of the room by the gnomes. ‘Oh now you wake up?’ You said all too calmly for a captive.

‘Now is not the time for that my dear.’ Ford replied as he was quick to grab two gnomes and throw them out of the window, before dropkicking Shmebulock like he promised he would and some other gnomes out of the shack with ease. ‘There’s always time to talk about that my sweet.’ You replied as Ford helped you out of your restraints and just helped you to his chest as he glared at the retreating gnomes, just as their tiny legs carried them back into the forest in fear of what he’d do to them for almost successfully kidnapping his wife/husband/spouse.

‘Are you alright my love?’ Ford questioned as he peppered your face in kisses.

‘I’m fine my dearest, sure kidnapping wasn’t on my list of things to happen in my life, but I’m sure I would’ve been more frightened had the people who kidnapped me weren’t easily disposed of.’ You chuckled as you enjoyed the affection that Ford was giving you, while deciding to give him some of his own by kissing his cheek and across his jawline and neck sweetly.

‘Only you would joke about being kidnapped by Gnomes my dear.’ Ford sighs but smiles softly as he brings you back to bed, where he manages to keep you in his arms the entire night, only having to kick Shmebulock once before trapping the gnome under a glass, and then placed upon a high surface that he couldn’t get down without hurting himself in the process all the while Ford tucked you further into his chest as a silent display to the gnomes that you were happily taken by this man of science.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter VI: Storms 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Aemond’s wife left him following an explosive fight last week, and he hasn’t been able to find rest since.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, depictions of a toxic relationship, possessive Aemond, shitty and useless coping mechanisms, reference to violence and injuries

Word count: 2300

A/N: Thank you always sweet sweet Justine (@theoneeyedprince) for looking this over and giving me ideas 🤭 ILY! The lyrics are interwoven with the story in this chapter, hope it makes sense! As you can tell, this is set a week after his wife left him, and before he wrote his new songs for Rumours…

‘Every night that goes between, I feel a little less’

8 hours and 25 minutes.

That’s how much sleep he’d gotten in the last week.

Since the fight.

Fights. Plural.

It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten into a physical altercation with his brother. His childhood memories are tainted by endless disputes, especially after their father died, back when Aegon would sneak out to get drunk while their mother worried sick at home.

Why was his brother seemingly incapable of behaving well? Aemond saw how his mother worried herself sick over her oldest son, while also having to deal with grieving the loss of her husband, and navigate the internal political turmoil the death of such an influential man left behind. And Aegon couldn’t even spare her further heartache.

Fucking pathetic excuse of a man.

It was, however, the first time he had hurt his wife. Physically, that is. She’d told him he’d hurt her before, when his jealousy got the best of him.

He knows he’s crossed a line. As soon as he lost his temper and threw that plate against the wall. Dangerously close to where she was standing.

He regrets it all. Why did it even have to happen in the first place? If she had just cooperated with him; worked with him instead of against him. Instead of hiding things from him, talking with Tyland behind his back.

He always knew that she’d leave. One day.

He’d never leave her.

Frustrated, Aemond lets out a quiet sigh and gets up from the bed, moving to sit on the edge, slouching as he places his head in his hands. He suddenly notices how quiet the room is; the loud thoughts echoing in his mind momentarily disappear as he ponders what he could do instead of sleeping.

He moves quietly to not wake Alys next to him, whose heavy breathing provides the only real sounds in the room. It is almost eerily quiet now that he thinks about it; such a stark contrast to the insufferable buzzing of thoughts roaming around in his head.

Rest doesn’t come to him anymore. 

His mind can’t provide him with any repose. Not even for a second.

He closes the door to the bedroom with a quiet ‘click’ and exits, moving towards the balcony connected to the large, open-plan living room.

She had picked this apartment, together with him.

Our home.

The memories of going to look at cabinets for the kitchen together, choosing a sofa together, fucking on said sofa, overtake his mind before he can distract himself.

‘As you slowly go away from me’

When he realised that she’d left and wouldn’t come back, he tried to erase her from the space, shoving all of her belongings into one of the wardrobes in the spare bedroom.

He couldn’t bear to throw them out. He couldn’t bear to see them either. She’d left behind everything he’d ever given her; all gifts he’d carefully picked out for her. Seeing her wedding ring on top of the kitchen island, next to the divorce papers and the shattered plate on the floor had made his stomach turn when he came home from the hospital.

‘This is only another test’

He’d suffered much harsher trials than this.

When he lost his eye in a car crash at only 10 years old, he suffered through the most excruciating pain of his life. He had to relearn everything; how to focus his gaze, how to read and write without developing a headache, how to play his favourite sports without running into his opponents. 

He’d managed all that, yet this time he felt consumed by an aching sense of dread.

A hopelessness deep in his chest.

‘Every night you do not come’

It was all too late. No turning back.

‘Your softness fades away’

He knows that the aching dread is the longing he feels for her. The thought of never touching her again, never being close to her again. 

Never being in her embrace again.

He feels a chill run through his body as he settles on the armchair placed by the wall, overlooking the bright lights of King’s Landing.

Reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nearby table, he takes one out and lights it before taking a long drag, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back to rest against the back of the chair.

She’d chosen the patio furniture as well.

He fucking resents himself in this moment. Why is his body, his mind, incapable of doing what he wants? Forget her. She sure as hell wants to forget him.

‘Did I ever really care that much’

‘Is there anything left to say’

When she left during the fight backstage last week, he had wanted to run after her. But then he threw one quick glance at his older brother, and could barely see his expression due to all the blood smeared over his face.

He called out to him, but Aegon didn’t answer, laying limply on the old leather sofa with one arm hanging from the side and his mouth open. That was when Jace had come back in, face turning white in an instance as he was confronted with the scene before him, pulling out his phone from his pocket with a shaky hand to call an ambulance.

Aemond went with his brother to hospital, waiting by his side until he regained consciousness while trying to calm his distressed mother and wide-eyed sister. They had looked at him in the same way she had; eyes filled with animosity. He could barely meet their gazes as shame left his cheeks scalding.

‘Every hour of fear I spend’

‘My body tries to cry’

All he could think of at that moment was coming home. Home to her. To her warmth.

‘Living through each empty night’

‘A deadly call inside’

He takes another drag of his cigarette. Not being able to sleep, to eat, to think clearly is so foreign to him. It’s like when he lost his eye; he has to relearn everything. How to fucking breath.

There’s this restlessness inside him that won’t disappear, no matter how hard he tries to exorcise it. He’d tried going for walks; his usual go-to when he needed to clear his mind.

On one of those walks he’d smoked an entire pack of cigarettes.

How much time had passed? How long had he been out? He could hardly remember where he’d gone, what he’d seen or what time of day it’d been.

He’s lucky to have grown up in the centre of King’s Landing, knowing every street by heart, intuition leading his steps as he eventually finds his way back home. To an empty flat, haunted only by the memory of her.

She haunts him worst internally though, through his own mind.

There, in the eye of his mind, he sees his greatest fear; her with another man.

Any time he closes his eyes, the same image greets him; her, naked in the arms of another, throwing her head back in bliss.

She sighs and moans, letting her new man know how good he’s making her feel. She tells him too; that he’s the best she’s ever had.

She runs her hand down his cheek, unmarred and smooth. No harshly red scar, no unpleasant raised skin. Someone pretty, like her.

‘I haven’t felt this way I feel’

‘Since many a years ago’

He tried drinking; Aegon’s lobotomy of choice.

After downing two bottles of the Dornish red he’d received from some business associate when he was still working with his grandfather, he found sleep for 1 hour and 12 minutes before waking up with a racing heart and body covered in a slick sheet of cold sweat.

He would have tried talking to someone, if the only person he wanted to speak to hadn’t blocked his number. He’d realised that after being connected directly to voicemail each time he called her. That didn’t stop him from leaving messages though. First, they were filled with apologies and promises of never losing his cool again, of being better for her, of reassurance that he loves her. But as he grew to understand that she wouldn’t come back, his frustrations got the best of him.

He called her just to scream at her, into the nothingness that was her disconnected voicemail.

“I always knew you’d leave me! You fucking liar”, he spat as he threw his phone against the same wall he’d smashed the plate against.

It doesn’t matter. She’ll never hear them anyway.

The tiny bit of relief he felt afterwards hadn’t made any significant difference. He still couldn’t sleep, couldn’t find even a moment of tranquillity.

He places the cigarette between his teeth as he reaches forward to grab the notebook on the patio table next to his seat.

There’s one thing he still hasn’t tried.

As he plucks the pencil from where it's hanging on the side of the hardcover, he begins writing without thinking too much of what’s coming out, letting his hand guide his thoughts as he brings his plagued mind down on the paper.

‘In those years and the lifetimes past’

‘I did not deal with you, I know’

‘Though the love has always been’

His most recent attempt at finding respite from his mind was sleeping in his bed.

Our bed, he corrects himself with a wince.

He’d met Alys Rivers, manager at Riverland Creative Agency, earlier that day when he stopped for a drink during his quotidian nightly walk. She recognised him instantly, swiftly approaching him to mask her true intentions with some saccharine small talk. He knew she wanted to inquire about his band’s management; if they were satisfied with Tyland or if they’d be persuaded into joining her instead.

But all he could focus on was her hand casually placed on his shoulder as she spoke, her large, green eyes locking with his as she playfully teased him about his stoicism.

The heat radiating from her palm alone lit a fire inside of him, but rather than lust, he felt something akin to longing.

Yearning.

For warmth.

He asked her if she’d like to have a drink at his house, and when she replied with a wink and a cheeky retort, he knew she’d give him what he craved.

‘So I search to find an answer there’

‘So I can truly win’

Alys didn’t feel like her. Didn’t set the fire within him ablaze. Nor did she extinguish it. He didn’t feel better; he felt the same.

Restless.

Uneasy.

Different.

Broken.

‘Every hour of fear I spend’

‘My body tries to cry’

‘Living through each empty night’

‘A deadly call inside’

His hand moves on its own accord, words pouring out from him without having a chance to pass through his consciousness.

‘So I try to say goodbye, my friend’

‘I’d like to leave you with something warm’

Maybe he never gave her comfort?

Maybe all he did was take?

No. He knows he’s been a dutiful husband. He’s always been by her side, supporting her no matter what.

Unlike his own father; a shitty husband who was more of a burden on his mother’s shoulders than a pillar to lean on. Aemond knows that he’s nothing like his father. He gave his marriage his all; he never neglected his wife. 

He gave her all of him.

‘But never have I been a blue calm sea’

‘I’ve always been a storm’

But she didn’t want his love. She didn’t appreciate all he’d done for her. She didn’t understand him, not really. If she did, she wouldn’t shut him out like this.

Fuck her selfishness.

When he left his grandfather's firm to pursue music full-time, Otto Hightower had threatened to disown him, telling him that he’d make sure all ties Aemond had to the Hightower name would be cut off.

