#estranged spouse

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"YOUNG GIRL FOUND GUILTY OF BIGAMY," Windsor Record. February 17, 1920. Page 1. --- Left Hubby No. 1, Then Had No. 2 Arrested - Second Partner Now Faces Charge. ---- Marriage to Josephine Major and Bartolme Grassey seemed to be more of a habit than anything else according to the charges that they faced this morning in police court before Magistrate Leggatt. Both were brought up on bigamy charges, Josephine having two husbands, and it is alleged that Grassey has two wives.

On August 3rd Josephine Major was united in marriage to Noah Lucier by the Rev. Father McCabe, of Maidstone. After living together for eight months Lucier left her claiming that she would not prepare the meals or do any work around the house. This his wife denied, saying the real reason was because he brought other women into the house.

A second ceremony was performed April 39 by Rev. Arthur Carlisle, rector of All Saints' church, in which Josephine was again a blushing bride and the groom was Grassey. Both Father McCabe and Rev. Arthur Carlisle testified that they performed the ceremonies.

Grassey was living with the girl when the couple was arrested a few weeks ago. The arrest came about when husband No. 2 started to beat his wife. She applied to the police to have him locked up. When an investigation was made it was found that the girl had been married twice.

After hearing the evidence the magistrate found the girl guilty and remanded her for sentence. All during the trial and after her conviction she was laughing and giggling. When she was taken back to the chief's office to await transfer to Sandwich she laughed and joked with the officers.

"No matter what he says about me, I still love Noah, for when you once love a person you can't be otherwise," said the girl. It is thought that she is mentally unbalanced.

Grassey was forced to face a charge of willfully marrying the girl when he knew that her first husband was living. Grassey denied this, saying that the girl told him she had been a widow three months. The case was adjourned until Thursday to allow the crown to prepare evidence.

After the adjournment of the first charge against him Grassey was held on a charge of marrying marry the Lucier girl when he had a wife in the old country. Grassey said that he received a letter from some friends telling that his wife was dead.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Thinking about Vulcans prizing “calm” over “happiness”. 

Like how humans look back on their childhood and remember how happy it was - joyful days spent running around in the sun, getting into a bit of trouble, laughing with peers and family - that’s how they know it was a good one. Meanwhile Vulcans might look back on their childhood and remember how peaceful it was. Quiet days spent studying, the warm glow of candlelit lessons in caves, getting along smoothly with ones peers - that’s how they know it was a good one. Humans typically chose their friends and romantic partners based on if this person makes them feel happy above all. The question of “Do you like being with them?” is interpreted to mean “Does being with them make you feel happy?” But since Vulcans don’t experience (or strive for) happiness there would have to be some other parameter. So I was thinking about like, what is a good relationship to a Vulcan? There’s obviously a big emphasis on ‘togetherness’ in Vulcan unions. The Pon Farr ritual Tuvok does with his [hologram] wife involves them committing to becoming “Two bodies one mind” and it’s stated that they give and receive from each other all that they are. There’s also of course the iconic “Never and always touching and touched”. This is all (as was said during T’Pol & Koss’ wedding) “The Vulcan heart, the Vulcan soul, this is our way.” Vulcans are also (ENT) expected to live together for at least a year after being married - I imagine so that they can bond with and get to know one another. In SNW T’Pring wants for Spock to honor the commitments he makes to her so in that case T’Pring values Spock keeping his word to her and placing her above other things. I see a bit of Tuvok in that, where he prizes his commitment to T’Pel over anything else to the point where he’d nearly rather die than break it: (Even though he eventually agrees to having sex with a hologram it MUST be of his wife and he lets Tom/The Audience know that he will NOT be making a habit of it. There’s no ironclad logical reason for him to react this way as a hologram is not a person but his commitment to T’Pel seems to take precedence and I believe that’s his reasoning. His bond with T’Pel is logical, sustaining and important to him and he’s loath to break it over some bodily need. some desire that will pass even if it kills him.) <- By this way of thinking, betraying T’Pel would be the emotional choice while remaining loyal to her is remaining loyal to his logical self. A strong emphasis on loyalty to one’s mate seems to be a common Vulcan trait. In the beginning this seems to be rooted in tradition but later on its probably assumed that the couple will be loyal to one another out of some sort of actual connection between two people as opposed to pure obligation. In ENT T’Pol says that a certain degree of “affection” is eventually expected to happen within a marriage (though the way she says it makes me think this doesn’t always occur and isn’t necessarily The Goal) and her mother says that she and her husband developed a “deep connection” to one another. All this makes me think that a connection and a sense of ‘togetherness’ or ‘compatibility’ would also be prized over more emotional things like a passion for one another. It’s a partnership above all and that would be prized over a romantic union.  It makes me think of Vulcans’ roots in violence and war. Maybe this commitment to a steady togetherness, two people who don’t know each other being able to work together so seamlessly they nearly become one, is a way to show they’ve moved beyond that despite the pon farr remaining. Vulcans are a naturally very emotional species. Someone who incites that would probably not be seen as someone you should spend your time with. Someone who makes your heart pound, sets you ablaze, fills you with passion - that sounds like a bad Vulcan time v_v  Tuvok says as much when he talks about how he was struck with “shon-ha’lock”. Humans wouldn’t see anything wrong with having a crush on someone (and indeed in that episode Tom only comes to the conclusion that it’s a shame Tuvok couldn’t act on these emotions) but it’s obvious that even a teenaged crush when uncontrolled can become a very big problem to a Vulcan. In one of the Star Trek Novels Tuvok even stops being friends with and talking to a girl because she tearfully admits she has feelings for him and he sees that her feelings for him cause her pain.  Instead of thinking “Oh, she really likes me, good! We’re close friends so maybe we can make this work.” or even “I don’t like her romantically but since we’re close friends we can work through it.”  Tuvok thinks “Oh, she really likes me. That must be causing her to become very emotional and I can see she’s clearly upset. I’ll remove myself from her life so my presence doesn’t incite those emotions anymore.” And while him flat out just cutting himself out of her life might seem weird and kind of cruel and a frankly hilarious reaction to someone confessing their love to you - I also think it’s something he thought of as a kindness. If his presence harms her (stirs up emotions in her) then he will remove himself to keep from harming her. Along that vein, calmness or the absence of strong emotions would be a good relationship and one worth staying in. Not that there can’t be any emotions (Tuvok and T’Les obviously care[d] deeply for their respective spouses) but that they must be controllable and able to be cast aside in the face of logic.  I also think that “knowing” the other person would be considered very important (after marriage of course). If you’re to operate as a partnership, a team, and especially if you’re both telepaths you should be able to know your spouse pretty damn well. I see T’Pring attempt to do this in SNW where she is constantly fighting to get to know Spock which Spock self-consciously discourages since he’s been told/shown that his human side is unappealing to Vulcans.  But yeah man idk...just picturing a Vulcan and a human talking for hours...walking along the beach...sleeping side by side...getting to know one another...and at the end of it all one says “You make me feel happy” and the other says “Your presence calms me” and it means, essentially, the same thing.

[lastofthe20thcenturygirls]

they've so many members in the family i thought i was watching korea's kyunki saas bhi kabhi bahu thi

[apostate-in-an-alcove]

I have little to no sympathy for these gen X parents who go on TikTok and other platforms and whine about how their adult children suddenly refused to talk to them and cut them off. I can guarantee you that those parents did something to make their child not want to talk to them ever again and the child in question already tried to mend the relationship. People don't cut off their parents casually.

[arytha]

[ID: A sketch of my OC Era in the middle of sculpting a statue of my OC Lorne. A young man, the first reincarnation of Era, is crouched on an artist's stool and painstakingly wiping the shoulder of the half finished statue of his godly spouse in front of him. Era is wearing finely embroidered half robes, dark blue and silver in color, with silver flames racing up the sleeves and front of the robe. His hair is dyed a green-black and is swept up in a ponytail, a delicate blue-silver filigree ear cuff on his ear. A ring adorns the ring finger of the hand wiping the statue. His dull green eyes are curved in a pained expression, his ever present line of red kohl lining the top eyelid. The statue in front of him is only half finished, the blank face and hair clearly visible. The room behind him is blurred but meant to invoke the feeling of a studio. End ID]

Restrained Longing

[mournfulminds]

working through my drafts but would love a plot with muses 55+

[eraenaa]

Silent Passions

Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader Tag List

Synopsis: You and Aemond had been promised to one another before you were even born. And when the time came for you to meet, all were curious to see what was to come when soon to be spouses only shared one thing in common: your want of silence. 

Warnings: Unwanted sexual advances from Daemon Targaryen, ¿Softer Aemond?, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 8,678 (bear with me pls)

A/N: Based on a request where they wanted "Aemond x Tyrell Reader (which has the personality of Francesca Bridgerton), and when they are about to get married, Daemon tries to seduce her, making Aemond distrust her."

A flower promised to a dragon. Long before you were born, you, a daughter of House Tyrell, had been the intended to be wed to the second son of the King, Prince Aemond Targaryen. Your mother was one of the scarce friends the Queen had made in the court after her estrangement with Princess Rhaenyra. You were born in the walls of the keep, the queen in attendance of your birth, smiling widely as the nurse announced that you were a girl— she was the first person to hold you after your mother and the wet nurse who handed you to her. “Oh, such a beauty she is…” The Queen cooed as she held you in her arms. Your mother smiled through her tiredness at how quickly the queen had taken to you. 

“She would make the most wonderful princess,” The queen sighed and returned you to your mother, turning her head towards the door where your promised groom already stood. Prince Aemond waddled to his mother. The boy was only two years old but was already meeting his intended. The queen took her son into her arms, lifting him up to see his future bride, who whined in her mother’s arms. Aemond furrowed his brows, stuck out his tongue, and made a noise of disapproval when he saw the pink-faced babe. “That’s not quite nice… show respect for your future wife,” The queen smiled and brushed the silvery locks of her son. 

That was the first and last time you and the prince met. Your mother and father returned to Highgarden as their stay in court was cut short with your father needing to return to his seat. For the first six and ten years of your life, you were promised to a man you have never met. Bearing the plight of women before you, promised to a man, not because of your will or your love for him but merely for status and to appease those who stood on high stature. You were defenseless as they paved your life before you, forcing you down a road that was often traveled by but many did not wish to cross. 

“We are to return to Kingslanding.” Your father suddenly announced. The dinner table went silent. The boisterous laughs and jests of your three older brothers and the babbles of your younger twin brother and sister growing hushed. “Why?” You asked quietly, breaking the silence. You pet the fur of your beloved feline, trying to calm your nerves as your mind brought forth a reason. “The queen requested our presence, dearest… it is time to meet your betrothed.” Your mother smiled and took hold of your hand, lightly squeezing it in comfort, thought you felt none. You lowered your gaze and tried to shut out the return of loud voices around the table. 