All he knew was how to be a good son and grandson. How to please his grandfather and mother. But when he confided in her about his predicament, asking her for advice on how to handle his grandfather's wrath, she’d cupped his cheeks and gazed into his eyes as she reassured,

“I am your family now, Aemond. We’ll always have each other” 

Liar.

He feels bile rise in the back of his throat as he keeps writing, allowing the feelings he didn’t know how to express some outlet. The thought of her now makes him feel sick.

‘Always been a storm’

‘We were frail’

He feels stupid; blinded by the light of her love.

‘She said, “Every night he will break your heart”’

‘I should have known from the first, I’d be the broken hearted’

Being given such warmth from another person. That’s what made him addicted to her.

He’d never experienced that before, not even from his mother or sister. There was always this restraint; this rift between them, for as long as he could remember.

But she let him in with open arms; let him into her comfort without resistance.

And now she’d taken that away from him.

‘I loved you from the start’

Looking at the lyrics written down in front of him, he doesn’t feel better. His shoulders don’t feel lighter. His chest doesn’t feel less tight. All he knows is that she did this. She promised to be by his side forever and broke that vow.

He leans back in the chair, fiddling with his lighter in one hand as he reads over the text again. What would she say if she saw how much she hurt him?

Would she come back?

The fleeting thought makes a tight knot form in his throat and he swallows forcefully to make it go away.

She’ll never come back.

He picks up the paper, letting the fire from the lighter in his other hand grace over the bottom corner, and sets it alight.

A/N: No, this is not a song form Rumours 🤭 but technically he doesn’t record it, so I think it’s fair! Tysm for reading 🩵

[bones4thecats]

Their S/O Is An Ancestor of Odysseus 

Type of Writing: Random Idea  Name: Their S/O Is An Ancestor to Odysseus  Characters: Poseidon, Ares, and Hades  Idea-Giver: Random Thoughts, Epic: The Musical, and Homer’s The Odyssey 

A/N: In honor of the fifth saga of Epic: The Musical coming out today, I decided to finally write this fun prompt I made months ago. I hope you guys enjoy this piece, I personally loved writing it so much! Anyways, I have a question for you all; What is your favorite Epic: The Musical saga and your favorite song/character? 

⚠️ TW: Mentions of death, attempted murder, and permanent physical damage ⚠️ 

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Deity! Reader ; Ancestor to Odysseus - Relationship: 3/10

🔱 When he first met you, you had told him you had human descendants, and he accepted that whole-heartedly. You cannot change your lineage or who they have kids with *ZEUS

🔱 Anyways. Poseidon did eventually ask to see your only known descendant, at least to you. And he was not amused to see him again 

🔱 You and Hermes just stood alongside one another and lead Poseidon to the male’s home, the only reason Hermes knew is because your initial descendant, who was the human’s father, had a child with Hermes’ female descendant, Anticlea 

🔱 Smiling gently as a young male named Telemachus ran up and hugged you as a female, that being Penelope, also came out and embraced you while she smiled and nodded to Hermes 

🔱 Asking to see the boy’s father, Poseidon gained a small sense of nervousness. Why was he suddenly a hair off about seeing your once-living descendant 

🔱 Oh, this was why… 

" Poseidon, my love. Meet- "  " Odysseus?! " 

🔱 Looking back and forth between your blonde-lover and your brunette descendant, Odysseus, you began to look at Hermes, asking him with your eyes how they knew one another 

" What a coincidence, Uncle Poseidon! It seems that Y/N is the ancestor to Odysseus, the man who you tried killing multiple times centuries ago! How intriguing! "  " You tried to WHAT?! " 

🔱 Odysseus narrowed his eyes at the God of the Seas and walked to you, opening his arms for a hug, which you sincerely accepted as you glared at your husband in silent rage. Your eyes said everything to him; you better explain yourself. 

🔱 Poseidon sighed lightly and began to tell you everything, right from the start of his involvement with Odysseus 

" You do remember Polyphemus, correct? "  " Of course I remember him. Why? "  " Your boy here blinded him. He and his men had come in and attempted to steal his flock of sheep from him. And, after a mild fight, he blinded him with a burning steak, as he slept nonetheless. How cowardly. " 

🔱 While you were now upset with both parties, Telemachus and Penelope eventually got the two to come to an understanding as to not upset you and possibly cause a massive dispute that may end up with you losing your mind, and not fakely like Odysseus tried 

🔱 Odysseus and Poseidon may act nice when your looking, but they literally glare at one another when you look another way. And you know this, but seeing them at least try to bond to help you warms your heart to much to say anything ✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Deity! Reader ; Ancestor to Odysseus - Relationship: 6/10 

⚔️ You were thankful that Ares had enough free time to come with you down to Elysium to meet your descendant 

⚔️ He has always asked you questions of him, and because you finally got back into contact with the man who distantly shared your blood, you excitedly told him that he, his wife, and his son were all available the following week 

⚔️ Ares was nervous as hell when approaching the house of your descendant 

⚔️ They’re basically the only family you have left, since Hermes doesn’t count because you weren’t related, your lineage members were 

⚔️ But, in a way of generosity, Hermes decided to join you both. In his words, which were twisted majestically with a suave tone that matched the once youthful Zeus had, he just wanted to encounter the man who was the result of two deity-influenced offsprings coming together 

" Lady Y/N! To what do we owe the pleasure? "  " The pleasure is all mine, youngling. Now, where's Penelope and her husband? They invited me here with my husband- "  " Lord Ares! "  " Uh- yeah… "  " Can you please direct us to them, ma'am? "

⚔️ After being directed to a long dining room, which was where you found a young male with brunette hair, an older-woman, and an older-man with the same hair as the younger one 

⚔️ Smiling as you hugged him and the two other mortal and humanized souls, Ares narrowed his eyes at the older man, before asking who he was 

" Odysseus, King of Ithaca. And this is my wife, Penelope, and my son, Telemachus. And you must be Ares, the God of War. It is a pleasure to meet you. "  " And you… Odysseus. " 

⚔️ While Ares was caught off guard by how adaptive and calm-seeming Odysseus was, he was quite pleased with how accepted the human was with his ancestor marrying a relative of the man who tried killing him and did kill most of his men 

⚔️ But, he is thankful that Poseidon doesn’t randomly come up in the conversation. As that would’ve led to Odysseus hearing the stories of how, in Poseidon’s eyes, he was a horrendous person 

⚔️ Well, they ain’t wrong. His personality kinda lacks sometimes

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Deity! Reader ; Ancestor to Odysseus - Relationship: 9/10 

💀 Hades was pleased to hear how adoringly you would speak of your human lineage. Most deities would shun that, as they believe Humanity are a bunch of scum and worse than rust on a boat’s underside 

💀 He is a family-centered man at heart, so seeing how close you were to these humans made him want to meet them himself 

💀 But what he didn’t expect was seeing a familiar face standing alongside a woman and younger boy 

💀 It was Odysseus. The man who blinded his nephew, Polyphemus, and enraged his second-younger brother, Poseidon 

" Oh! How unexpected, right, Uncle Hades? " 

💀 Yeah, he just stood there for a good few minutes, just staring with wide eyes like this; 🤯 

💀 Hades eventually snapped out of his daze and cleared his throat before offering his hand to the King of Ithaca, his wife, and son, while you just opened your arms to embrace them as if you had known them for centuries 

💀 Well, you have, but you get the point 

💀 You and Penelope had nudged Hades through the castle before landing in a room where there laid many tapestries of happenings from Odysseus’ journey back home, but the three decorative fabrics that stood out were Polyphemus’ attack, Poseidon’s iconic rage, and Odysseus in the Underworld 

" Ah, you seem to have found my small shine. I remember all of these events as if it was yesterday, and I suppose 9 years prior. "  " Yes… I seemingly forgot that you had come to the Underworld to seek out… oh what was his name again? Oh, yes, Tiresias. " 

💀 Hearing of Odysseus’ experience in Hades’ Kingdom made them slightly closer, as Hades allowed him to visit some of his deceased previous crewmates and his mother, whom was happy to see him years later 

💀 They have a far better bond than Hades does with the rest of his brothers, but he must keep that from Poseidon. His jealousy knows no end

[monsterfuckingthoughts]

Husband Orc x Human Reader (Kilian)

Synopsis: You and your husband have a family outing with your newborn son.

How you adored your family. 

You watched from the comfort of the shade as your husband Kilian strolled aimlessly across the open field, your newborn son Drak secure in his arms. The three of you had ventured away from the stronghold on a family outing, something that was becoming increasingly difficult as of late. 

Your pregancy had taken a toll on your physical health with a difficult delivery significantly reducing your strength. You found sleep difficult, and energy scarce. On top of that the world outside the stronghold grew more turbulent by the day. Power struggles, territorial disputes between kings. It forced your husband away from you and your son. The incessant bickering of powerhungry men.

 Kilian approached you, a weary look in his eyes hidden behind a soft smile. 

“How are you feeling my love?”

You patted the space next to you. “Like I want my husband beside me.”

He slowly settled down next to you, mindful of your son.

You gently took Drak from him and cradled the infant close to your chest. 

“Are you sure it’s wise to be away from the stronghold? What if something urgent occurs?”

He waved away your concerns. “I won’t allow the foolishness of man to take away from time with my wife and son. Greed will be eternal but moments like this are fleeting.”

You held your son tighter. “I feel so useless to you. I should be helping in some way.”

Kilian immediately cradled your face, forcing you to look at him. “(Name). You’re still in recovery. Enough of that.”

You sighed. “I just wish there was something I could do.”

He pressed his lips to yours. “Just get well. And remain by my side. I need you my love.”

You smiled at him. Then the two of you refocused your attention back on your son, unaware of any issues in the world. 

~

The End.

[chronically-ghosted]

between the earth and sky (lover, share your road - prologue) series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i

chapter rating: T (series: E)

word count: 1.1K

chapter summary: how Joel Miller's forefathers came to settle the southern plains

chapter warnings/tags: references to genocide (human and animal), racism

a/n: Miller County was a real place!

Vincente Ramón Morelos with his wife María Guadalupe Rodríguez Saldaña went in search of a better life in 1848.

Exhausted from the bloody revolution against Spain, then the devastating loss at the hands of white “rebels”, the childless couple leave the southern hill country by the San Antonio river to go north, to find peace, in a place that the Anglos have never touched — so promised Señor De La Cruz, a former comandante like Vincente, who shared his dream of wide, open spaces, and a sky that stretches into infinite possibilities.

This land they marched across, with its barren trees and flat golden spreads, is nothing like anything they’ve ever seen before. The wagon chain the Morelos follow whispered in hushed, awed tones. María reached out the side of the wagon, letting her hand brush against brown thistles, watching how the reed springs under her fingers, how it tickles her palm. She never knew the earth could be so soft – teasing her with some great secret it’s eager to share. She looked to her husband and he glowed beneath the rich blue sky and bronze sun. Maybe this was God showing her how to fall in love with a new home.

Towns became few and far between. In a transitory cattle town, Vincente listens to two vaqueros tell stories over a loose game of poker about a briefly-disputed patch of land, five hundred miles east, one that exchanged ownership three times before disappearing into obscurity. But a single name settled permanently, before its township ever could: Miller County. Vincente quietly related to that blurring of identity, a loss of a permanent place to be known and loved, so when going through towns of white Texan Anglos that distrusted his olive skin and aquiline nose, he told them his name was Vincent Miller and he was, like all others, looking for a place to call home. He found it north of what would become Amarillo, and south of what would be Dalhart, between the Canadian and Red River, rivers that never seemed as endless and deep as the Gulf from his childhood. 

By the spring of 1852, Mary (formerly María) and Vincent, established on their acre of land, had welcomed two girls and were expecting a third child, who ended up being a boy. This boy was given the name John (though his mother called him Juan at home) Tomás Miller, after Mary’s grandfather. As a boy, John learned from his father Vincent to listen and trust the Kiowa, the Comanche, the Gods of the Grass Sea, who were said to have been born with a heart of a buffalo. Who walked with prairie chickens and raced the pronghorn antelopes. Recognizing a kinship with nomadic blood of the Millers – once Morelos – the Comanche taught them what it meant to use the land as one uses a brother for support. Use in kind, but treat just as kindly. Avoiding what the Anglos referred to as “dry farming” because it was only the Anglos who believed, by sheer force of will, they could make rain come down from the sky. The Comanche were shocked by their arrogance. As he grew older and stronger beneath that heavy sunshine that had endeared his mother to these foreign lands, John maintained his father’s relationship with The First People, even aiding them in keeping the encroaching Anglo homesteaders off the lands of the buffalo and the blue grama grass. 

When John married in the summer of 1885 a woman whose skin burnt easy in the sun, but had hands rougher than a sailor’s, Vincent was surprisingly happy for his son, because Jennie Sarah Hansen was quick-witted, brave, and possessed a rare quality when it came to the regards of the Tejanos and The First People – compassion. Disowned by her own family for such a trait, Jennie came to live with John, his father Vincent, his mother Mary, with letters from John’s two sisters and their families coming from down south every month. 

Joel Ramón Miller was born in the late fall of 1891, followed shortly there by his brother, Tom – Tommy, because Tom was too serious for a boy with a smile like that – and the lineage of working under blue skies in endless dunes of buffalo grass was passed down, third generation of Vincent, who lived to see his oldest grandson turn five before quietly, with dignity, leaving this world in his sleep. 

Tommy Miller continued to look towards the sun and, as a young man, followed it west. But Joel, like his father, like his grandfather, like the land itself, kept watch over the ones he loved from the porch of that a-frame house, the one his father built for his mother. For a time that included a woman with dark skin and darker eyes out of Alabama. And then it was just the baby who came from her, who came from him. Sarah, named after his mother who was as fierce and resilient as the buffalo grass and as beautiful as the endless sky. 

As far as Joel Miller was concerned that was enough. The two of them – him and his babygirl, with the plums and the maize, and the secrets of this wide wilderness handed down in partnership from the Comanche and the Kiowa, because the Millers knew what to keep and what wasn’t theirs, or anyone’s, to own.

Until the day came when the buffalo were slaughtered by the thousands, and the once great Gods of the Grass Sea were felled, both driven to extinction by a force that held no compassion or concern for the lands it swallowed. 

The cowboys over in the XIT, runners of cattle in the land that used to tremble beneath the hooves of thousands of buffalo, started to complain first. Rumbled that no good was to come of any of it; the American government gave too freely; real estate agents and land developers promised too much. Those arriving in the prairie came only for the green that the wheat boom offered, and had misjudged the quietness of the plains for emptiness.

Joel Miller watched as towns bloomed overnight, model E’s rumbled off the new railway lines, and nesters and sodbusters burrowed into their dugouts like wolf-spiders — at the cost of the beautiful, bellowing sea of grass. The bison were long dead, the Kiowa and Comanche now ghosts between the stalks of blue grama, and a wind was coming in from the north. 

It whispered to those who could still listen and would heed its warnings. 

And Joel Miller, with his only daughter, listened and waited and didn’t like what he heard. First, the drought came. Lasted ten years. Then the economic freefall that blew out entire financial systems on a global scale. 

And then, like a ghoulish nightmare, a specter of death that came from the ill-resting spirits of the bison, came the dust storms. 

The air crackled with electricity, car radios clicked off, overwhelmed by the static. Ignitions shorted out. Waves of sand swept over the roads. Children were lost and found thirty feet from their back doors, dead, suffocated on dust. Five thousand feet tall, wider than entire cities, this was blind vengeance, a reckoning well-deserved.

And for the first time in his life, Joel Miller was afraid.

series masterlist | part i

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

girl like you 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as kidnapping, marital discord, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a fight with your husband leads to an unexpected situation.

Characters: Lee Bodecker, Jake Jensen

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself. <3

"Marge," you struggle to keep the exasperation from your voice, "that's not how it works. It's a civil dispute, not criminal--" 

"They signed a contract," the blonde dictator bites back at you. 

"Right, and we're going through the appropriate channels to have there violations dealt with--" 

"Ugh, whatever," she throws the folder at you, "shoulda know better. I heard you never even passed the bar." 

You catch the file before the papers can flutter out. You scowl at her as she pushes her hands out in frustration and stomps her pink heel. You pinch your cheeks between your teeth. You never got to take the bar, you got married. Like her. Maybe you should ask about the dust on her English degree. 

"And that lipstick is tacky. It looks awful with your skin tone," she snarls as she rams a manicured nail in your direction, huffing and spin, taking off like a tornado towards the rest of the doll-like HOA clones. 

You look down as you shuffle the papers straight and shrug. You've never quite fit in. This place is like high school 2.0. You never have the right clothes or the right makeup, and no matter how much you primp, your hair just won't behave. You don't know why you bother. 

Well, it's something to do. A hobby in your mostly empty life. Brock promised you it wouldn't be like this. To his defence, you're the idiot who believed him. 

Your husband hasn't exactly kept his promises, has he? You leave through the gate, not bothering with the niceties. You're certain your dismissal was thoroughly witnessed. Besides, the meeting is as good as done. 

You wait by the curb, a text sent to Brock. Your feet kill in these slingbacks. You hate those as much as you hate the mascara that makes your lashes stick. 

The black car comes down the street and you open the door, dropping inside with a puff. You rest the folder in your lap and roll your eyes back against a repressed yawn. You shut the door and buckle your belt. 

"Hey, honey," you greet your husband. "How was your day?" 

"Busy," Brock answers curtly. 

"Oh, did you have dinner? I left it in the oven to reheat--" 

"Your my wife, you're the one who warms my dinner," he insists. 

Your nostrils flare and you look away. This is exactly what you dreaded the day you accepted that ring. All those years of schooling and you threw it away for an empty vow. 

"Alright, I'll turn the stove on when I get in--" 

"How was it? You're early. You didn't stay for drinks?" 

"I'm tired." 

"So? Five years and what do you have to show for it? Like I wanna hear about those dumb bitches at the barbecue? No, I wanna hear about my wife. About everything she's doing for the neighbourhood." 

"Don't talk like that," your murmur. If he thinks they're dumb, what does he think of you? 

"Don't tell me what to do," he snorts, "you know, you might be a little happier if you put in a little effort. Not like I don't bust my ass so you can buy nice dresses and yet you're still wearing this." 

He reaches over and tugs your skirt. It's one of your favourite dresses. You don't see an issue with it, other than it might be a bit past its prime. Besides, he does make a lot of money but you're the one who counts it and makes sure the bills get paid. There isn't room for you to buy Chanel. 

"Sorry," you mutter towards the window. 

"Don't be sorry, do better," he rolls the steering wheel as he rolls around the cul de sac. 

Your chest sinks and your lip twitches. Do better. You're tired of hearing that. You're tired of trying. You're just tired. 

"Stop the car," you demand as you sit up. 

"What?" He scoffs.  

"Stop the car and let me out--" 

"We're almost home." 

"I said let me out of the car," you snarl, "now!" 

He slams on the breaks so hard, you nearly smack into the dashboard. You hit the button on the seat belt and let it rebel. You grab the folder and throw it on the dash so the pages scatter. 

"You can turn a fucking dial," you snip and push the door open. 

He catches your arm, his grip tight and unbending, "where are you going?" 

"I don't know. Anywhere but here." 

"Don't be fucking stupid, get back in the car," he commands. 

"Let go!" 

"You're being stupid--" 

"Like always, right?" You spit at him and wriggle free, his nails scratching you hotly. "I'm done. I can't make you happy and I'm tired of trying." 

You get out and swing the door shut. You grip the strap of your purse, still hooked over your shoulder, and turn on your heel. You click down the sidewalk as he revs and jolts forward, following you. 

"Babe, get back in the car," he calls through the window. 

You ignore him and stomp on, nearly bending your ankle as you do. 

"Stop PMSing and get in the damn car!" He speeds up, almost driving past you, "don't make me tell you again." 

You keep quiet and march on. His brakes scrape to a halt and the car door opens and closes. You hear him behind you. You speed up to evade him. 

"You always gotta make everything a fucking task--" 

He grabs onto your purse and yanks you back, nearly knocking you on your ass. You cry out and face him, tugging on the bag as you play tug-of-war on the sidewalk. The sudden woop startles both of you and the purse drops to the ground.  

You look over as the cruiser pulls up. You know the car number and the face above the wheel. The same on that patrols the suburb. The HOA buys Sheriff Bodecker a special Christmas turkey every year and several other throughout to mark even the most redundant holidays. He's firmly in the pocket of the Stepford robots. 

"Everything okay over here?" Bodecker drawls as he rolls down his window.  

"Yes," Brock answers in tandem with your "no." 

Your husband sighs, "just a marital spat, sir, you know how it is." 

You grimace and shake your head. You pick up the purse as Brock looms close, "nothing to worry about Sheriff," you stand and swoop the bag over your elbow. "Thanks." 

"Babe," Brock says, "let's go home." 

"No," you retort and turn around, continuing on your way. 

You hear a footstep and another wail of the cruiser's siren, "sir, I'm gonna have to ask you not to follow the lady. She said no. She probably just needs to cool off." 

You shake your head and continue on. Brock's voice croaks but he can't summon words. He growls and backs off. 

As you continue down the block, tires slowly turn on the tarmac and you glance over at the sheriff keeps a light foot on the gas, "ma'am, you wanna get in? I'll take ya to the station to settle your mind." 

"It's fine, sheriff," you say, "thank you." 

"Now, miss, I don't mean to frighten you but I gotta," he insists, "I can't just drive off in case your husband decides to follow. I only wanna get you outta the way do he don't do anything dumb." 

"Sheriff, I--" you stop and your soles aches from the high arches of your shoes, "he wouldn't..." 

"Y'all were pretty heated back there," he says, "I'm not saying what would happen, but I'd feel better knowin' you're not wandering the streets alone." 

You chew your tongue and look back and forth. Brock watches from down the street, leaning on his car. You know he's just waiting for Bodecker to take off so he can do exactly what the policeman suggests. 