It was not that it was unexpected… it was just… wholly overwhelming. You took a few moments and a few more bites of your supper before excusing yourself from the loud table, needing peace and quiet. “Are you well, sister?” Your oldest brother, Edward, asked in concern, pausing his conversation with your other brothers, Edgar and Edmund. “Yes, I’m just tired.” You said with a small smile and left the dinner table with your pet. 

The matter of your betrothal with the prince was not at all an old matter. Ever since you were a child, they have instilled in your mind that you were Prince Aemond’s intended. That one day, you will be his bride. It was a subject you found troubling— for how can one live at ease, being promised to a man they had never met before? How could one truly live their life if their purpose is only to be married off— treated practically as a broodmare. 

 You were alone with your thoughts until you heard the faint knock on your door and your brother, Edmund, slowly opening it and peeking his head inside your chambers. “Yes?” You asked and sat straighter, removing your eyes from the fire you stared upon. 

“I am just making certain that you’re well.” He said softly and fully opened your chamber door, stepping in and bringing you a piece of cake for you had missed the dessert portion of your dinner. “Thank you,” You say gratefully, but simply place the piece of your favorite dessert on the table beside you, making your brother quickly grow suspicious. “What’s wrong?” Edmund asked in concern, taking his seat beside you. 

You gave him a forced smile and shook your head. “Nothing, I told you, I’m just tired.” You say softly, but your brother’s frown severed. “You’re clearly lying— no matter how tired you are, you always have energy for cake.” Your brother sighed, making you sigh as well. “I’m… I’m scared,” You admitted. Your brother nodded in understanding, “I would be surprised if you weren’t,” 

You twiddled with the ends of your hair as you and your brother were enveloped in a heavy, suffocating silence. “It’s just— I have been prepared for this since I was a babe… It’s all I know, but at the same time, I know nothing. I have no idea about him. What my life would be like after our marriage.” You say, your voice trembling with fear. “And I have been hearing rumors…” you say cautiously, your eyes upon your pet, who slept soundly on your lap.  “Rumors? You are never one to listen to rumors, "Your brother said in surprise; his sister was always indifferent to whispers and gossip. 

“Last summer, our cousin Eliza had gone to court… and there she observed Prince Aemond for me. To report to me what he was like because I had no idea of my future husband,” You began to recount the favor your cousin had done for you to ease your nerves about the marriage. “And?” Your brother leaned closer in curiosity. “She said he was… cold, aloof. Standoffish— ruthless when training with his sword. Indifferent, bordering into insulting to all members of the court.” You say quietly, uttering the harbored fear of your betrothed for almost a year now. Edmund licked his lips; your cousin Eliza was never one to exaggerate. 

“P—Perhaps it was just that summer… mayhap he has changed with the season,” Your brother tried to give a comforting smile, but it turned wary, neither of you believing his comforting but empty words. “I’m sorry, sister,” Your brother said quietly after a moment, looking at you with empathy. He also wondered how you would fare when married to a dragon prince and being a member of the den of vipers that was the court. 

You had always been timid, quiet, demure. He had always been skeptical of this betrothal set between you and the prince. He recalled how your father wanted to contest it, to break off the betrothal in your adolescence, seeing that his daughter was too soft for the harshness of royalty, but your mother did not wish for it, scared that it would offend her friend, the queen. 

“I don’t expect much from the marriage,” You spoke, “I… I only wish for him to be kind and perhaps grant me my solitude from time to time,” You added, and your brother nodded, “We shall see to it that you have it, sister. If we are to prove that the prince is ungallant or disagreeable, we shall convince Mother and Father to free you from him,” Your brother swore, and you gave him a sad smile, unconvinced by his promise but touched by the gesture of it. 

Edmund left his sister to the quiet she reveled and needed; Edmund marched in search of his other brothers. “She’s scared,” He announced as he found them in the drawing room; Edward, the eldest of them, lifted his gaze, “Who wouldn’t be?” He asked rhetorically as he sipped on his wine. “Are we truly that indebted to the crown? That we must oblige them with our dear sister?” Edgar questioned, “We are not indebted; our mother is,” Edgar replied. Your mother is forever grateful for her friend, the queen, who had shown her kindness during her time in court as a girl. She was greatly looked down upon, her father’s house inconsequential to the realm and often seen as a burden— through her friendship with Queen Alicent, she had risen through the ranks and had even secured a match with the heir of Highgarden. 

“Well, surely our sister is too great a price for this… emotional debt, especially when you consider the others who had wished to be her suitor, princes from Dorne and Essos who had sung her praises and showered her gifts for years. Yet they will force her to settle for a second son. She has not even met him! Not a letter or a token to show goodwill to his betrothed,” Edward sighed at his brother’s query. “What would you have us do?” Edgar asked, “I do not know… but if Prince Aemond is truly as harsh and tempestuous as Eliza and the realm says, we must convince them to break the betrothal.” Edmund was contented as his brothers agreed, all concerned for your marriage with a prince you had not even met yet. 

“Is all these frills truly necessary?” Aemond grumbled as he was being fitted for new garments, suffering through the needed preparations to meet his betrothed. “Yes. We cannot have you wear faded attire that reeks of dragon when you meet your betrothed. And I implore you to be kind and good-humored, Aemond. You must not scare off your wife,” Alicent sighed and nodded as the tailor bowed and finished taking the prince’s measurements. “She is not my wife,” Aemond gritted, “She is not your wife yet,” Alicent corrected, and Aemond shook his head. The dread in him was multiplying by the day. He was fortunate enough that his mother had not forced him to meet his betrothed years before, convincing himself that perhaps she had changed her mind and the betrothal could be broken, but alas, the fateful day to meet you has arrived. 

Aemond had not met you nor heard anything from you. He would think it common courtesy for you to send him at least a letter, to know him before this doomed marriage, but you had sent none— no introduction or anything. He did, however, hear talk about you, the bloomed beauty of the reach. A lady who was already betrothed the moment she was born but was still lined up by men who hoped to be her suitor. Aemond scoffed at the thought, perceiving you as promiscuous and maybe even defiled. Aemond met your cousin last summer, the lady Eliza, loud and not at all chaste. A shameless flirt who went around the castle and made a spectacle of herself, she was not you, but Aemond liked to believe that that is how you acted as well. 

Aemond tried to calm himself, to take his thoughts away from your arrival, but it would seem the castle was a growing reminder of you. He walked passed the great hall that was being dressed up for your family’s arrival. He passed the gardens where gardeners had been tending to flowers that were neglected, fretting that your family would take the wilted flowers as an offense. Aemond shook his head and walked through the guest wing, and saw how your chambers were being prepared. Aemond gritted his jaw and decided to retire early that day, but it would seem even the royal wing of the castle was being dressed up for your arrival. He frowned as he passed a once-boarded-up room being cleaned, “Who is to stay here?” Aemond asked a maid, believing his mother would place you in a chamber that was only a few steps from his own, a rather scandalous decision. 

“The prince Daemon, my prince, the hand says he is to stay for the moon,” A maid bowed, and Aemond furrowed his brow before giving a nod to dismiss the maid, and he walked off to his chambers; it would seem that it was not only your arrival he must worry about, he must worry about the arrival of his uncle as well. 

After five days of travel, you and the whole of your family arrived in Kingslanding. You took deep breaths before exiting the carriage, your kin being welcomed by a row of knights along with the Queen and her children. You could not even bear to look at anyone but the queen, scared to let your gaze travel to your betrothed. Your brothers stood by your side, offering support as all three pairs of their eyes assessed the prince, who had a look of disinterest. Edmund turned to his brothers, trying to see if they as well felt the animosity from the one-eyed prince that was easily felt. Through their eyes, they communicated silently and agreed. 

You straightened your back as you felt the Queen’s gaze upon you; only then did you raise your raise your gaze fully and presented her with a pretend smile. “My queen,” You curtsied lowly in respect; Queen Alicent smiled fondly and offered her compliments. The  queen bemused for her son to have such a comely wife. She turned to her side as she felt Aemond had still not stepped forward or had taken the initiative to introduce himself. 

Aemond sighed as he stepped forward and stiffly, almost reluctantly, bowed before you. He was staring at the skirts of your dress, refusing to look upon your face. He watched as the fabric moved as you curtsied before him. When you straightened your stance, you stared at the floor, still not catching a glimpse of your betrothed. 

You feel your brother Edgar’s arm link with yours as your family is escorted inside the walls of the Red Keep. The royal family walked in front of yours, and only then did you dare to look upon your betrothed. Recalling how your cousin had told you that prince Aemond was the taller of the two princes and had a curtain of straight, silver locks. 

Aemond felt your stare, and it took great restraint upon himself not to turn and gaze upon you to see the actuality of his intended. To deduce if the talk of your beauty was true or just another hoax. 

Aemond felt his mother step closer to him, “Invite your betrothed to the gardens— begin to acquaint yourselves with one another.” The queen whispered, and Aemond rolled his eye. “They have been traveling for five days; let them rest first before you force us to these rituals.” Aemond quietly spoke. His words were easily covered by the chatter of your brothers and two younger siblings, but he still had to hear a word to be uttered from your lips. “Very well then, but I expect you to sit and get to know her later during supper,” Alicent warned, and Aemond resisted verbalizing his disapproval, simply nodding along and going about his mother’s orders just as the dutiful son that he was. 

You and Aemond sat quietly in your seats as the table was filled with chatter. Aemond was not accustomed to it; their usual supper was suffocatingly silent; the only thing to be heard was the clatter of silverware upon porcelain and the breathing of his kin. Now, it was filled with varying conversations from your brothers and his, along with the chatter of the queen and her friend. Aemond had still not looked upon your face and nor you him. He stared upon your hand that was gripping your chalice; just from the looks of it, he could attest that it had never known a day’s work. The look of your flesh was soft, supple, unsullied—a stark difference from his own. 

“Do you think they will go on well?” The queen whispered to her friend; your mother eyed you, who sat in her seat, your gaze upon your plate. Her eyes then turned to your future husband, who gazed at the flickering amber light of a candle in between you. “I do not know… my daughter relishes in silence,” Your mother admitted, and the queen hummed. “So does my son,” 

You chewed on your lip as you noticed everyone at the table was chatting with one another, making small talk, except for you and your intended. You sat by his right, and you could make out the outline of him through the side of your eye; your view of him was a bit obstructed, but you could make out the contour of his nose. You battled with yourself if you should speak with him and, if you did, what topic would you bring up to converse with? 

Aemond licked his lips as he caught the eyes of his mother, imploring him to speak with you. He clenched his jaw and took a few calming breaths before parting his lips to speak. “H… How were your travels, my lady?” Aemond asked through gritted teeth, his head slightly turned in your direction. You blinked, trying to deduce if you had actually heard him speak. You turned to face the prince, finally seeing your betrothed eye to eye. “It was fine, my prince,” You answered quietly with a small smile before you and Aemond were enveloped in silence once more. 

Aemond did not know what overcame him when you spoke, and your eyes met his. He was expecting your voice to be shrill and loud— grating, even. He did not expect to hear such a soft, almost melodious tone when you spoke— a deep contrast from the voices of your kin. 