"Thank you, sir," you step towards the curb, "I appreciate that." 

"Anything for a good lady like yerself," he nods, "'fraid you're gonna have to ride piggy back though." 

He shifts into park and gets out. He opens the back door and you teeter at the edge of the pavement. You never pictured yourself in the back of a police car but it's preferable to the alternative. 

[city-of-ladies]

"The most notable players in Palaiologue politics were the empresses Yolanda-Irene of Montferrat and Anna of Savoy, and on the whole their record is woeful: Yolanda-Irene of Montferrat, second wife of Andronikos II, was unable to comprehend the succession rights of her eldest stepson, Michael IX, and since her husband remained obstinately unmoved by her representations she flounced off with her three sons to Thessalonika where she kept a separate court for many years from 1303 to her death in 1317. From her own domain she issued her own decrees, conducted her own foreign policy and plotted against her husband with the Serbs and Catalans: in mitigation, she had seen her five-year-old daughter married off to the middle-aged Serbian lecher Milutin, and considered that her eldest son John had been married beneath him to a Byzantine aristocrat, Irene Choumnaina. She died embittered and extremely wealthy.

When Yolanda’s grandson Andronikos III died early, leaving a nine-year old son John V and no arrangements for a regent, the empress Anna of Savoy assumed the regency. In so doing she provoked a civil war with her husband’s best friend John Kantakouzenos, and devastated the empire financially, bringing it to bankruptcy and pawning the crown jewels to Venice, as well as employing Turkish mercenaries and, it appears, offering to have her son convert to the church of Rome. Gregoras specifically blames her for the civil war, though he admits that she should not be criticised too heavily since she was a woman and a foreigner. Her mismanagement was not compensated for by her later negotiations in 1351 between John VI Kantakouzenos and her son in Thessalonika, who was planning a rebellion with the help of Stephen Dushan of Serbia. In 1351 Anna too settled in Thessalonika and reigned over it as her own portion of the empire until her death in c. 1365, even minting her own coinage.

These women were powerful and domineering ladies par excellence, but with the proviso that their political influence was virtually minimal. Despite their outspokenness and love of dominion they were not successful politicians: Anna of Savoy, the only one in whose hands government was placed, was compared to a weaver’s shuttle that ripped the purple cloth of empire. But there were of course exceptions. Civil wars ensured that not all empresses were foreigners and more than one woman of Byzantine descent reached the throne and was given quasi-imperial functions by her husband. 

Theodora Doukaina Komnene Palaiologina, wife of Michael VIII, herself had imperial connections as the great-niece of John III Vatatzes, and issued acts concerning disputes over monastic properties during her husband’s reign, even addressing the emperor’s officials on occasion and confirming her husband’s decisions. Nevertheless, unlike other women of Michael’s family who went into exile over the issue, she was forced to support her husband’s policy of church union with Rome, a stance which she seems to have spent the rest of her life regretting. She was also humiliated when he wished to divorce her to marry Constance-Anna of Hohenstaufen, the widow of John III Vatatzes.

Another supportive empress consort can be seen in Irene Kantakouzene Asenina, whose martial spirit came to the fore during the civil war against Anna of Savoy and the Palaiologue ‘faction’. Irene in 1342 was put in charge of Didymoteichos by her husband John VI Kantakouzenos; she also organised the defence of Constantinople against the Genoese in April 1348 and against John Palaiologos in March 1353, being one of the very few Byzantine empresses who took command in military affairs. But like Theodora, Irene seems to have conformed to her husband’s wishes in matters of policy and agreed with his decisions concerning the exclusion of their sons from the succession and their eventual abdication in 1354.

Irene and her daughter Helena Kantakouzene, wife of John V Palaiologos, were both torn by conflicting loyalties between different family members, and Helena in particular was forced to mediate between her ineffectual husband and the ambitions of her son and grandson. She is supposed to have organised the escape of her husband and two younger sons from prison in 1379 and was promptly taken hostage with her father and two sisters by her eldest son Andronikos IV and imprisoned until 1381; her release was celebrated with popular rejoicing in the capital. According to Demetrios Kydones she was involved in political life under both her husband and son, Manuel II, but her main role was in mediating between the different members of her family.

In a final success story, the last Byzantine emperor, Constantine XI, owed his throne to his mother. The Serbian princess Helena Dragash, wife of Manuel II Palaiologos, in the last legitimating political manoeuvre by a Byzantine empress, successfully managed to keep the throne for her son Constantine and fend off the claims of his brother Demetrios. She arranged for Constantine’s proclamation as emperor in the Peloponnese and asserted her right to act as regent until his arrival in the capital from Mistra in 1449.

Despite the general lack of opportunity for them to play a role in politics, Palaiologue imperial women in the thirteenth century found outlets for their independent spirit and considerable financial resources in other ways. They were noted for their foundation or restoration of monastic establishments and for their patronage of the arts. Theodora Palaiologina restored the foundation of Constantine Lips as a convent for fifty nuns, with a small hospital for laywomen attached, as well as refounding a smaller convent of Sts Kosmas and Damian. She was also an active patron of the arts, commissioning the production of manuscripts like Theodora Raoulaina, her husband’s niece. Her typikon displays the pride she felt in her family and position, an attitude typically found amongst aristocratic women.

Clearly, like empresses prior to 1204, she had considerable wealth in her own hands both as empress and dowager. She had been granted the island of Kos as her private property by Michael, while she had also inherited land from her family and been given properties by her son Andronikos. Other women of the family also display the power of conspicuous spending: Theodora Raoulaina used her money to refound St Andrew of Crete as a convent where she pursued her scholarly interests. 

Theodora Palaiologina Angelina Kantakouzene, John Kantakouzenos’s mother, was arguably the richest woman of the period and financed Andronikos III’s bid for power in the civil war against his grandfather. Irene Choumnaina Palaiologina, in name at least an empress, who had been married to Andronikos II’s son John and widowed at sixteen, used her immense wealth, against the wishes of her parents, to rebuild the convent of Philanthropes Soter, where she championed the cause of ‘orthodoxy’ against Gregory Palamas and his hesychast followers. Helena Kantakouzene, too, wife of John V, was a patron of the arts. She had been classically educated and was the benefactor of scholars, notably of Demetrios Kydones who dedicated to her a translation of one of the works of St Augustine. 

The woman who actually holds power in this period, Anna of Savoy, does her sex little credit: like Yolanda she appears to have been both headstrong and greedy, and, still worse, incompetent. In contrast, empresses such as Irene Kantakouzene Asenina reflect the abilities of their predecessors: they were educated to be managers, possessed of great resources, patrons of art and monastic foundations, and, given the right circumstances, capable of significant political involvement in religious controversies and the running of the empire. Unfortunately they generally had to show their competence in opposition to official state positions. While they may have wished to emulate earlier regent empresses, they were not given the chance: the women who, proud of their class and family, played a public and influential part in the running of the empire belonged to an earlier age."

Byzantine Empresses: Women and Power in Byzantium AD 527-1204, Lynda Garland

[blackdollette]

"got your bible, got your gun." || part four.

꒰ ៹ . " 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄. "

art deco. - lana del rey

୨୧˖-ׁ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: hatred was strong, but determination was stronger...

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: new ! bau ! female ! reader x jealous ! spencer

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.0k

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: a little angst, blood, potential for fluff

ㅤㅤㅤ꒰ ៹ . 🍒 previous chapters: 𝐈 , 𝐈𝐈 , 𝐈𝐈𝐈

it must’ve been a sick joke that the universe was playing on you. or perhaps the team just enjoyed watching spencer and you quarrel like the victims of a doomed marriage.

and that just so happened to be the crime at hand.

right in front of you laid a husband and wife, battered and bloodied until they met a gruesome death right on their cozy white living room carpet. and beside them were the scattered remains of their daughter, who couldn’t have been any older than 5 years old.

you tried to maintain your stoic impression, but the nearly imperceptible cracks in your expression made way for a pained grimace.

spencer glances over and sees your appearance as you look at the young victim, her youth and innocence contrasted against the brutality of her death.

he notices the look of unease and despair on your face. despite trying to keep his distance from you earlier, he can't help but empathize with your reaction.

"first time seeing a scene like this?" he asks quietly, his tone holding a hint of softness that he quickly tries to conceal.

“in person, yeah. what kind of sick person would do this..?” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

spencer can sense your voice's genuine concern and compassion, and it takes him aback for a moment. he had pegged you as the unbothered type. seeing this soft, human side of you causes a strange tug at the back of his mind.

"someone with no remorse, no understanding of empathy," he replies, his voice quiet and filled with a wave of underlying anger. "that's the kind of sick person who would do something like this."

despite the gut-wrenching scene in front of him, spencer couldn’t seem to draw his peripheral gaze away from you. the conceited, shallow girl he viewed you as has made way for one who was capable of sympathy. it appeared that you had layers and to his surprise, he wished to pull back each one to see what was held within.

he cleared his throat, putting an end to the awkward silence that he had caused.

“i created a profile that has been sent out to the others. the press conference will be held this evening.” he didn’t know why he was telling you, but he cursed himself as soon as he caught your biting glare in response.

“the profile? the one that we were both supposed to put together?” you scowled, crossing your arms over your chest in a motion that left him temporarily speechless at the mildly enticing sight.

then he bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a bitter response. he had to admit, it wasn’t easy acting like your dispute on the plane never happened, but it was like you had completely gotten over it.

at least that’s what he initially thought. 

“is there a problem, agent?” he didn’t like the way it felt to address you with such formality, like you were undeserving of the title. “last time i checked, there’s a serial killer on the loose and the last thing this team needs is a college undergraduate thinking that she can run things around here.”

he crossed his arms over his stomach, mirroring your action.

you narrowed your eyes, scoffing as you started to leave the room. the presence of the dead bodies and the overwhelming aroma of blood was really starting to get to you. “oh really? because i’d pick that any day over a self-glorifying asshole.”

his jaw hung slightly open at that description. between your words and the gorey sight in front of him, he was beginning to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“i’m the asshole? you’ve done nothing but bitch around since we got here!”

you had already moved into the kitchen, taking in the sight of cluttered knives and cutlery all over the place, some covered in blood and some broken. a shiver ran down your spine as your eyes landed on a shattered family photo, being the only thing remaining on the dining table. some sights were hard to see, but this was completely heartbreaking.

you hadn’t even noticed spencer leaning against the doorframe, the anger in his expression wavering.

“is… that more evidence from the scene?” he cleared his throat, cautiously approaching you like you were an unstable animal. unbeknownst to you, your hands had started shaking as you gingerly picked up the framed picture.

“...possibly…” you swallowed hard, carefully placing it into the plastic bag that spencer extended to you.

you inhaled deeply, slowly walking over to the counter to lean against it. the blood, the dead family, the dark symbolism, it was all so much to take in on your very first case. you closed your eyes, slowly massaging your temples in an attempt to still the headache that was summoning.

even spencer, who had gone out of his way to keep you at arms length, felt a pang of pity for you. it was too early for your pure soul to be tainted by the darkness that the world concealed.

his shaky voice broke the silence. “you’re too young. a girl like you shouldn’t be allowed to attain this job. it isn’t fair to you.”

you sighed, bringing your head up. “i’m 22, spencer, don’t act like you’re all high and mighty. especially not now.”

spencer swallowed thickly. there wasn’t much of an age gap between you at all. but in terms of maturity and experience, you two were miles apart. maybe that was why you just couldn’t get along.

while his disdain toward hadn’t faltered in the slightest, the bigger picture slowly became clear to him. he cleared his throat. “i… i know i’m not responsible for you, but believe it or not, i was once in your position. the crime scenes, the killers, it’s all pretty scary. but the team always helped me out, and… i guess it’s my turn to be on the giving side of that interaction.”

you kept your head down, but felt the knot in your stomach loosen ever so slightly. your lack of response was all he wanted to hear.

“the first problem is the way you hold your gun.” he started, pointing to the gun pointing outward from the waistband of your skirt. “you’re basically begging for it to be taken off of you.”

you nodded, quickly adjusting the weapon, using him as an example.

while the tension was still thick between you two, at least you were one step closer to catching a killer.

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[i-heart-hxh]

Is there really a married couple dynamic between Killua and Gon? If so, any examples of similarities to other couples in the anime?

The director of the 2011 anime thinks so!

I agree with what he said, although of course there's a limited degree to which this comparison applies because we are talking about two young boys (who aren't even in an actual romantic relationship yet), after all. :p The ways they resemble a married couple in my opinion include, but are certainly not limited to:

Extreme trust between and reliance on one another

Being synchronized in their actions and thoughts in many cases (as if they've been together a long time)

They have a good understanding of each other and insight into how the other thinks

They bicker over silly things, but quickly go back to getting along after disputes

They essentially lived together in the around two years they were together. They were with each other almost constantly during that time, and there's a degree of domesticity and closeness/comfort to their relationship as a result

They talk to each other almost non-stop, to a point where we see them chattering away in the background frequently

They work together towards common goals by default and generally only compete for fun

To quote Hiroshi Koujina (from the post linked above), "Gon is the free-spirited husband, and Killua is the wife who silently supports him" <- I think this is a good summary of their dynamic within this context, LOL

It's hard to compare them to many couples in the series because honestly, HxH doesn't have many actual romantic couples to begin with. Togashi tends to kill one half or more of the romantic couples he sets up, often before they get to have a good life together. Think Squala and Eliza, Pokkle and Ponzu...

However, Meruem and Komugi are parallels to Gon and Killua, and that's essentially undeniable with how many layers of parallel/similarity exist between the two pairs. That's a topic for a whole other post (I could go on and on, and it's hard to summarize), but the way Meruem and Komugi's relationship develops is also telling of Gon and Killua's dynamic because the two are intended to exist in comparison with each other and reflect each other.

One of Komugi's final lines to Meruem was essentially an old-fashioned way to accept a marriage proposal ("I may not be much, but please, let me accompany you"), and Meruem and Komugi complete a lovers suicide (like Killua was considering doing with Gon). Obviously these character pairs are separate, and it's not as though I think Gon and Killua will suffer the same fate, but I do think it's very meaningful (especially in conjunction with the loads of other subtext present in the series) that Togashi chose another pair with obvious romantic subtext to mirror Gon and Killua, and that that relationship ended with "marriage" in an abstract sense.

Even Komugi's phrase I mentioned above has similarities with Gon and Killua, with Killua's, "Gon. You are light. Sometimes you shine so brightly, I must look away. But even so, is it still okay if I stay at your side?" It's essentially saying the same thing as Komugi's phrase.

I'd argue there's also some degree of parallels with Ging and Kite, Knuckle and Shoot, Kacho and Fugetsu, Kurapika and Pairo, and most likely others, though of course those aren't romantic in nature. I do think the fact that there are so many points of comparison is interesting, though, it reinforces the themes of the series that Gon and Killua exemplify.

Also, just a silly little sidenote, but Nagareboshi Kirari from the 2011 anime does have wedding bells in it. Take that as you will!

I hope that's helpful!

[jacevelaryonswife]

As a good wife should

It all started with an innocent hand just above the knee.

∴pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

∴warnings and a note: male receiving, also, english is not my first language

jacaerys velaryon masterlist

It all started with an innocent hand just above the knee. It was your first time being together with your husband's family in full, you were nervous but not as nervous as he was. The Targaryen drama was very dull and unfortunately your husband was involved in the dispute between the queen and princess's retinues, after all he was the next in line of succession after his mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen, and for someone as dedicated and obstinate as Jace, every minute should be well spent. And for him, by his nature, the duty to prove himself a worthy heir to the crown was even more challenging. Because of these factors, it was to be expected that returning to King's Landing would have left him on edge, even though he had fond memories of the place.

However, it was not like you to leave your good husband in such conditions.

Soon, the once comforting touch that reassured him became bold as your hand gradually moved up his leg, making him tense and a little red in the cheeks.

"Why are you nervous? There's no reason for that,” you asked quietly, keeping your touch discreet. "Just stay calm." Your breathy voice coupled with the grip very close to his intimate area made him breathe harder.

You knew exactly what and with whom you were doing it. Jace was a polite and perfectly well-mannered man, overly polite at times, which always led him to behave properly. But you were you after all, and he could scold you all he wanted, in the end, he loved your average recklessness in contrast to his rigidity.

“Not here, my love,” he chided, as low as your tone.

Again, you are you, so, discreetly lowering your hand, you quietly whispered:

"It's curious the way Prince Aemond looks obsessively at you, it's as if he wants to be in my place."

“Or stick a sword in me,” he replied sourly.

“Looks like we came to an agreement.”

He rolled his eyes, refusing to laugh at the double feeling raised by you. He always loved your cheeky sense of humor.

“Or maybe he's just jealous that no lady will ever touch him the way I touch you, the way I kiss you, the way I love you.” Your hand stopped mid-thigh and squeezed sensually.

And then he noticed the look you were directing him. That look. He knew perfectly well what it meant.

“We mustn't discuss such matters at the table, my pretty wife,” he teased, a smile daring to appear as he relaxed again — although your hand was still in an unsuitable region for the moment.

“Don't worry, we have plenty of time after dinner.”

You loved your husband's sweetness and politeness, especially in private. While ever firm, Jace had no problem giving up his seat for you to take over, which was genuinely great. Then, walking down the hall with your hand on his arm, you placed a sweet kiss on his temple and played with the soft dark strands, smiling passionately. A genuinely caring act, but once you entered your chambers the dynamic changed considerably. You grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulling him into a demanding, sensual kiss that was returned immediately, one heavy hand holding your waist and the other encircling your back. He was tense, frustrated, as if he carried the weight of a thousand swords on his shoulders and the only way to lighten that burden was to be in your arms, and particularly, you were more than happy to help. So when Jace pulled away from your lips to kiss your soft neck, you let out a long sigh, stopping yourself from enjoying yourself too much by saying:

“Today is about you, my love, not about me.”

“What do you mean?" He asked confused, eyes confused and lips red and swollen.

A sly smile was his response as you guided him until the back of his back legs hit the bed. What you did next utterly shocked him, eyes almost wide as he saw his wife on her knees with her hands resting on both thighs.

“That's what I mean,” your hand massaged his groin and made him groan, opening his pants to expose your husband's manhood.

“My love, are you sure?” He sighed heavily.

You had never done this before, but you asked one of your maids who had a considerable background on the silk street for directions. The thought of pleasing Jacaerys like that was too delicious not to try, so you looked at him with mock innocence as you said:

“Absolute. Let me satisfy you, husband, as a good wife should.”

And so, you took the warm member in your hand and began to move it up and down, seeing and feeling it stiffen as your touch continued. It was experimental, but the positive sounds from him were encouraging for what came next. When the length of him was erect and proud, you licked your lips and leaned in to take the bulbous, swollen part in your mouth, making him moan loudly and cup the sides of your head involuntarily. All of his noises, from the loudest to the most guttural, made your flower tingle with heat. When you sucked and ran your tongue over the tiny opening he was sure he went to the seven heavens and back, letting an even louder sound escape.

A rare curse was said by him, closing his eyes to lose himself in the wonder you provided him. Your mouth grew bolder and you reached for more of him with every rise and fall, removing the hand that was masturbating him and gripping his thighs for support. It looked profane, a real sin that should horrify him, but how could it be wrong if it felt so good? So hot and wet, like your delicate womanhood. The sight alone brought him closer to the edge, with all the praise of her mouth warming and enveloping him and the look in her eyes shamelessly confronting him.

You sucked and licked him calmly, still reluctant to hurt him with your teeth, keeping a steady pace to satisfy and relax your beautiful Jacaerys.

He held and massaged your hair, making every effort to stay upright as you made him feel so good, so fucking good. But whatever composure he held was broken when your hand groped and teased with his jewelry, bringing him to the climax so unexpectedly fast that his breath hitched and he almost fell forward, letting out the hottest moan he'd ever had before. The whole situation was exciting enough, but watching you take his seed on your tongue was surreal and left him in pure bliss, all tension and previous resentment pushed aside to emerge in the hot pleasure you had provided.

Smiling at your good work, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rose to face him, "do you like it, husband?"

"Where did you learn this?" Was all he said before grabbing your waist and flipping you over on the bed, laying on top of you, still panting and sweaty through your clothes.

"With a friend."

May the seven bless her, he thought.

“I guess now it's my turn to give back to my beautiful wife.”

jacelist: @howyouloveyourdragon @damatheirin @valeskafics (kyle’s pride!)

[nanshe-of-nina]

Women’s History Meme || Empresses (2/5) ↬ Catherine de Valois-Courtenay (before 15 April 1303 – October 1346)

The official Neapolitan investigation into Andrew of Hungary’s murder targeted Johanna’s closest supporters and left her isolated and vulnerable. Her aunt, Catherine of Valois, took advantage of that vulnerability to become the queen’s confidant in order to make certain that one of her sons would be Naples’s next king. At first, it appeared that this son would be Robert, the eldest of the Tarantini, who for a time seemed to be winning the competition between the Angevin princes for power and whom Johanna requested a papal dispensation to marry. Soon, however, Louis gained the upper hand, and Johanna’s requests for dispensations began to identify him as her intended. — From She-Wolf to Martyr: The Reign and Disputed Reputation of Johanna I of Naples by Elizabeth Casteen Of the many relatives who chose to avail themselves of the glittering social whirl of the capital, one stood out: Joanna’s aunt, Catherine of Valois, widow of Robert the Wise’s younger brother Philip, prince of Taranto. Catherine was Joanna’s mother’s older half-sister (both were fathered by Charles of Valois). Catherine had married Philip in 1313, when Philip was thirty-five and she just ten. Catherine was Philip’s second wife. He had divorced his first on a trumped-up charge of adultery after fifteen years of marriage and six children in order to wed Catherine, who had something he wanted. She was the sole heir to the title of empress of Constantinople. … Catherine was twenty-eight years old, recently widowed, and a force to be reckoned with when the newly orphaned Joanna and her sister, Maria, first knew her at the Castel Nuovo in 1331. Shrewd, highly intelligent, and vital, Catherine was supremely conscious of her exalted ancestry and wore her title of empress of Constantinople as though it were a rare gem of mythic origin. Even the death of her husband, Philip, in 1331 had not dissuaded her from persisting in her efforts to reclaim the Latin Empire for herself and her three young sons: Robert, Louis, and Philip. A series of shockingly inept leaders had left the Byzantine Empire vulnerable to attack from the west, and this state of affairs was well known in Italy. Moreover, Catherine was used to getting her way. — The Lady Queen: The Notorious Reign of Joanna I, Queen of Naples, Jerusalem, and Sicily by Nancy Goldstone

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 14)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut

Words: 4,566

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

Previous Parts: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8; 9; 10; 11; 12; 13

Six weeks later...