You bit your lip as you saw your mother from across the table imploring you to keep up with your conversation with the prince. “I— I heard you are quite fond of the histories, your highness,” You inquired quietly, holding your breath as your eyes locked with the unique gaze of old Valyria once more. “I am,” he replied curtly, and you nodded, uncertain if you should speak further or let his answer be, sensing he did not wish for small talk, a sentiment you, too, shared. 

You went quiet once more, and in other circumstances, Aemond would find relief in that, letting himself ease into the quiet, but there was an odd sensation in him that was pushing him to continue the unconventional conversation you two shared. Aemond, however, bit his tongue and let you two be enveloped in silence as you waited for supper to end. 

Aemond returned to his chambers, mind plagued by how to perceive his first encounters with you. He had prepared himself for the possibility of him growing annoyed and aggravated by your presence, but he was surprised in himself as he felt no such emotions rising within him. In truth, he felt somewhat serene that night, a feeling he had not felt in a long time. However, instead of enjoying the calm in his raging being, he ignored it, untrusting of it. Convincing himself that that night was luring him into a trap, one you had devised, acting ever so demure and coy, not presenting your true nature and only deceiving the prince. He will not fall for it. He fortified himself to not lay prey to this calming allure you offered. 

When the next morning came, Aemond was implored with the rest of his siblings to break their fast with yours. Your mothers forcing a bond between their children. Aemond expected his brother Aegon to complain and not abide by their mother’s wishes which is why he was caught off guard as his brother agreed, him being the first one to go to the gardens. “Your Highnesses,” Aemond heard your brothers greet in unison as you four stood and curtsied and bowed before the three of them. 

Aemond first assisted his sister to a chair before finding one for himself, and by fate, the only seat left was the one next to yours. Aemond sat quietly and tried to finish his meal as fast as he could without appearing crude. He listened in to the chatter across the table, surprised that you and his sister struck up a conversation as well. Aemond listened intently to your voice, trying to see if the volume of your speech was forced to lower or if that was just actually the way you spoke, soft— calming. 

He did not pay mind to the subject you and his sister discussed, but he supposed he should have as he suddenly heard quiet laughs emitting from the both of you. Aemond felt an odd warming in his chest as he heard you laugh; it was almost… surreal to hear it. Your laugh was what he imagined nymphs’ laughs would sound like as he read about them in his books. He was in a trance; it was… out worldly that even he, the well-spoken and silver-tongued prince of the realm, was speechless on how to describe it. 

He was proven wholly wrong as he based your manners to be alike your cousin. You were a stark difference from the lady Eliza, and a part of Aemond had hoped you were like her because then, he could justify the prejudice against you that settled and bloomed in his heart. Now, he must come to terms with shedding his cruel perception of you and might actually make an effort to know his betrothed better. Aemond stayed in the gardens that morning a while longer than he had anticipated, trying to deduce your character as you spoke with his sister and interacted with your brothers. A part of him still believes that what you presented was an act, that you were not as demure and chaste as you lead them to believe. But as he saw your small smiles, timid eyes, and flushed cheeks when Aegon would speak of such inappropriate topics, he started to feel as if you were being genuine. 

As the sun began to descend higher into the skies, the children of the queen and her friend decided to depart from the gardens, the heat proving to be too great for comfort. “My lady, would you perhaps like a tour of the keep?” Aemond boldly but quietly asked, he felt the eyes of your brothers turn to him, but he was trying to capture your gaze. A gaze that he had trouble locking upon his, your eyes always darting around the room, difficulty in holding prolonged eye contact. “I would very much like that, my prince,” You smiled, and Aemond stood straighter, feeling his knees give out under him just because of your smile. 

Your brother’s eyes followed you as you and the prince detached yourselves from the group. “Should we not follow them?” Edmund questioned, “Are they allowed to go about without an escort?” Edgar then asked, their queries pointed towards their eldest brother. “I— I do not know… perhaps we should just let them get to know each other, and if sister has any concerns, that is when we shall intervene.” Edward decided, his eyes following your departing figure that was next to a silver prince. 

Aemond was not entirely certain as to how he would go about touring you along the Red Keep; the castle was dreary and had nothing of note to look upon, so he took you to the gallery. It was a less frequented room in the castle filled with portraits of his family’s history as well as some of Westeros. You and Aemond stood before a portrait of the conqueror and his wives, him retelling the histories that you already knew of, but you still listened intently because there was just something in his voice that entranced you. It was deep, velvety, and quiet— holding a sense of calm that enveloped you with every word he uttered. 

Aemond guided you towards another portrait, but he noticed your gaze had shifted to the side of the room, your gentle gaze upon a harp. “Do you play, my prince?” You questioned, unable to resist the instrument that sat lonesome to the side, dusted and neglected. Aemond followed you, “No, I do not,” he answered, his eye going to your fingers, which seemed to itch to touch the strings of the unused harp. “Do you?” He asked, already guessing the answer. Aemond held his breath as your eyes finally locked with his, “I do,” you said, voice holding a pitch of excitement about the subject. There was a beat of silence, neither of you knowing what to do or say. 

“Would you like to play it?” Aemond questioned and he felt his stomach grow warm as a smile appeared on your lips when you nodded. You ventured closer to the dusted seat, but Aemond was quicker to reach it and wipe away the remnants of lapsed time. “Thank you,” You say quietly as the prince stands by your side and observes you play. 

Aemond was never one to enjoy music or songs, but he must admit, there was something captivating about how you played the harp. The tune you played was one he had not heard before, something bright and lively yet still soothing. Aemond stood in quiet awe, watching as your fingers danced along the strings and how your eyes closed, and there was a tranquil smile on your lips as you played the tune. Aemond tried to resist it, but he could not help but help himself as a smile twitched on his lips as he listened to your melody, which, unfortunately, quickly came to a halt. 

“It’s not finished yet,” You say in slight embarrassment, daring to turn to the prince, who you were surprised to see have a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You wrote that?” He questioned, and you nodded, “Well, I try. I don’t think I'm quite good at it, if I am being honest— but my father did say that this piece holds the most promise.” You say sheepishly. “I quite enjoyed it,” Aemond admitted, and that compliment made your heart grow warm. “I’m glad,” You smiled, and another silence took the room, the silence you and he found comfort in. 

With each day spent trying to acquaint with one another, you would like to beleive you and Aemond had reached a deeper understanding. Each of your perceptions made of each other before your meeting shed as you and him began to know each other’s actuality.

There was a secret language between you, a silent one, at that. An agreement that neither of you had to fill up the gaps and lags in your conversations, simply enjoying the quiet, not forcing another topic as a filler. Others around you found it odd that you and your betrothed just walked and sat in silence, occasionally speaking of something that only you and he were privy to, but you and Aemond quite liked your arrangements. 

“They just sit there in silence,” The queen fretted to her friends, finding the design of your accord quite odd. Fretting that the silence was brought by indifference rather than just a mutual and deeper understanding, because how could one get to know the other in silence? “Aye, they do, but they don’t seem… bothered or disinterested by it— I dare say they are fond of it,” Your mother said as the two observed you and Aemond, who walked along the gardens in silence, relishing in the sounds of nature. 

“My uncle shall arrive today,” Aemond broke the silence, assisting you to a seat for the two of you to have refreshments, “Oh, Prince Daemon?” You asked, wanting to make certain of who he spoke of. Aemond gave a nod and watched as your delicate fingers poured him a cup of tea. “Are you close with him, my prince?” You wondered. “No, not at all. I’ve only met him once,” He answered as he placed two cubes of sugar upon your cup, noting that is how you took your tea. 

“However, I must admit that I am intrigued by him.” You nodded, “I always hear talk in this court as to how the lords and ladies compared me to him in his youth,” Aemond confessed, “And does that please you?” Aemond thought about your question for a moment, staring into your gaze that has grown accustomed to looking upon his. “No,” he answered, watching as you nodded. “I would understand; it wouldn’t fare well if we are always compared to another’s likeness,” You mused before you and the prince were enveloped in the inevitable silence once more. 

When supper was nearing, Aemond felt excitement in seeing you once more. He had come far from the prince who dreaded your company; now, he sought it—altering his usual routine in order to spend more time with you. 

Aemond was the last one to enter the dining hall, his eye searching your frame, feeling a smirk twitch on his lips, but it quickly disappeared as he realized his uncle had taken his place. “Prince Daemon, we have saved you a seat next to the king,” Alicent spoke as she noticed Aemond’s arrival, noting how Prince Daemon was quick to spot you when he entered the hall and made a beeline towards you— chatting with you who had no interest in small talk but still participated out of respect.

“I am quite comfortable here, next to Lady Tyrell,” Daemon refused the seat, only settling further into his chair as he turned to the girl next to him, but her gaze was turned to one of his nephews, the one who had a resemblance of him in his youth. You hear the quiet yet disapproving hum of your betrothed as he orders a squire to place a chair by your right, just enough space for him to sit next to you. The new place on your right offered closer proximity between you and Aemond as you had scooted away from his uncle, but he did not like that you were on the side of a damaged eye, unable to see your outline. 

Supper was tenser than the ones shared before; the chatter had died, and the table was enveloped in silence, but not the kind you and Aemond found comfort in. It was the silence that everyone feared and tried earnestly to alter, but no matter the attempts, it seemed futile. 

Aemond clenched his fists around his utensils, hearing as his uncle tried to chat you up and you entertaining his queries. “So, what brings you and your family here, Lady Tyrell? Highgarden is quite a journey.” Daemon questioned. “They came for my betrothed and I to be acquainted,” Aemond suddenly interjected, turning his body to face you and his uncle, who he had noticed threaded closer to your side. Daemon hummed, quick to sense jealousy from his nephew. He knew he should be somewhat mature, but his mind could not help but conjure up possibilities to torment his brother’s second son. “Hm, you are quite fortunate to have such a lovely betrothed; it would seem the crown has favored you… I remember my first wife, Lady Royce, the bronze bitch whose sheep seemed to prove more comely than her,”

Your eyes widened at the elder prince’s words, disparaging his first wife so openly and offensively. “If my brother had provided me with a bride whose beauty was comparable to Lady Tyrell’s, perhaps there would be no need for me to leave my first wife… you are lucky, nephew,” Aemond clenched his jaw as he noticed Daemon’s eyes trail downward to your bosom that heaved ever so lightly as you were rendered uncomfortable by their topic.

You turned to your brothers, a plea in your eyes to save you from the princes you sat in between. Edward was quick to stand, “Come, sister, I shall escort you to your chambers,” He announced, and you let out a breath, Aemond standing as well to make way for you to exit, “Good night, my lady,” He bowed and boldly took your hand placed a kiss on your knuckles. A blush over, taking your cheeks as you curtsied before him, your mothers thrilled as they saw affection blooming between the two of you. 

“You looked quite uncomfortable,” Your eldest brother noted. “Is your betrothed proving to be ungallant? Must we intervene now and convince mo—“ You quickly shook our head, “No! Prince Aemond has been quite… lovely; cousin Eliza was somewhat wrong in her judgment,” You say quickly in defense of Aemond, who you had grown to deeply like the past few days. “I was just not prepared to meet a character such as the Prince Daemon,” You added, and your brother nodded in understanding; he, too, was scandalized as he heard the words uttered by the elderly prince. 

“So, you have grown to be quite… fond of your betrothed,” You bit your lip as you hear a teasing tone in his voice. You sighed and felt a smile coming to your lips. Whatever fear you had for the marriage subsided with every silent and serene moment with Aemond. “I have.” You confirmed, and your brother nodded. Placing a kiss on your temple before you enter your chambers and get ready for the night.

It has been three days since Prince Daemon’s arrival, and Aemond has been growing peeved at how his uncle would always trail you. Aemond’s new routine of spending the quiet hours of his days with you that was quick to feel like second nature, abrupted by the arrival of his uncle. There were now only scarce moments where you and Aemond were left in each other’s company and quiet, his uncle always trying to speak with you, and you could not deny him conversation, for it would be impertinent. 

It was past high noon when Aemond concluded his training with Ser Criston, his feet hastily carrying him away from the tiltyard to find you, who had frequented the gallery to play the old harp that found new life from your touch. He stood by the threshold and was quick to grow annoyed as he noticed his uncle was in your presence once more. 

“You do not speak much, do you?” He heard Daemon question, your fingers ceasing to play the instrument. “I take it upon myself to not speak unless spoken to, my prince. I do not wish to bother anyone. I know how… annoying it can be when one just simply wishes for peace and quiet, but there is an insistent noise you must attend to.” You say, and Aemond was quite surprised as he heard a slight in your comment, but his uncle did not seem to catch it. 

Aemond observed as you returned to play the harp, the melody easing whatever tension he harbored, but it was quick to return as his uncle wandered closer to you. Aemond stood rigid by the door; your back was face to him and he saw his uncle turn his head towards the door, a smirk on his lips as he stepped further into your space. Daring to take a lock of your hair in his fingers, twirling the lock. 

You tensed in your seat as you felt Prince Daemon’s finger twirl your hair. You looked at the strings of the harp wide-eyed, uncertain of what to do. 

When Aemond noticed your unmoving frame that did nothing to hinder his uncle’s actions, he removed himself from the door frame and marched back to his chambers. Whatever understanding made between the two of the past days was quickly forgotten as his cruel perceptions of your nature, he mustered before meeting you returned. 

You sat tensely at dinner that night once more, waiting for the presence of your betrothed to somewhat comfort as his uncle sat next to you again. When Aemond entered the hall, you placed your hopeful gaze upon him, but he did not turn to you, ignoring the empty seat next to you and instead to a seat in what was supposed to be the place of his uncle. 

Throughout dinner, you would peek a look at Aemond, who refused to meet your gaze. There was a prominent scowl on his face, and his demeanor held an air of indifference that strayed dangerously close to animosity. You started to wonder if the Aemond you stared upon right now was the Prince your cousin had warned you about. And perhaps the past few days spent with him was an act, a fictitiousness in him to appease his mother so the marriage would proceed. You were disheartened by the thought. 

When the following morning came, Aemond’s eye followed as you roamed the halls alone, following behind you but not close enough for you to notice your presence. You led him back to the gallery, where both of you were caught in surprise when his uncle stood in the room, waiting for you. Aemond clenched his fists, believing he was a witness in your clandestine meetings. The scandal of it! Here you are, an engaged woman meeting with a man who was old enough to be your father and was married to the King’s chosen heir!

“My prince,” you curtsied as you spotted him near the harp, having the urge to turn back around and exit the room. Uncomfortable to be alone in the Rogue Prince’s presence. “All alone? Where is your betrothed?” Daemon mused, stepping closer to you. “I— I do not know,” You said and backed away from the prince who was threading closer to your space once more. “Hm, it’s quite foolish of him to leave his lovely bride to be all alone… especially in this keep where danger always lurks,” Your lips parted at his words. Was that a threat? You thought. 

You swallowed thickly and turned to the door, wanting to make an escape but not one so obvious that it would make suspicion rise. Daemon smirked as he saw fear in your eyes; it was so easy. You were such an innocent and sheltered thing. He could smell you from leagues away, a lovely and tempting prey that a dragon could never resist. It was a shame that you were betrothed to his nephew, but perhaps that could still change. 

You gasped as you felt Prince Daemon flush your bodies; you stared at him wide-eyed as he took hold of your cheek. 

Aemond watched the scene; rage within burned bright and carelessly. He wanted to put a stop to whatever he witnessed, but he stood in wait, wanting to find evidence if this was truly how you were— promiscuous and would settle to be a whore of his uncle.

“My prince, wh—“ You panicked, trying to back away, but he held you still. “Such a pretty young thing you are… a shame that you’ll be wasted on my disfigured nephew,” You drew out all of your might and pushed away Prince Daemon, him stumbling only a few paces. You see a sinister smirk rise to his lips as he tries to close the gap between you once more, but you are quick to strike his cheek, rendering him in shock, and you take that opportunity to run out of the room and into safety. 

Aemond was hidden behind a pillar, and as you passed, he saw clearly the distress on your face and how you were on the verge of tears, rendering him guilty for not coming to your aid as he had thought you were in want of his uncle. 

Aemond saw as Daemon furiously marched out of the gallery in pursuit of you, but he was quick to step away from his hiding and face his uncle. “You dare try to sully her? Was my half-sister and your whores not enough? Must, in your old age, still prey on young innocent girls?” Aemond spat, ready to challenge his uncle in your honor. Daemon chuckled as the young prince stared at him wide-eyed. “You get ahead of yourself— they might compare you to me in my youth, but you are completely lacking of what it means to be a true Targaryen prince… you’d have to thank your cunt of a mother for that.” Daemon chuckled, and Aemond no longer hesitated to draw out his sword. 

A battle between nephew and uncle commenced in the halls; both men wielded their weapons with such authority that neither one could draw blood. Daemon was somewhat impressed by his nephew. He thought the talk he heard of Aemond was just propaganda spread by his grandsire, but it would seem that his nephew knew his way with the steel. That, however, did not deter the prince, for Aemond was still completely inexperienced when compared to him. 

One of the princes was near drawing blood when a band of Kingsguards appeared in the halls and were quick to separate the dueling princes. Daemon laughed as he was held back by the knights, his nephew still seething across from him, still ready to attack. The elderly prince brushed off the hold on his arms and laughed once more before walking away from his nephew, leaving their state as it was. 

Aemond brushed off the guards and hastily marched in search of you, wanting to make certain you were well— wanting to offer his apologies for his judgments and lack of protection over you. 

He knocked on your door, waiting on bated breath as he heard you shuffling inside. When you slowly revealed yourself, Aemond felt his stomach pit at the sight of your teary eyes that you tried to hide. “I’m sorry,” He was quick to breathe out, unable to stomach you in such a state of distress. Your brows knit together at his words, “What? My pri—“ Aemond shook his head and forced himself into your chambers. 

“I’m so sorry, my lady… I—“ Aemond repeated but you still had no clue as to what he refers to. “My uncle, he is a depraved man; I should have protected you from him.” He explained as he saw confusion in your face. Your eyes widened at his statement, “You saw us?” You asked in fear that he would think you were tarnished. “I have, and I… I should have come to your aid, but instead, my mind cruelly thought you were in want of him; I apologize, my lady.” It felt foreign for Aemond to apologize, but it seemed to roll off his tongue effortlessly for you. He would never have fathom to encounter someone or the day that he would apologize earnestly, ready to beg for forgiveness. 

“No… my prince, you need not apologize; it was not your doing,” you said, but Prince Aemond stubbornly shook his head. “It is my duty to protect you— to defend my lady wife.” You bit your tongue as he referred to you with such a title. It felt surreal… and you must admit it brought a stir in you that you quite liked. 

You and Aemond were in silence once more, the silence both of you had gotten used to, the silence within each other that you both craved. The serene silence that could only be provided by each other. “Will you still… still have me? Even after my transgression?” Aemond dared ask, not wanting to live in the hope that there would still be a way that you would be his. Surely, you would be deterred to take him as your husband, for he could not even defend you with such a threat. Aemond studied your face, his knees growing weak as a smile spread across your lips. “I still want you, my prince,” You admitted, heat blooming in your cheeks as you said the words. Aemond could not help but cup your cheek, wanting to feel the warmth of them as they flushed with color before him. 

“I must admit… I was dreading to meet you,” He said quietly, and he felt you nod. “I, as well… I was greatly warned that we might not see eye to eye.” You admitted. Aemond hummed and brushed his thumb across your soft skin, your bodies threading closer and closer. “I do not believe I would ever want someone as much as I want you,” Aemond confessed, his voice so low that if you had not felt his breath fanning your skin, you would think you had imagined his words. “I never thought anyone would understand me in the way that you do, my prince,” You breathed out as his face threaded closer to yours, his eye on your lips as you spoke. 

“You’re mine… say it, my darling.” Your eyes fluttered closed at his words. “I’m all yours,” Quickly after you uttered the words, you feel his lips upon yours. A kiss filled with longing— impatience. A kiss that was long overdue, for how could either of you live for years without knowing each other? How could Aemond try to ignore your existence, and how could you try to deny this marriage? It was set the day you were born. You two were simply destined for one another. 

As your lips parted, you smiled before your soon-to-be-husband. Aemond hummed in contentment and tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, inhaling your intoxicating scent deeply. “Shall we tell our mothers that they shall prepare for our wedding, then?” Aemond smiled, and you let out a quiet laugh as you nodded, letting him hold you. “And urge them to make haste,” Aemond’s eye twinkled with amusement as he dipped down to capture your lips once more. 

A fortnight had barely passed before you and Aemond uttered your vows before the gods—an intimate wedding commenced, as you both requested. And it was followed by a family dinner after. Aemond was impatient, as were you, but you and he waited for the meal to end; for the past days, there was a need greatly bubbling inside him, having trouble finding restrtaint and contentment with just stolen kisses and touches. 

When it was finally night, Aemond led you to his chambers, you already flushing in anticipation of what was to come. When he led you to your shared chambers, you were met by something covered in a white cloth. You frowned and turned to your husband, who simply smiled and closed the door behind you. “It’s a gift for you.” He said and stood before it. You stepped closer as he urged you to uncover what he had given, though you already had a sneaking feeling as to what it was. 

Aemond watched with his heart in his eye as you beamed before him as you uncovered what he had given— a harp. Newer and grander than the one in the gallery, the body was plated with gold, and delicate carvings of flowers scattered its body. You bit your lip and step towards your husband, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips agaisnt his. “Thank you… I love it,” you said gratefully as your lips parted. Aemond simply hummed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know we were to exchange gifts… I could’ve gotten something,” You then say, fretting he would take offense. 

Aemond shook his head. “You already have given me your hand; you are my wife. What more could I want?” Those words uttered, and the certainty in Aemond only made you melt further. He intertwined your lips once more, but the kiss shared held something wholly different from the ones shared before; it was urgent, filled with longing and desires that were greatly suppressed. 