Six weeks had passed since you moved to Los Alamos, and, at least for now, life was good.

Kitty Oppenheimer had not contacted her husband, Robert, lately as, unfortunately for her, her mother had fallen ill, which prevented her from visiting Los Alamos, which you and Robert were not particularly upset about.

You spent almost every day at the laboratory, working on and researching a plutonium implosion device that was not, at least officially, approved by Robert yet as he tried hard to juggle some conflicts amongst the scientists.

There was some dispute between them, and most believed that an implosion device was too difficult to establish, so Robert asked you to research whether a reaction like the one proposed by two scientists was even just a remote possibility.

Of course, you quickly learned that it was. There was a slight chance that an implosion could work, but you could not achieve anything further without vast research funding, which he now tried to obtain.

As such, Robert knew about your work and handed the theoretical papers to you on a silver platter after you came up with a scope on how a reaction may be achieved before telling you to treat your research cautiously as it involved the handling of plutonium.

Robert was very protective of you, which some of the others in the experimental department soon became aware of, joking that, perhaps, his great mind had fallen under your spell.

As such, you had quite a few admirers on site, and, ironically, this included another scientist named Klaus Fuchs, who moved to the States from the UK as part of a team.

Klaus Fuchs, to you, appeared like a strange guy. He was somewhat odd and introverted, and if it weren’t for Lilli, who reminded you that physicists are strange creatures, you would have become suspicious of him.

Suspicion, however, was also something that you were subjected to regularly as, since your arrival, you were interrogated by Officer Nichols weekly. Officer Nichols was interested in your liaisons on site, and, for some reason, he was also interested in your relationship with Dr. Oppenheimer, which, by now, had gained some attention even from your acquaintance, Lilli.

Lilli had noticed that you were barely at T-101 and would, most nights, not come back to your room at all. She assumed that you were seeing someone and, having taken a liking to you, she told you to be cautious.

“Don’t liaise with army officials and don’t liaise with any of the married scientists,” she cautioned you, and you promised her that you would not. This promise, though, was a lie, and this lie was not something you were proud of.

You wanted this lie to end now that you had what you thought you never wanted. You had found love, and this was something you did not expect.

Spending time with Robert every night made you feel good, and it was not just the sex you were interested in anymore as, most nights, you would listen to music, read poetry, or sit in silence for a while.

His house was comfortable, and you could come and go at your leisure, and although you still had to hide your relationship from others, it felt natural when you spent time with him at his cottage. He was right when he said that, on occasion, it would be just him and you, and it was those moments you spent together, in his bed, in his bathtub, or even just on his lounge, that made you feel special.

Every night you spent with him, he called you ‘my love’ and told you how much you meant to him as he finally considered divorcing his wife Kitty once all this was over. Until then, he wanted you to promise that you would stay with him and support him through this, and, of course, this was a promise you were willing to make.

You were prepared to walk through fire for Robert, and he was very much prepared to do the same for you. He said that, in you, he had found his soulmate and equal, and even though you could see that, just after a few months of working on the project, he was incredibly stressed; he was also very committed, not only to you but also to end the war.

***

The war was a topic that came up amongst you and others regularly. It was a topic of great concern, and since everyone knew what the team was working on, talking about the end was not considered an issue.

“After the war, what will you do?” you asked Robert on another stormy evening in Los Alamos while snatching the cigarette from his mouth and resting your feet atop his lap. As usual, you were sitting on the lounge with him, completely naked, while listening to the force of the rain against the windows and sipping on martinis.

“After the war, I will take you to France,” Robert told you, caressing your feet, causing you to squirm.

“To France?” you asked, chuckling slightly, and he knew you were ticklish. “Why France?” you wanted to know just as Robert’s lips met the naked flesh above your breasts.

“Well, France used to be a nice place which is more than suitable for me to propose to you, yes?” Robert told you, which caused you to chuckle.

“Propose?” you asked, surprised, before caressing Robert’s hair as he gently kissed your breasts.

“Yes. I want to marry you” Robert murmured against your naked flesh, and you pulled him up on his hair, making him look you in the eyes.

“To marry me, you must first divorce your wife, so until then, I will not accept your proposal anyhow,” you pointed out sternly, causing Robert’s deep blue eyes to widen.

“As I have told you, I will divorce Kitty when this is over,” he told you, and you wanted to ensure that he would keep that promise.

“You promise?” you thus said as, slowly, his lips moved upward toward your neck and then your ear.

“I promise, my love,” Robert whispered into your ear before outlaying the rest of his plans, which included for you to finish your research on dark matter and obtaining your Ph.D. while Robert was working at another institution, teaching what he loved the most, namely quantum mechanics.  

“This sounds too good to be true, Robert,” you told him before pulling him on top of you as he continued to kiss and bite your neck gently.

“We will make it true. Just you and me,” he said before descending downward toward your stomach again for the second time that night.

***

“Robert, you just came inside me. You can’t possibly go down on me again” you moaned as Robert’s lips descended even further until they reached the area above your mound.

“Yes, I can,” Robert interrupted you before he lowered himself between your legs and put his mouth on you, and you thought you might die from the wrongness of it.

“Oh, Sweet Jesus, that’s so deliciously inappropriate,” you moaned wildly when you saw Robert’s head moving between your legs, and the sheer perversity of it just flat-out did it for you.

“Nothing about our relationship has been appropriate thus far, my love. Now spread your legs wider,” Robert ordered as your body began to quiver with need, your thighs longing to wrap around his head and pull him further into you.

To Robert, you tasted like peaches, and his cock pressed against the sofa, hardening again as he buried himself in your sweetness.

As he worked your body with his mouth, tongue laving between your wet folds, he thought he could be happy just staying here and doing nothing but taste, drink, and suck on your flesh.

But in the end, he needed and wanted more and knew he would not have long to wait. Your whimpers were music to Robert’s ears, and he knew that, soon, you would cum again. Just like that. And you did, within mere minutes. 

The sweetness of your combined juices flooded his mouth as you came hard, within as little as five minutes after he had started his ministrations. Your body was shaking and quivering as you submitted to your lover helplessly while finding pleasure in this somewhat taboo act.

“Oh god, please,” you moaned as Robert slid his tongue inside you and felt your body quiver again.

“Yes, my love,” he teased after he pulled it out again and then sucked hard on your clit, spiralling your pleasure into multiple waves of ecstasy.

Your eyes were filled with tears, and the orgasms Robert was giving you were always so intense that you barely managed to cope. It felt like a cascading waterfall of pleasure that dashed you against the rocks repeatedly... your body felt utterly wrung out. You were exhausted and, as he pulled himself up, lips glossy with the nectar from your body, you knew that your night was not over yet. Staring down at you, his eyes dark with a hunger that had increased with every minute, you felt excited again and demanded more.

“Fuck Robert, I need you inside. Please,’ you begged as Robert kneeled between your legs without losing time.

“Someone needs to teach you some patience, my love,” he determined as you felt something pushing into you again. It was one of Robert’s fingers, and your body quivered in response. You were so sensitive, your nerves so stimulated, from all the rapture he had heaped upon you, that just that one touch was enough to give you an aftershock of that pleasure. Another finger slid inside you, and the two began pumping in and out as you squirmed and adjusted to this second invader.

“Jesus Robert. Please,” you moaned. Eventually, Robert began pushing a third digit into your body, and you whimpered with need.

“God, you are incredibly sexy like this, sweating and moaning,” Robert told you as you closed your eyes against his hot gaze, focusing entirely on the things he was making you feel, on the sensation of his hand inside you.

Then they were gone, and there was movement on the lounge. You opened your eyes just in time to see him watching your face as something thick, velvety, and hard pushed against your core. Finally.

‘Fuck, yes,” you thus moaned as you tried to look down your body, but then your head fell back as Robert's hips moved, your insides splitting open again to accommodate his cock with one swift thrust.

You cried out. The sensation was intoxicating. It was an exotic pressure that began working its way into your body... then out... then in... you gasped and struggled, not to stop him exactly... but because you couldn't help yourself. Your body wanted to pull him closer, to touch him, run your hands through his hair. You did not know where to feel him first as his meaty thrusting continued, his eyes on your face, reading every expression, every nuance in the wrinkle on your brow, the flutter of an eyelash.

‘You feel incredible,’ Robert groaned as he couldn't believe how exquisitely tight you still were. How wonderfully wet. Beautiful, even with tears on your lashes from your previous orgasms and your lips parted wide with arousal.

Inch after inch, he sank deeper inside you, claiming this territory for his own, spreading it around him. With every movement, you gripped and squeezed his length as your body was naturally massaging his cock, without any effort.

Robert could feel the slight movements in your hips and, as he slid home and fell on top of you, buried his face into your neck and enjoyed the incredible sensation of being balls deep inside you. You made small sounds in your throat, and he kissed your neck. Underneath him, your body rolled a little, and he moaned against your shoulder as your insides clamped down on him, squeezing him tight and fast.

‘I love you so incredibly much,” he moaned, and his hips started to move immediately. He tried to be gentle and move slowly, as much as he could force himself to. You just felt so damn good.

“I love you too, Robert. Fuck” you moaned as Robert's parts were fused with yours, and, as always, it felt incredible.

You felt stretched, full, and that hunger was back. How it was possible you could want another orgasm, that there could be anything left in you to come again, was incomprehensible to you, but it was true, and he managed to get this sensation out of you every time. Your entire body shuddered as Robert began moving, his cock pushing in and out of you like his fingers had, but going so much deeper, spreading you so much wider.

As Robert pushed himself onto his hands, looking down at you, the angle of his entry changed, and you cried out more loudly. He was hitting that excellent sweet spot again that made you tighten up and stoked the fire that had already been rekindling.

Lowering his head, Robert took your nipple into his mouth, sucking it deep into his mouth, and you felt it like an electrical line straight to your pussy where he was hitting deep inside of you. His thrusts were becoming more brutal, faster, and you whimpered as your body was fuelled by pain and pleasure.