You feel breathless, but at the same time, you make no move to part your lips. You feel him lead you to the feathered bed, his hands on your waist as he sits you gently upon the cushion. You blushed as you felt his fingers hover at the bodice of your dress, itching to undo the laces, but there was trepidation in him. You bit the insides of your cheeks and took the initiative to do it yourself. Aemond sucked in a deep breath as your dress fell before him, revealing yourself only dressed in your shift. 

Aemond fell on his knees before you, moving his hand to cup your cheek and the other to undress you further. He heard a moan escape your lips as he nipped your bottom lip. His cold hand cupped your breast that pebbled before his touch. You mewled his name as he parted your lips, your hands finding the buttons of his leather tunic. 

You ran your hands through his smooth, chiseled chest and Aemond felt chills running down his spine at the feel of your hands on his skin. You let out a breath as you feel your husband lay you down, his weight atop you, his weeping length aligned with your glistening entrance. You sighed as you felt his finger tease your folds, Aemond resting his forehead up your shoulder as he felt your arousal. “You’re all mine, my darling,” Aemond breathed out against your lips and swallowed your whines as his length penetrated you.

Aemond groaned at the sheer feel of you clenching around him. Pleasure and guilt swirled within him as he saw your face contorted in pain, kissing away your tears as you acclimatized yourself with his length. He truly thought himself indifferent in the ways of pleasure, only succumbing to it occasionally when even he could not suffice his lust— but now, he was certain he knew what the fuss was all about when it came to fucking. He had only a taste of you, but he was certain he was addicted. It took a moment before your whines of pain turned into whimpers of pleasure, your husband breathing heavily as you urged him to speed up his pace, but Aemond was conscious not to break and hurt you further. 

“Aemond, please… I wa— need more,” You breathed as Aemond’s thrusts were cautious. He bit his lip and sped up his pace ever so lightly, but that was not enough for you. With your legs circling his waist, you shifted your weight and placed yourself atop your husband. Aemond was rendered stunned by your actions, only watching in awe as you bounced upon his cock whilst you straddled his waist. He never thought you’d have it in you, but he supposed it was always the quiet ones who would be capable of the unexpected. 

“You were so quiet the days before, little wife… but look at you now— your moans could be heard throughout the castle.” Aemond hummed, and his hands found home on your waist, assisting you as you writhed against his length. Your hands were planted on his chest as your hips worked against his in search of friction. “Husband, please,” you pleaded, knowing you would not come to what you searched for without his assistance. Aemond smirked and moved his hands to cup your behind and lifted his hips to thrust deeper and harsher into you. 

“Yes… yes, gods, Aemond!” You cried as you heard him groan at how you scratched his chest, leaving imprints of your hands upon his skin. “Are you to come, my darling? Is my little wife to come at my cock?” He hissed as he felt his own release coming. His hands traveled your frame, cupping your tits and moving his head to take one into the cavern of his mouth. You nodded, your head that was tilted to the heavens, your back arched, and your husband’s name slipping your lips as you came undone. You hear him call out your name as he spills his seed deep in your cunt, your heavy breathings mixed as you collapse atop him, his lips finding yours once more. 

“You truly are made for me,” he whispered against your lips. Feeling a surge of new and overwhelming emotions that you could not yet utter, all you could do was kiss his lips once more and bask in the presence of the man who had been bound to you the moment you were born. 

[kaijutegu]

Yesterday, I went to Baltimore with the intention of visiting a friend in hospice. Her health had taken a sharp nosedive over the weekend, and on Monday evening, the doctors said she maybe had a week left.

What actually happened was I went to Baltimore to help clean out her stuff, because she died at 8:44 on Tuesday morning and my plane didn't land until 8:50. So me and another friend helped another friend/her roommate (before hospice) find important documents, as well as save sentimental items for her actual loved ones because her family, well.

Her friends were her family. But because she died intestate, the people in her family of choice were entitled to nothing under the law. Instead of her beloved, disabled partner, her estranged family has legal rights to her savings bonds and the rest of her estate. (Sometimes common-law partners can inherit but they weren't together long enough to meet that criterion.)

I knew this was coming for a long time. You don't recover from the brain cancer she had. But it still really hurts. And knowing that people she hadn't spoken to in years are getting that money instead of the person she loved most... well, that hurts too.

Please, if you don't have one already, make a will. It's not hard. We don't like to think about it, because nobody likes thinking about post-death legal matters, but you need to make a will. If you're in the US, you can use websites like Free Will. You don't need an estate attorney or anything like that. In many states, a notarized letter is fine. I don't know enough about international estate law to say anything in that regard, but take half an hour to google estate laws in your jurisdiction and put together a will.

If something happened to you tomorrow, who do you want taking care of your pets? Do you have a collection of anything that you want looked after? Do you want your money to go to a person, a charity, or something else specific? If you don't have kids, everything reverts to a spouse. If you don't have a spouse, it goes to your parents. I know I don't want to burden my parents with figuring out what to do with my tegu, my skeletal collection, or my library. But if I died tomorrow, my will would take care of all of that. Thinking about mortality isn't fun, but dying intestate is worse. Make a will.

[book-extravagance]

LOL. Prince Harry biggest mistakes, eh? *ticks off fingers* hot smart wife, cute safe healthy kids, wide circle of friends, obscenely wealthy, full autonomy, passionate humanitarianism, i think his polo team even had a winning season or some such shit

it's genuinely a shame relations with some of his relatives, esp dad and brother, are so strained but he's better off with the pain of distance than the pain of being relentlessly harassed and undercut in the... whatever the hell that dysfunctional cult-like snake pit they call the BRF is. let's not pretend that anyone was ever gonna give Charles a Father of the Year award.

anyway. Dear God, please make me a failure like Harry Windsor

[itsbeenalexisallalong]

It never once occurred to me during the original run of Leverage (or during the first season of Redemption) that Eliot’s parents were Black, but as soon as they get to the reveal in “The Fractured Job,” both Spouse and I were like OH. THAT MAKES PERFECT SENSE.

(I would like to expand more on WHY it makes sense, but I need to organize my thoughts and I’m tired. But it really, really does.)

And Keith David was such a perfect choice to play Billy Spencer. The degree to which he and Kane were able to mirror each other’s body language and gestures was slightly uncanny and really helped to sell the reconciliation after 30 years of estrangement and the fact that they still loved each other in spite of it all.

I loved the backstory of WHY Spencer Sr. didn’t want Eliot to join the military, and that the institutional racism behind him being denied the Medal of Honor was explicitly called out.

Also loved how Hardison is clearly having one of the best days of his life at finding out about Eliot’s parents, and how much Billy and Breanna bonded. I’d be so happy to see him turn up again in S3.

Perfect episode, and one of my all-time favorites.

[max1461]

Thinking about different websites...

The worldview of redditors is really Bronze Age or perhaps Iron Age in a truly interesting way. Deeply transactional, concerned with honor and commanding honor, with everything founded on property relations. The comments of any AITA post will evince this. It is "patriarchal" not in the sense of being misogynistic (which it sometimes is and sometimes isn't), but in the sense that it is structurally like the morality of the archetypal Patriarch of the isolated family unit, very Indo-European. The Man who rules his own little kingdom, his family, and who deals with other such Men through a certain kind of economically-inspired honor code. Most redditors are liberal enough that they deal with their spouses as other Men though, and indeed with their children once they reach a certain age. But I think even this has some historical precedent.

It's all about who has the Right to do what, you see, it's about who can and who can't and who must. Very Norse, very Bronze Age, very Indo-European. The redditor sees themself (actually or aspirationally) as on top and as agentic. They speak positively of learning hard lessons and of teaching hard lessons. Their world is a world of contracts, not abstract and mathematical but specific and personal.

This is notably not the ideology of 4chan, which anyone who's been on that site much should know. 4chan's ideology is much less confident in itself. The 4channer sees themself as beneath, not on top, either with acceptance or with resentment. Frantz Fanon might have something to say about it. The 4channer is the subaltern.

And here? I was going to say that tumblrianas are somewhat domesticated, but I don't think this is exactly right. It's more like the world-sense of eunuchs in a harem, desperate for stimulation. Scholastic (though not scholarly) and estranged from the world—from normalcy—for reasons they can't escape. And they know this, and have mostly elected not to try. "Eh", say they, "I will read about life in one of my books," or perhaps just as commonly "I will simulate an outside-life in here with the other eunuchs, and it will be better than what they can make on the outside anyway". Maybe that's true; it probably depends on you and your eunuch crew.

I don't think I'm any of these types of guy. I've spent more of my life as a lurker than a poster. Lurkers are a whole other type of deal.

This is of course all "bullshit" you must understand.

[apomaro-mellow]

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 4

Part 3

"And you said yes?", Robin said, her voice impressively even.

"I did", Steve said, phone on speaker as he got ready for work. "I figure, if he's going to have a sugar baby, might as well be me, right? I think this is the universe giving me a break."

"Okay, yeah, sure, until he takes you out and gets you involved in like drugs or something, or takes his anger out on you when he doesn't win a Grammy or something. Or worse, you're a mistress and his actual spouse comes for revenge. OR you actually get really involved with him, help him get even more famous, have very talented children, but then his drug running gets you arrested and when you get out of jail he acts like he doesn't know you and estranges your children!"

Steve paused in putting on his shoes, grinning. "You've been watching Empire."

"Terrence did Taraji so dirty Steve."

"But not enough to learn their characters' names. I need you to catch up so we can watch season 2 together." It hurt being away from her. Before, whenever one of them started obsessing over a show, they could literally sit down and put aside one of their days off to binge a bunch of episodes.

"Sorry, let's get back to you dating a rockstar? Steve? Steve."

"We're not dating. He's just gonna text me whenever he wants to fuck. That's it. He might buy me something nice from time to time." Steve grabbed his keys and went out the door, nearly stepping on something left on the floor in front of it.

"Okay, yeah, sure, but isn't this the reason you cut your parents out? Did they want this exact life for you?", Robin asked.

"No, this is totally different. For one thing, Eddie doesn't want commitment. He doesn't want kids out of me. And even if I attend events with him, I'm just arm candy, but you know, in a good way."

"There's a bad way to be arm candy?"

Steve thought back to the functions he had to go to when still under his parents' thumb. There was definitely a bad way to hang off someone's arm like a decoration. He looked to the little box in his hand. No note, but it had clearly been placed in front of his apartment.

He opened it and found an expensive looking watching inside. The face was a cool navy blue color. He didn't need a card to know who it was from.

"Eddie's different from the guys my parents wanted", Steve said. "And when it's over, I'll at least have something to show for it."

"Just don't be stupid about this, dingus. If this goes sideways, I won't be close by to save your ass."

"Noted", Steve said as he closed the box and continued on his way to work.

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

The next time Eddie texted him, it was to go to lunch. It was a more casual setting than before, but still a pretty high end sushi restaurant.

"I must admit, I called you here under false pretenses, Steve", Eddie said as they sat in a booth.

Steve smiled at his serious tone. "I gathered, given our whole arrangement." Being taken out somewhere was typically a prelude for something intimate later, even in a normal relationship. When Eddie asked him out, Steve full expected sex. He wasn't complaining, last time had been very nice. He wondered how long until Eddie sent a simple 'u up?' booty call.

"I have to attend some fancy lunch meeting in a couple days and they're taking us to a sushi place", Eddie started to explain. "Problem is, I hate sushi."

"...Did you...are we here to train your taste buds or something?", Steve asked.

Eddie nodded. "These are some pretty important people and I can't sit there and tell them my favorite fish is whatever they use for fish sticks."

"Pretty sure it's cod."

"What? Nevermind. I just need to get one of everything and force myself to acquire a taste for it", Eddie said, eyes narrowing in focus at the menu.

Steve smiled. It was cute how serious he was being. He thought back to previous gatherings when some alpha would try and force a drink on him or when the hors d'oeuvres being served weren't to his liking.

"Want some advice?", he offered, continuing when Eddie nodded with his big Bambi eyes, "Instead of forcing yourself to like something, you should be able to say why you don't like something."

"Sounds like complaining", Eddie said, putting the menu down.

"No, you sound cultured", Steve clarified. "Watch." He cleared his throat and held up his glass of water. "Thank you for offering, but I only drink water from a natural spring. I prefer Canadian or Icelandic, but I'll take Swedish if you have it. Nothing from Switzerland though, it has this horrid mineral after taste to it." He set the glass down, adjusting under Eddie's wide eyed gaze.

"I don't know if that was bullshit or not but it sounded legit."

"It's legit what some girl said at a party once. I've never sourced where my water came from, but it works for just about anything. If you can articulate why you don't like something, it comes off better than just saying you don't like it."

"What kind of parties did you go to?", Eddie smirked.

Steve shrunk a little. "Just, you know, parties. So what's your experience with sushi?"

"Supermarket stuff", Eddie said simply.

"....You're kidding. How long have you been a rockstar?"

"I didn't realize this was an interview."

Steve tapped the table as he considered something. He looked to the other part of the restaurant. The bar where chefs were preparing the food. He almost asked Eddie a question directly, but remembered his role as a sugar baby. It wasn't his job to ask how much something would cost or even to ask Eddie to spend the money. All he needed to do was ask for what he wanted.

So he moved over to Eddie's side of the booth and leaned in close to his space. "I think you need something a little more...fresh."

"Fresh?", Eddie echoed as Steve led him to stand.

"And flavorful."

"Uh-huh."

"And satisfying", Steve whispered the last part before sitting down at the bar.

Eddie didn't know when Steve got him here but he did and he ordered something called 'omakase' and suddenly the chef's hands got really busy. He put a little filet of something on rice and then took a blow torch to it.

"I didn't know you could cook the fish..."

It was placed in front of him, but Eddie was still skeptical, which Steve noticed.

"'Omakase' means you're trusting the chef to pick out the best for you", he said. Then Steve took his chopsticks and picked up his piece. He ate it in one bite and Eddie subconsciously swallowed as he watched it pass his beautiful lips and then slide down that gorgeous throat. He wasn't even eating sexily, that was just how far gone he was.

Then Steve picked up Eddie's piece and held it to his lips. Eddie didn't even hesitate to open up and let it in. Tender rice, delicate fish, a total opposite to the sushi he'd experienced before. And it didn't stop there. The chef served cut after cut and each time, Steve asked him what he liked or didn't like.

Eddie was no slouch when it came to language. So he was able to come up with that on his own. He had just never considered respectfully refusing food and to do so with a haughty air deserving of a celebrity.

"Mmm, great choice on the shrimp", Eddie praised the chef. "Texture is superb. Sweet on the tongue too. Nice one, Tatsuro-san."

"Better than the crab?", Steve asked.

"I'm sorry, but nothin' beats an old fashioned crab boil for me. It's the only way I can eat crab."

"You've got opinions and you know how to voice them. I never imagined that be an issue for you, but I think you're ready now."

"Oh I've got opinions out the wazoo. I was just taught to never complain about food."

"Good boy", Tatsuro commented as he prepared something else.

"Very good", Steve agreed as an oyster on a half shell was put in front of him and Eddie.

Tatsuro winked at Eddie and he tried not to think about it as they finished up the course. He was absolutely not thinking about how oysters were an aphrodisiac, or how he'd had a great time, or how this felt like a date and not an outing with a hot piece. He wasn't doing a good job of being a sugar daddy, was he?

Time to fix that up right away. He paid for the meal, leaving a generous tip and led Steve out the restaurant, arm around his waist.

"You were extremely helpful. I can honestly say I like sushi now", he beamed. "And I think excellent service deserves a reward."

"You gonna give me a tip too?", Steve teased. And there was certainly a tip Eddie wanted to give him. Really the whole thing, but he had another idea in mind. And thankfully the appropriate place wasn't too far from here.

"You're buying me a suit?", Steve realized as they walked into a tailor's.

"I've got an eye for these kind of things. And you need something to match your new watch", Eddie said. He had a feeling Steve knew what to do, so he let him free.

Steve gave him a look and Eddie made a 'go on' motion. So Steve went, picking out different pieces for himself to assemble a new suit. There was a man awaiting any need of assistance and did so once Steve came out of the dressing room and stood in front of the mirrors.

Eddie was sitting before him, watching as Steve appraised his reflection and the tailor took some of his measurements. The suit was in silver, with a black shirt underneath. He finished of the look with a dark blue handkerchief in the chest pocket. It already looked great. Eddie knew he'd be breathtaking once it was bespoke. He ached to put his hands on him but public decency kept him from doing so.

"You look good enough to show off", Eddie praised.

"You look like you have somewhere in mind", Steve said, looking at the other man through the mirror.

"There's a shindig goin' down that I wouldn't mind having a date to."

Eddie put in the order for the suit to be done the day before the event. "Let's head back to my place."

This time, as they traveled, Steve was the one who couldn't keep his hands to himself. His hand stroked Eddie's thigh, getting close to where he wanted but never actually touching.

"What're you thinking about?", he asked when he noticed how hard Eddie was holding the wheel.

"Oysters. And you." And how he really should get a personal driver on hand.

Steve laughed softly and let a finger do circles on his crotch. "I think our chef was trying to be subtle. But I know what oysters are supposed to do."

"Oh?"

"And I don't need any culinary suggestion to get me in the mood." Honestly, he kind of felt like blowing Eddie now and probably would have chanced it if it wasn't still light out. "Can you be a good boy like he said?"

Eddie nodded.

"Good. Because we still have to take the elevator."

They didn't get as far as they did the first time they took this elevator but Eddie did attach himself to Steve's back and kissed at his neck. Once again, Steve could see their reflection in the wall. Eddie's eyes roamed his torso, wanting to go further but holding back. He only got bold enough to pinch a nipple through his shirt when the doors opened to their floor.

Steve only moved because of Eddie's prompting, finding it very easy to melt in his hold. They got about two steps out of the elevator before Eddie pushed him against the wall, kissing his lips and running his hands up under his shirt.

"Saw you lookin' at yourself in the elevator. Pretty baby likes how he looks?"

Steve's only response was to moan against his lips and rub against his leg. The closest camera was all the way at the end of the hall, though they'd be screwed if anyone opened up their door. He knew he looked good and liked looking good. And he'd seen the way Eddie's eyes were glued to him at the tailor's. That was a good feeling too.

Eddie took out his key card to open up his door and pulled Steve inside. They migrated to the couch, just needing to get horizontal. Steve lied underneath, Eddie's leg in between his again and providing friction as he rutted up against it. It was so hot, Eddie wanted to watch him get off just like this. If he got his pants off he could watch that sweet pussy drag-

Steve nearly jolted off the couch when a loud guitar riff sounded from Eddie's back pocket.

"Shit", Eddie hissed when he realized who was calling. He could ignore it, but he knew they'd just keep it up until they got to his door.

"You need to take that?", Steve asked, voice a little breathless.

"Just-just gimme a moment, it'll be quick." Eddie answered and Steve could be patient. He just couldn't be good and patient. He rubbed at Eddie's arm before taking his hand in his own. He brought it to his lips and swirled his tongue around his index finger, keeping his gaze down at first and then looking up at Eddie.

The man above him was speechless, up until whoever he was talking to shouted at him from the other end and got his attention again. Well, half of it anyway. The other half was on Steve sucking down two of his fingers now. Eddie groaned both in frustration and the beautiful man under him. Steve was only half following the conversation but it sounded like their time together might be cut short.

Eddie hung up with a sigh. "Baby...baby I gotta go."

"Right now?", Steve asked.

"Yeah but...but if you could, I mean you can stay here until I get done. It'll be quick, just a couple of hours tops. And I can take you out to dinner too."

"You want me to stay?"

Eddie's hair shook as he nodded. He stood up, glad he had a bit of time to calm his boner down. Then he saw Steve lying there on the couch, lips kissed wet and certain his lips farther down were just as glistening. He leaned over to cup him between the legs, feeling the warmth through his clothes.

"Don't forget who this belongs to", he growled when Steve whimpered.

"Okay." And because this man was sent from above, he whispered, "Daddy."

Eddie couldn't hold back then, kissing him hard, tongue marking his insides while rubbing Steve through his pants. He unzipped them, thinking he could just get him off quick when the ringtone sounded again. Pulling back was the hardest thing to do.

"Keep it nice and warm for me", Eddie said before fully removing himself.

"Hurry back."

And then Steve was alone. In a rockstar's hotel room. He thought about what a sugar baby might do when their daddy went off for what must be a very important but impromptu meeting, especially when it stopped such a heated moment. It became very obvious what he needed to do and so he headed straight for the bedroom.

Part 5

I need you to know that when I first envisioned this fic it was literally just supposed to be smut with connecting scenes but it somehow turned to "don't catch feelings" and "oops we're accidentally dating" the fic so here we are.

Tag Team

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @marklee-blackmore @dragonmama76 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie @sllooney @starman-jpg @oxidantdreamboat @xxbottlecapx @chaosgremlinmunson @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord @beckkthewreck @greatwerewolfbeliever @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi

[simplysparrow14]

If I had a nickle for every time a CR campaign had a gay sad, depressed material fighter who was deeply missing their dead/out-of-the-picture spouse, i'd have 4 whole ass nickles!

Zerxus = Paladin missing his dead husband

Orym = Fighter missing his dead husband

Yasha = Barbarian missing her dead wife

Asha/Melora = Monk missing her estranged wife

[thebiggerbear]

I want better for you...what's better for you than me? Part 1

Part 1 Summary: You've had a tough day. From an unruly client who is causing chaos to your dog not listening to you to your ex-husband calling you out of the blue. You've had more than enough and the last thing you need right now is any reminders of why you feel such regret and pain in the first place.

A/N: I was working on something with the Kim vs Kanye special thing playing in the background. Some things they discussed about that situation just struck a chord with me and before I knew it, this kind of came flying out onto a doc in the form of a little catharsis in a fictional story I guess. 🤷‍♀️

All unbeta'd.