Robert could feel that he was going too fast for you, but it was so hard to slow down. Gripping his emotions and body tightly, he forced himself to ease down on the pace, slowing the thrusts... but he made up for it by grinding himself against your spread wetness every time your bodies came together. Your body relaxed and then tensed. His cock bounced up and down inside of you, massaging the walls of your pussy, shoving itself as deeply into you as he could. And, as you had whenever sleeping with him, you responded, a convulsion suctioning down on his cock, sucking him deep inside you. God... your already taut sheathe tightened even more, and he groaned as your body pulled at him. He rubbed against you, watching you whip your head back and forth in ecstasy. The eroticism of the moment was raw on his nerves. Pushing harder, grinding faster, he prided himself on the wail from your mouth as you came all over his cock.

And then he was lost in sensation as your spasming pussy nearly undid him. Releasing a growl from his throat, he let himself go, finally and inescapably.

You sobbed your rapture, the overwhelming crash of your orgasm shattering your body and taking you to new highs as Robert began a bruising pace, shoving himself in and out of your body as you writhed in ecstasy beneath him. You were completely open to him, and the sensation became almost painful in its sheer power as he bore down on you. And yet, it felt incredible, and you screamed, sobbed, and writhed, your body a mass of explosive bliss that seemed never-ending. When he suddenly stopped thrusting and held himself inside you, something deep within your core pulsed, and your back arched, your insides squeezing and milking him as your pleasure culminated, and you passed out for a moment.

When you opened your eyes, the hardness between your legs was softening, and you could feel his cock changing inside you. Robert was kissing your neck, your forehead, and then your lips.

You still whimpered, sucking deep breaths of cool air, your lungs heaving beneath him. He was such an incredible weight on top of you, encompassing you. Robert gave you a few moments to breathe, and then he leaned in and caught your swollen lips again with his, pressing his tongue into you. This time the kissing was different. Softer, more intimate. Less demanding. You kissed him back, pushing back against him, and he shuddered on top of you, his hips thrusting forward again, and you cried out into his mouth with pleasure as a shiver of that delightful culmination shivered through your again. Your body squeezed, and you felt him leave you.

“God, I can’t believe that there is more inside of you,” you joked after taking a deep breath and feeling his cum leak from your rather sore core.

“You have no idea, my love. I can keep going if you like,” Robert teased, and seeing that you had sex every day since the day you arrived at Los Alamos, you politely declined the offer.

“This body of mine needs a break, Dr. Oppenheimer. Despite that, we should probably get some rest, wouldn’t you agree?” you asked while Robert kissed your neck again, unable to stop teasing you.

“Bed then?” he murmured against your skin gently.

“Yes. Bed, Robert,” you told him while trying to push him off you playfully before sitting up straight suddenly as a bound of nausea overcame your senses.

“Again?” Robert asked, seeing that, during the past week, you were not feeling right. You had been nauseous on occasion and you also had been tired.

“No, I am good. I think,” you told him with the nausea passing quickly as you gulped down some water and the rest of your martini.

“Perhaps rest is what you need after all. Come,” Robert told you before gently pulling you up from the sofa and walking towards the bedroom.

***

Robert laid down next to you in bed, stroking your sweat-dampened hair back from your face. You looked up at him with eyes half-lidded, sleep threatening to take you.

“You are tired a lot lately. Are you all right?” Robert asked, seeing that, in the past two weeks, in addition to nausea, you had needed some extra sleep and even declined two dinner party invitations which, at least for Lilli, was absurd as she was hanging for an invitation herself.

“I am fine, Robert. Don’t worry,” you reassured him while allowing him to caress your body; being one of the most divine feelings in the world.

“I would like you to get seen by our medical staff. You work with plutonium, and I am worried about you,” Robert told you while embracing you in his arms.

“Stop, Robert. I am fine. It is probably just the heat, making me a little tired and nauseous,” you told him reassuringly, cupping his face, before explaining that you adhere to all the safety precautions when handling plutonium.

“If your tiredness and nausea persist for another week though, I will insist on an appointment with Doctor Jeffreys,” Robert lectured you nonetheless, and you nodded.

“Yes, boss,” you teased him before, eventually, giving in to his embrace and closing your eyes.

[rosie-zia]

Luca Kaneshiro x Reader

A/n: After being on hiatus for eight months, I decided to go back and write stories again. This fanfic is an inspiration from Luca Kaneshiro's cover of "Honeymoon Un, Deux, Trois." This is a very long one so I hope you enjoy! :^) Word count: 2.3k+

Luca Kaneshiro was famously known as the evil mafia boss around the city and in the streets. Most people fear Luca because of the stories they have heard about his crime syndicate, but only a few knew he was like every other married man with a wife behind the closed doors of his manor. His beloved spouse was none other than you, Y/n Kaneshiro.

Luca didn’t see himself getting married so soon; however, it all changed when his father laid eyes upon you. You were known as the daughter of an elite mafia boss hailing from another country. Naturally, Luca’s father thought it was a good opportunity to create a strong alliance between two powerful organizations. Thus, a pact was formed and an arranged marriage took place. Despite you and Luca being against this whole ordeal, you two had no other choice but to go through it, and the rest was history.  In the beginning of your marriage, it was awkward as you two tried to adjust in spite of the pressure since you and Luca perceived marriage only as business and not as love. If needed, both of you would do your best to present yourselves as husband and wife in front of other mafias at every gathering and every meeting. When you and Luca fully adapted in the ways of matrimonial life, you two ended up catching feelings but were just too scared to tell the other. 

Luca saw you as nothing but a simple woman who has been involved with the dark side of the law, but his eyes were slowly opened and realized there was more to you. He highly thinks of you as a sweet lovely lady with kindness and beauty unlike any other. Your simplicity and grace immediately caught his attention that made him fall for you so hard that he feels he lost his breath every time he sees your bright smile. The blonde man doesn’t know how to express his love, so he only does it in which way he knows best: giving you materialistic things.  Ever since you married Luca, he often showered you with luxurious gifts that filled your entire room. From small trinkets, expensive clothing, and everything in between. As the recipient of his gifts, you were slightly overwhelmed how your husband provides you such an extravagant lifestyle. It felt like a one-sided marriage for you, so you did your best to be an obedient wife that takes care of the house and his needs while also involving yourself in the mafia business. Even though your marriage with Luca was mostly a smooth sailing, there had been some disputes that happened between you two. Lately, you have gotten yourselves in a heated argument with Luca, and it has been bugging you ever since.

_______________________________________

*Flashback*  “Luca, please let me know if you are in a bad condition from your missions. Don't try and hide it from me.” You and Luca are in the bathroom as you tried to tend his wounds carefully with bandages and ointments. He just returned home from another mission and unfortunately got hurt. The blonde man tried to ignore the pain and hide it from you but failed to do so as you caught him red-handed from the moment he stepped into the house.  “You don’t have to worry about me, Y/n. I’ll be fine.”  “But you are hurt right now, Luca. I worry about you sometimes… you should not let yourself get hurt like this.”  Every night, you mostly worry about him whenever he takes dangerous missions in the Kaneshiro mafia to the point you would always pray he will come back safe and sound. Although you sounded genuinely concerned about him, something about it irritated Luca into thinking you didn’t trust him enough to do his work “I said I’ll be fine, Y/n. Geez, you’re making me sound like I’m just a kid. You have no idea on what it is like to be in my position. Just mind your business will you?”  This led you two to argue for thirty minutes straight until he had enough and walked out. He may have looked irritated but deep inside, he felt like he hurt you. He ended up realizing that you were just looking out for him, but it was too late to take everything back. In that moment, he knew he had to make things right before it was too late.

________________________________________

After thinking about the events that happened that night, you were immediately snapped back to reality as one of Luca's men laid a ball gown with other fancy accessories that complimented the dress. "Greetings, Mrs. Kaneshiro. I was given an order from the boss to deliver his present to you. He wants to be present for the ball this evening. It will start in a few hours, and Mr. Kaneshiro will be escorting you to the party."

His bodyguard bowed down in respect and walked out the room to leave you alone to prepare for the ballroom party that will be hosted by Luca himself. You have no idea what is the special occasion celebrated in this event, but you assumed it was just a simple gathering to get more influential connections in the mafia.

You don't feel like going to that party, but Luca's small lion cub, Augustus, helps you raise up your spirits as he lets out small growls.

"You're so lucky that you don't have to attend a party with so many people. I wish I could just stay with you in bed."

You gently pet Augustus in which he gives out one of his toothy smiles. You knew very well that not showing up at the party is clearly not an option. Not wasting anymore time, you started your makeup routine to look good for the party. You're just hoping for the best that you will survive at the end of the day.

_______________________________________

You and Luca arrived at the ballroom before the event started as you two waited for the guests to arrive and made sure everything was in order. As always, you two will put up a face as a married couple in front of all the mafias who will be attending this gathering. One by one, you both greeted all of the guests with a smile on your faces while linking arms with each other. It may look like you and Luca are the perfect married couple and yet you both still did not resolve the argument that happened yesterday. You sighed to yourself and let Luca properly welcome the guests in his honor. When all of the guests had arrived, Luca clinked his glass to get everyone's attention. "Good evening, dear friends and loved ones, and thank you for attending tonight's ball here in my manor. I just want to celebrate a very special occasion that is very important to me. I do hope you all enjoy this night. May the party commence!"

As Luca finished his speech, all of the mafias and other guests talked away and enjoyed the party in their own ways. The gathering felt lively under the bright lights of the chandeliers in the ballroom. With the lively aura in the party, you're still confused on the special event Luca failed to specifically mention. You stayed beside Luca as he conversed with other mafia bosses until you felt like you're out of place. You excused yourself from Luca, and went somewhere else to get a breather and away from the crowd. The party was still going, and Luca can't help but steal glances once in a while to see how you are doing. He sees you by the balcony being alone by yourself with a glass of champagne in your hand. Luca knew how you can't deal with handling big crowds like this, but something about you was different from the way you look. He may be oblivious to most things but his thoughts went back to yesterday's fight, and he takes the blame for not considering your feelings.

________________________________________

After hours of dancing and drinking among the guests, the guests waved goodbye to you two and went to their respective homes. Finally, all of the guests have left, and you went back inside to close the lights in the ballroom and call it a night. The grand mechanized clock chimes to let you know it was quarter to midnight, giving you the signal to close the ballroom doors. Before you even got the chance to do so, you heard the orchestra on your left begin to play their instruments, producing an enchanting-like melody. You were about to stop them but you caught something from the corner of your eyes. Lo and behold, it was your husband by the grand staircase in all of his glory.

The heels of his shoes clicked as he made his way towards you. Something about him right now feels different than he usually carries himself. His lavender eyes seem more gentle, his outfit exactly matches the gold accents of your dress, and his overall appearance was much more dazzling compared to what he looked like during the party earlier.

Luca bowed slightly and brought the back of your hand against his lips to give it a small kiss which made you a bit flustered by the gesture. He uttered a few words that made you caught in a trance from how his voice dripped like honey.

"My dearest and beloved wife, shall we dance?"