Songs listened to while writing: Hummingbird - Carly Pearce; None Of Your Concern - Jhené Aiko

Warnings: heavy angst; mentions of cheating; drinking; language; a healthy dose of snarkiness

Word Count: 5596

Series Masterlist

dividers by @cafekitsune

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You had just managed to get in the front door, a feat that a moment ago you didn’t think would be possible. You were bogged down with grocery bags, dry cleaning, and the bulkload of mail that would most likely turn out to be eighty five percent bills. Despite being set up to auto-pay everything, you still received a healthy stream of bills in your mailbox every week. You didn’t get it. 

So you had already been carrying a heavy load while you managed to stick your latest Amazon package under your arm and the straps of your handbag and briefcase were on the other. Not to mention your dog was urging you to open the door after peeing on your lawn for the fifth time this week and he ignored your pleas for him not to. Somehow you did all of that and still got your key in the door. Milo, being the young spry German Shepherd pup he was, naturally almost mowed you down in his rush to get inside before you, but you survived the canine tornado and still stood strong. You weren’t patting yourself on the back but you definitely deserved some kudos. You had always been laughed at in the past for attempting to do all of this in one shot without any assistance, but you proved you could. Every single time. Considering you now had an eager and energetic four-legged companion who lacked patience (and a tiny bit of discipline if you were being honest) to contend with, kudos were definitely in order.

You slowly put down the grocery bags and package, laying the dry cleaning on your thin table in the foyer, dropping your keys and mail into the giant bowl on a shelf underneath, and placed your other bags to the side of the structure. You heaved a giant sigh of relief and turned to close the door, wincing when Milo barked from the living room. “Hush, Milo. Give me a minute to breathe, please.”

The second you secured the lock, you sank tiredly against the door. You were home and now you could begin to relax. It had been a long day and you were looking forward to changing into something more comfortable and starting the process of unwinding. And as if the universe wanted to foil that plan, your cell phone rang on cue.

“No,” you whined, placing your forehead against the wood of the door for a moment. “What is it now?”

One of your clients had the brilliant idea of doing an impromptu live stream in the wee hours of the morning to discuss their upcoming divorce, in full detail, in a bid to get their estranged spouse back. As a result, your phone had not stopped ringing since 4:02 this morning and you had done your best to do damage control. It didn’t help that this particular client had 20.4 million Instagram followers and the mainstream media alongside TMZ had already picked up the story by the time you were woken from a sound sleep to a panicked phone call from one of your client’s managers. A press conference had taken place a few hours later and of course, you were front and center, which you absolutely hated but had no choice in. So, today was not a good day by any means and you desperately needed some recharging time.

You huffed out an aggravated breath and spun on your heel, digging through your handbag to grab your cell. When you saw the name on the screen, you tensed up. Oh, your day was going to get even better apparently. Why hadn’t you just called out sick today and stayed in bed? Content to hide under the covers and pretend the world wasn’t exploding around you again? Because that worked so well for you last time. You pressed your lips together at the snarky thought. Shut up, brain. 

Deciding that it was best just to see what he wanted and to get it over with, you swiped green and put the phone to your ear, forcing yourself to give a cordial greeting. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“I know.” You grabbed the dry cleaning and turned towards the hall closet. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to…” You heard someone talking in the background and it made you freeze. Was that who you thought it was? Sure enough, he spoke again in a quieter tone. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“How do you think I’m doing?” You snapped as you shoved the hook onto the bar and slammed the closet door shut, smirking in satisfaction when the sound echoed throughout the foyer. You knew he had heard that. “Is that her? Are you really calling me right now while she’s in the room?”

“What? No.” His voice always went an octave higher near the end of a sentence when he was nervous. “No, of course not.” You could hear the sounds of the person talking in the background fading as he presumably moved away from them. “No, Y/N, that’s someone from my team. We had a meeting and we’re taking a break.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” you hissed, picking up the grocery bags and moving towards the kitchen.

“It is.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, pulling packages of ground beef and raw steaks out and placing them in the refrigerator and freezer respectively. “I should expect nothing less.”

A sigh came down the line. “Y/N, I told you, I didn’t—”

“What did you call me for? I’m pretty sure I made it clear the last time we saw each other that I never wanted to hear from you again.”

Silence reigned for a moment while you continued putting your groceries away. Perhaps that was cruel but it was nothing but the truth. You had told your soon-to-be ex-husband that when he tried to speak to you outside the conference room as you and your lawyer attempted to leave the contentious meeting that hadn’t brought about any resolution. You were both trying to avoid going to court, wanting to settle this as soon as possible, but his lawyers were intent on playing hardball. Which was oh-so-hilarious considering he made more money in a single month than you did a year. And he had sat back, letting them, as he kept glistening green eyes fixated on you, urging you to look at him which you did not. When you told him you wanted nothing more to do with him, he appeared stricken and you felt sick seeing it, not just because you said what you’d said but also because you had meant it. You had trusted him, let him come in and sweep you off your feet though you kept insisting you didn’t want anything romantic to develop between you, but he had pushed for a relationship, you ended up giving in, and then he had crushed you underneath his boot heel without a second thought. He had told you he loved you over and over again, touched you as if he truly meant it, and then stabbed you right in the back. Just like your friends and everyone you knew who had a brain had warned you he would.

“I saw the press conference and I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he quietly admitted.

You couldn’t help but flinch. Great, he had seen you artlessly dodge the question about your own divorce and the catalyst behind it. And if he saw it, then that meant so did she. Great, just great.

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. So thanks for checking in but not necessary. Go back to your meeting and have a great rest of your day. Great rest of your life really. Ciao.” You were about to end the call when you heard him speaking suddenly.

“Don’t hang up. Y/N! Please. Can we just talk for one freaking second? Please.”

You flipped the call over to speakerphone and placed the device on the counter, crossing your arms and waiting. Sometimes it was truly hard to believe that you had been so in love with this man that you had shared a life with him once. That you had smiled when he would call you, that you had craved to hear his voice even. And now…now you had a knot in your stomach the size of Texas and you despised the owner of said voice.

When he didn’t say anything after a minute, you prompted him. “Well?”

“Please, can we just talk? You know, like we used to. We were friends once, weren’t we?”

You took two steps forward and bent at the waist to make sure your voice was as close as possible to the phone. “Like we’re friends? Are you for real? And let me just tell you that if you’re calling me to talk about your new relationship, you’d better think again. I will hang up and I will immediately contact my attorney and seek a no contact order.”

“What new relationship? I’m not in any relationship.” 

“Fuck buddies, then. I don’t care what you call it.”

“That’s not—” He let out a groan of frustration. “Nothing happened, Y/N. Nothing. I keep trying to tell you that but you won’t listen!”

“Oh, so those photos and videos were just doctored then? Someone used PhotoShop or AI, right? All 62 people at the scene? They’re all lying? That’s what you’re telling me?”

You heard another sigh, this one sounding heavier, a mixture of exhaustion and defeat. “No, I’m not saying that. But I am saying that nothing—”

“Then we have nothing more to talk about.” 

You were about to hang up when he pleaded again for you not to. “Would you please just listen to me for a second? I know I screwed up, I do. But nothing happened between me and her. I swear.”

“So the interview she gave to Vanity Fair where she implied how close you two were and the sources that told US Weekly about your incredibly passionate weekend in Rome last year when I couldn’t make the trip — with full detail of your very public displays of affection I might add — that was all a lie?”

“I never had a passionate weekend with her, Y/N. I called you that night, because I knew you would still be up working that case. We even—” He suddenly lowered his voice a little. “We even were intimate if you remember.”

Just when you thought all of this couldn’t hurt you anymore, that you shed every single tear your body was capable of creating, that your heart could no longer break because it was a pile of dust somewhere in this house, you felt the resurgence of a pain that you wished you didn’t know existed. A pain that stabbed into you over and over again, forcing you to feel every fresh wound along with old ones, nearly overwhelming you and making you feel like you would never get away from it. You remembered the night he was talking about all too well.

“No, that was the previous year. It was our anniversary,” you choked out, the age old lump forming once again in your throat. One you swore you wouldn’t allow back.

“What? No. Baby, I’m sorry but you’re wrong. It was that same night, I’m telling you. I know it was because I left the restaurant early to go back to my room so I could call you. I even texted you on the way there. I know I did.”

You closed your eyes as the pain washed over you once more. If you weren’t about to break for the thousandth time since this whole thing started, you would have reminded him what you’d told him when you’d agreed to date him. Never lie to a lawyer about anything because they will find out. He had simply smiled, told you that neither of you would ever have to worry about that, and leaned in to kiss you. If you didn’t feel a sudden burning in the corner of your eyes, you also would have reminded him that he had tried to tell you this story once before and you had easily debunked it. And he had the nerve to speak to you like that as he lied to you once again, as if you were still happily married? As if he had the right to call you baby? No, this was too much.

“I’m hanging up now,” you forced out.

“Honey, please. Can’t we just talk this out? I know I fucked up but I promise I didn’t—”

“Don’t call me again. If you need something in the future, have your lawyer contact mine.”

“Y/N, wait! Baby, please just—”    

You disconnected the call, took a deep breath, and went back to your task. Your phone immediately started ringing again and seeing your ex’s name once more, you pushed the call to voicemail and then turned your phone off. You had enough for today; you deserved some quiet time. And the last thing you wanted to deal with was the cause of the void sitting inside your chest where your heart used to be. Though that empty space didn’t seem to prevent the tidal wave of pain you were currently under. You continued taking deep breaths until you felt you had yourself fully under control and there was no longer any threat of you breaking down in sobs.

You heard the clicking of nails on the tile and turned around to see Milo sitting down, watching you intently and letting out a whine. 

“Don’t you dare take his side,” you whispered, afraid if you spoke any louder that you might finally shatter into a thousand pieces after everything today. You were already going to be indulging in a liquid dinner as it was. Alcohol would be the only thing your stomach would be able to handle right now. “He left us, remember?”

The dog simply tilted his head in response and you snorted. “Right, I keep forgetting. All dogs stick together, don’t they?” He didn’t understand your snarky comment and he just continued watching you, not making a sound. It reminded you too much of your husband for some reason, giving you those infamous sad puppy dog eyes of his as he begged you to give him a chance to explain when you played a video on your phone that had been sent to you. You bit your lip and focused on pulling a bottle of wine from the undercounter cooler. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t make him do what he did. I didn’t lie or cheat or…anything else he did. Okay?” Still no response. “It’s not my fault. I’m not the bad guy here.” Still nothing. Not that you were expecting a response but the longer the silence lasted, the more pain you felt. “Fine, you want to blame me? Go right ahead. Everyone else in the world does, why not you, too?” 

You passed him by and you heard another whine, but you ignored it. You clenched your jaw, making your way back into the foyer to remove your shoes and jog up the stairs to change. You pretended that the sudden blurriness in your eyes was your exhaustion from the day and that the tears rolling down your cheeks were just from allergies, nothing to do with the pain you were feeling hearing his voice again — the voice of your cheating ex-husband. Not at all.