---------------------------------------- Now playing: Honeymoon Un, Deux, Trois - Luca Kaneshiro Cover ----------------------------------------

Before you can properly process his words, Luca gently grabs you by the waist and sways you along with the music, taking the lead between you two. You let his fingers entwine with yours, and his hand fitted perfectly, letting your bodies become one. Under the dim lights in the ballroom, his features radiated perfectly, capturing the essence of the mafia boss before you. He also starts to sing along with the instrumental playing in the background in a foreign language you've never heard him speak before.

You may not understand most of the words he's singing, but you felt addicted to his voice like he was casting you under a deep spell you cannot ever break free from. It felt like a fairytale as he pulls you in twists and turns, also letting you have your way in the waltz of love. Every step you both took, you both were in sync with the song he's singing.

Never in your dreams he would act genuinely romantic towards you. This was the side of Luca you thought you would never witness, and here you are dancing with your husband in this empty ballroom. The moonlight illuminates the golden hues of the marble tiles beneath you two which makes it the perfect night for lovers exactly like you and Luca.

As he finishes up his song, he romantically dips you, and then pulls you back up. You wished it lasted longer, but you redirected your attention to Luca once more when you felt his fingers caress your hair to the side of your face.

"Y/n, I just want to apologize for last night. I'm sorry for being a jerk and not considering your feelings. I should have let you know that I took dangerous missions like these in the mafia. Could you forgive me?"

He says as he looks at you directly with tears in his eyes that are threatening to spill in a moment. With a sigh, you managed to forgive him.

"Alright, I forgive you, Luca. If you're hurt, please let me tend to your wounds after your mission, is that clear?

"Yes, I promise, Y/n..."

You both laugh while basking in each other's presence. It didn't take long before your laughter became silence... and silence became awkwardness. You knew you had to do something, so after debating with yourself, you decided to break the silence between you two.

"T-thank you for the lovely dance this evening. I still don't get why you hosted a party without any special occasion."

Up until now, you still don't know what the celebration was all about, to which Luca only replied with a smile on his face.

"It's our first wedding anniversary, Y/n. I thought I could celebrate it with you."

Hearing Luca's response made you so embarrassed and flushed that you forgot it has been one year ever since you married Luca. Now it was your turn to apologize to him.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Luca. I didn't know it was today. I have completely forgot about it, I-"

Your husband just chuckled and placed a finger on your lips, shushing you and stopping you from rambling such nonsense.

"It's alright. I know you don't see our marriage in a romantic sense but I wanted to tell you that I love you. I'm glad that I have you as my lovely wife."

He then proceeds to cup your face with his hand and pulls you by the waist with his other arm as he plants a chaste kiss on your lips. When you two pulled away, you ended up confessing how much you love him as well.

"I love you too, Luca. I'm also glad that I married you. You will always have my heart."

At that moment, you felt your hearts have become one. From this day forward, the marriage you have with Luca has gotten stronger from just business to pure and unadulterated love. Feeling so many positive emotions all at once, you just held him close to you just savoring this moment.

"Shall we dance the night away one more time, my lady?"

"Yes, Luca, we shall."

The grand clock chimed once more, telling you both it has struck midnight, but you just stayed there with the prince of your dreams without a care in the world and living the fairytale you truly deserve.

________________________________________

A/n: Thank you so much for reading this fanfic, and yes, I do Luxiem fanfics and possibly other Nijisanji members. I'm trying to explore and write more characters. If you liked this one, I might probably write more in the future, but it might take a while since I'm busy with school and other things. If you wish to chat me and give me some ideas for future fanfics like this, I would gladly accept them. See you in the next fanfic! ^^ - Rosie Zia

[haggishlyhagging]

On March 9, 1977, Francine Hughes returned from business college to her Dansville, Michigan, home and put a frozen dinner in the oven for her husband, James. He didn't like it. Francine, he said, should be at home preparing meals for him, not running off to school. He beat her up, as he had done many times before; and to drive home his point he tore up her schoolbooks and term papers and forced her to burn them in the trash barrel. Twelve-year-old Christy Hughes called the police, who came to the house long enough to calm James down but declined, as they had many times before, to arrest him. They left James, tired from beating Francine, asleep in his bedroom. Determined to "just drive away," Francine piled the children into the family car. "Let's not come back this time, Mommy," they said. She carried a gasoline can to the bedroom, poured the contents around the bed where James lay asleep, backed out of the room, and set a match to it The rust of flame sucked the door shut.

Francine Hughes drove immediately to the Ingham County sheriffs office, crying hysterically, "I did it. I did it." She was charged with first-degree murder.

Dansville adjoins East Lansing, home of Michigan State University and consequently of many social-action groups. Within two months feminists and other interested people in the Lansing area had formed the Francine Hughes Defense Committee to raise money and public awareness for her defense. They were careful to say that they neither advocated nor condoned murder, but they held that women confronted with violence have a right to defend themselves. They argued that "Francine Hughes—and many other women facing similar charges—should be free from the threat of punishment," for Francine Hughes was a battered woman.

At the time wife-beating was a growing feminist issue, following close on the heels of feminist attacks upon rape, a crime it resembles in many ways. Both rape and wife-beating are crimes of violence against women. Both are widespread, underreported, trivialized, and inadequately punished by the legal system. Both are acts of terrorism intended to keep all women in their place through intimidation. In fact, rape is often part of wife abuse, though so far only a few states acknowledge even the possibility of rape within marriage. The chief difference between the two crimes is that while the victim of nonmarital rape must live with a terrifying memory, the abused wife lives with her assailant. Rapists are, in Susan Brownmiller's phrase, the "shock troops" of male supremacy. Wife-beaters are the home guard.

American feminists took up the issue of wife-beating when they learned in 1971 of the work of Erin Pizzey, founder of Chiswick Women's Aid, the first shelter house in England exclusively for battered women and their children. Rainbow Retreat, the first American shelter for abused families of alcoholics opened in Phoenix, Arizona, on November 1, 1973; and in St. Paul, Minnesota, Women's Advocates, a collective that began with a phone service in 1972, opened Women's House to battered women and their children in October 1974. Rainbow Retreat, during its first two and a half years, sheltered more than six hundred women and children. In St. Paul the five-bedroom Women's House sheltered twenty-two women and fifteen children during its first month of operation; less than a year later Women's Advocates were negotiating to buy a second house. Across the country the shelter movement spread to Pasadena, San Francisco, Seattle, Boise, Albuquerque, Pittsburgh, Ann Arbor, Boston, New York. To open a shelter was to fill it beyond capacity almost overnight. Suddenly it seemed that battered women were everywhere.

While activists opened shelters, researchers and writers set about documenting the problem of wife-beating or, as it came to be called more euphemistically in the academic literature, "domestic violence." The records showed that 60 percent of night calls in Atlanta concerned domestic disputes. In Fairfax County, Virginia, one of the nation's wealthiest counties, police received 4,073 disturbance calls in 1974. During ten months in 1975-76 the Dade County Florida Citizens Dispute Settlement Center handled nearly 1,000 wife-beating cases. Seventy percent of all assault cases received in the emergency room at hospitals in Boston and Omaha were women who had been attacked in their homes. Eighty percent of divorce cases in Wayne County, Michigan, involved charges of abuse. Ninety-nine percent of female Legal Aid clients in Milwaukee were abused by men.

The FBI guessed that a million women each year—women of every race and social class—would be victims of wife-beating. Journalists Roger Langley and Richard C. Levy put the figure at more than 28 million. Some said that one in four women married to or cohabiting with a man would become a victim; others said one in three. In some areas the incidence seemed even greater. In California the experts said one of every two women would be beaten. And in Omaha, the Mayor's Commission on the Status of Women estimated that 95 percent of women would be abused at some time. There scarcely seemed need of additional evidence, so the same statistics began to turn up in every new account, but repetitious as they were, they showed all too clearly that wife-beating is a social problem of astounding dimensions.

-Ann Jones, Women Who Kill

[thecoolerliauditore]

TOXIC JIZZIE????????? PLEASE SPEAK KING FOR I AM BOUND TO HEAR

aye sire if you ask I am obligated to indulge.

To start off I do think "toxic" is not really the word I'd use, but their relationship certainly isn't ideal either. To get meta for a second I think it's the impact of this being a ship dictated by the CCs (as in, we are married irl so our characters should be too) rather than by the fandom (where ships form from interactions and stuff we actually see in-game) so, in the insane world of "interpretation", weird things happen with Jizzie in-universe where it essentially feels like the characters are together ot of some default obligation rather than as a choice they both actively make.

I'm going to be using the word "performative" a lot during this which I think makes enough sense when you look at how most of Jizzie interactions are very literally purposefully performed through youtube videos and such.

I'm also someone who very much does not have the highest opinion overall of romance as a concept so a lot of what I read is going to be based off of that. I'm a biased human being or whatever.

Essentially, I believe a lot of Jizzie's interactions feel like they're out of some sort of obligation or to fit into predetermined roles, comedic or otherwise, instead of coming off as genuine.

Examples off the top of my head are Lizzie trying to "seduce" Joel in Last Life to secure an ally, their shotgun wedding in esmp1 and the sort of sitcom-esque humour structure they sometimes follow in streams and such (the one I remember most clearly is Lizzie hitting Joel during the Decked Out guests stream, which is treated as a haha wife hitting husband moment) (there was also the time when Joel indirectly implied he was calling his wife a "ball and chain" in the Life: The Game stream, although we're getting very dubiously canon here - I personally see it as applicable but. shrugs)

This isn't to say that there is no genuine connection there, they certainly do care about eachother and, for the most part, aren't actively making eachother worse -- some of their cutest moments, to me, are their panicked "I love you" exchange after they encased the Scottage in lava in Last Life and Joel being the only one who remembered Lizzie's party in Secret Life.

Lizzie and Joel also rarely talk about eachother in an admiring or personal way, Joel specifically usually only mentions his "wife" when disputing accusations of him being in love with any of the various men he's "obsessed" with.

This becomes weirder in series like esmp1, where the first time Lizzie mentions Joel at all is her declaration that she has decided to marry him (not because she is "in love" or anything like that, she simply states that she wants to marry him) so you just kind of have to fill in the gaps between videos with your imagination or accept that the characters are just. Insane. I think comparing the way esmp1 Joel talks about Lizzie vs talks about Jimmy would be an interesting experiment to conduct in regard to this.

To top it off in terms of dubious sourcing for in-character headcanons, I think the performative aspects of Jizzie are most apparent when you look at how Joel often jokes about how Lizzie will get mad at him for flirting with Jimmy and other men, whilst Lizzie has shown time and time again she really could not physically care less. It's always kind of confused me when people depict Lizzie as ready to beat the shit out of Joel when he acts affectionate with other men, when her reactions in the traffic series usually just boil down to this:

TO ME: What Jizzie is, to me, is a pair of platonic best friends who have gotten married because. You're a boy, I'm a girl, that's what we should do. Their marriage isn't hurting them but it also isn't what they think it is.

Joel specifically I've always headcanoned as gay and essentially using Lizzie as a beard but not hiding it very well.

The romance may be purely obligatory and performative, but that doesn't mean they don't love eachother.