You were bored, channel surfing, as Milo laid next to you, his head on his paws. Both of you stared at the TV screen but you weren’t really seeing the constantly changing images. Instead, you had your head in your hand, turning his words from earlier over and over in your mind. 

“Nothing happened, Y/N.”

“I promise I didn’t—”

“Nothing happened between me and her.”

If only there wasn’t physical evidence to the contrary. If only he hadn’t lied and was still lying. You reached for your glass from the side table and took another sip. You had foregone the wine in favor of something with a little more kick. You intended on drinking until you became so drunk you would have no choice but not to care. You had already let your assistant know to clear your morning appointments before your second drink; you were now on your fourth.

So when an hour later, you were watching some wildlife documentary on BBC and you saw a female bear running from a male bear who was intent on mating with her, you slammed your glass down and sat up, causing Milo to lift his head up. “That’s right, run!” You yelled, slightly slurring your words. “Fucking run! Don’t trust him! He’ll tell you whatever you wanna hear just to get you on your back! Or your front or however the fuck you bears do it! But then he’ll wander off to find some other bitch to mount when he’s done! Mark my words! So you fucking run and you don’t look back! Fuck you, Baloo! Bare necessities, my ass! RUN!”

The female bear did run and she definitely put the male through it but eventually, she allowed him to catch up with her and gave in. You groaned loudly and threw the popcorn you had been munching on at the TV. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me! I told that bitch to run! Doesn’t she realize he’s only going to screw her and then really screw her? Nobody listens to me!” Milo jumped down to eat the stray pieces and when he turned to look at you, you shook your head. “I’m tellin’ you, buddy. Dogs. All o’ya.” He tilted his head curiously, his eyes laser focused on the bowl in your lap. You blew a raspberry at the TV when the narrator said the female bear would eventually give birth to cubs in months’ time. “You just wait until he takes a trip to Italy, I’m tellin’ ya. You’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me then.” For a reason that wasn’t quite clear to you in this state, you threw more popcorn at the screen when a pair of mated penguins appeared next, waiting for their egg to hatch. You blew another raspberry and Milo immediately went on a popcorn rampage, all too happy to act as the cleanup crew. 

You sipped more scotch from your glass and you loved the trail of the burn it left from your tongue to your stomach. This was an excellent decision on your part. You needed a break from your chaotic everyday life, your broken heart, and…memories. 

Memories like him sitting on this couch with you as you watched Working Girl for the 4,085th time. 

It was one of your favorite movies and even though he was sick of it, he indulged your need for the familiar comfort it provided. You had a rough day at work, you and your mother had gotten into yet another argument over the phone, and your doctor had pretty much told you that your getting pregnant would be an impossibility. You were devastated and you were working up the courage to tell him, already not having told him about the existence of your appointment. He wasn’t really sure if he wanted kids but you did; you had always wanted a little girl. So you both eventually compromised that you would give it a shot and if it happened, great. If it didn’t, then you would cross that bridge when you came to it. That was the deal. But when you failed to get pregnant the past few months despite you both doing everything in your power to make it happen, you’d grown concerned and decided to get an official medical opinion on you first before asking him to. Sure enough, the news had crushing. At some point over time, after all of the monthly hell it put you through since you were thirteen, your traitorous reproductive system had decided to clock out and refused to clock back in when it was needed. 

So when you finally felt brave enough to tell him what you’d been told, that you wouldn’t break down in tears as you said the words, you noticed he wasn’t paying attention to the movie at all or you. He was on his phone and even when you called his name, trying to get him to look at you, he barely spared you a glance. When you asked him what he was doing, he said he had gotten some texts he was responding to, still not really looking at you. When you asked who they were from, a strange look fleeted across his face before he powered down his screen and slipped his phone back into his pocket. 

He had then turned a reassuring smile on you. “Just work stuff.” He laid a hand on your shoulder and tenderly rubbed his thumb in soothing circles. “So what is it you want to tell me?”

You arched a brow over at him. You hadn’t said you wanted to tell him anything.

He inclined his head towards the screen. “Working Girl? For the second time in two weeks? Something’s up.”

Dammit, he knew you too well. Something that had always been a plus in your relationship, especially since you two had shared a close friendship first. But while you had been finally ready to tell him your heartbreaking news, something about that look and his evading the question of who he had been texting now had you clamming up though you had no idea why. Or maybe you did but you didn’t want to think about it or look at it too closely. “Nothing,” you answered quietly, glancing back at the movie. “Just a rough day at work.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

You shook your head and bit your lip. “No, I’m good.” 

He studied you for a moment and nodded, accepting your answer before getting to his feet. “Alright, well, I’ve already seen this seventy eight times and that was before our first date.” He chuckled at his own joke. “So, I’m going to jump in the shower and then head to bed. Come up when you’re finished?” You forced a smile and a nod. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head before leaving the room. 

When he was gone and you heard the sounds of the shower upstairs start up, you sat frozen. You told yourself you were overthinking things and it made sense that if he thought something was bothering you, he wouldn’t want to start going into detail on a work-related project that either might be going great or not going so well. Not until he knew what was going on with you first. But you were also a divorce attorney and a woman — you knew the signs. You didn’t want to think that your husband — your best friend — would do that to you, especially knowing how much of a dealbreaker it was for you. You’d been very vocal about it before agreeing to date him. He wouldn’t really do that to you, would he? 

You’d shrugged it off, telling yourself you were being ridiculous, and turned the movie off before heading upstairs to bed. And when he scrolled through social media before sleep, smirking at the screen and typing something when he thought you were already out, you told yourself you were overreacting. And when a brief look of relief flashed in his eyes when you finally told him your doctor’s verdict a week later before he pulled you into a hug, you ignored your hurt and told yourself it was only because he had been up front with you about not really wanting kids at this stage of his life. That he had only compromised on trying to begin with in order to make you happy.

You should’ve known then what your instincts had been screaming at you. Just like that damn bear should have known. What this goddamn penguin should know. You blew another raspberry for good measure when the narrator said the male was attempting to attract the female by building a fucktastic nest. You weren’t exactly sure that’s what the narrator said but it was all the same shit to you. “Run, girl. That’s how they getcha,” you muttered, your slurring somehow worse as you sifted through popcorn. “He’s only trying to get in them panties. Trust me. Fly away — or waddle away very fast.” You laughed at your own joke and threw Milo a few pieces. He snatched them in mid-air, impressing you and making you clap happily for him. His tail wagged a thousand miles an hour as he waited for more snacks. 

And then someone decided to ruin your little pity party. Milo’s head in the opposite direction and he suddenly took off for the front door, barking like crazy and making you jump. A moment later, the doorbell rang and your cell phone chimed with the Ring notification. You glanced at the time on your screen; who the hell would be at your door at this hour? You quickly checked the Ring camera, your heart rate accelerating slightly as Milo’s barking didn’t let up. Were you about to be attacked? Broken into? Scammed? Given the Good Word and a talk on how to achieve your salvation? What? And you were drunk — fffffuck.

You waited for the screen to pop up and when it did, your heart was pounding for a whole other reason. You could feel the fury racing through your veins like wildfire. You’d know that set of shoulders and ball cap anywhere. Was this for real?

You watched as the person at your front door pressed the doorbell again, giving a hesitant wave to the camera. A familiar voice suddenly sounded through the speakers on your phone. “I know you’re home, Y/N. I can hear Milo barking. Can you come to the door, please?”

Oh, he wanted you to come to the door? Not a problem. He was going to regret it, though.

You jumped to your feet, you being the one to immediately regret it instead as you held onto the arm of the couch to regain your balance. When you didn’t fall back onto the couch or onto the floor, you stormed into the foyer — well, you tried to storm into it anyway. Milo was there, half whining, half barking, and glancing back and forth between you and the front door, clearly wanting you to open it. You reached it, flipped the locks, and threw the door open, glaring at the last person you ever wanted to see darken your doorway again. “What the hell do you want?”

Your ex-husband looked shocked for a moment, more by what his assessing gaze took in of you than by your aggressive greeting. “Have you been drinking?”

You snorted a laugh. “You’re going to ask me that? Really? You?” You shot him a meaningful look. 

He had the decency to briefly appear ashamed as he should. Hadn’t that been one of the several excuses he’d thrown your way once his dastardly deeds had come to light? God, you’d lost count of them at this point. “I was hoping we could talk but if…” He gestured to you with a hand but didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to; you knew very well what he was implying and it just served to anger you further.

“Are you kidding me right now? You don’t just show up on my doorstep—”

“Our doorstep.” 

“My doorstep,” you corrected. “Out of the blue, wanting to talk. It’s no longer about what you want, anyway.”

“Y/N, please. Can we just—”

“No! You hear me? N-O. No!” You went to shut the door when he stopped you.

“I’ve been trying to call you all day, you won’t return my calls, you won’t answer my texts.”

“Gee, I wonder why, Cheater McCheaterson,” you hissed, attempting to close the door despite him holding it open.

He let out an irritated sigh. “Look, I just want to talk, Y/N. No lawyers, no third parties, no more phone hang ups or emails not responded to — just us.”

You shoved against the door with all of your might though it proved futile. Why did he have to be so big and why did he have to show up when you were three—four—five sheets to the wind? “Like I’ve said a hundred thousand times before, there is nothing to talk about.” You spun around and pushed your back against the door, trying to shut him out that way. The damn thing still didn’t budge and you were starting to lose the battle with your balance. Milo watched you and you could see the judgment in his dark brown eyes; even he knew the door wasn’t going to close and the man you’d once given your heart to wasn’t going to go away that easily. “You cheated, you lied, you got caught, we’re getting divorced. End. Of. Story,” you grunted as you uselessly pushed against the door. That whole spiel might have sounded more impressive had you not just slurred your way through about ninety percent of it. 

A hand reached around and gently laid on top of yours, causing you to stop pushing and look down. Tears began to build in your eyes when you saw an all-too familiar golden band on the fourth finger, feeling the cold metal against your skin, almost burning you when the memory of you putting it on his hand immediately popped into your head. 

He had graced you with a warm and affectionate smile as you repeated the vows you were told to say. “To love and to cherish, ‘till death do us part,” you finished, slipping the ring onto his finger and joining your hands as practiced. His smile grew and he didn’t even wait for the officiant to finish speaking before he leaned forward and kissed you, causing a lot of ‘awww’s and laughter from the audience. He had then placed his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes and looking beyond happy. As it so often did for you when he did things like this, the world around you faded away until it was just the two of you. 

“We’re married now,” he murmured. “No returns or refunds or exchanges. No take backs. It’s for real.”

“I must have missed that part of the vows,” you joked, wrapping your arms around his neck as your eyes roamed his handsome face. He gently nudged your nose in response. “Yes, it’s for real,” you capitulated. “Not a bad choice for my first husband, if I do say so myself.” You shot him a teasing grin.

He chuckled and your heart skipped a beat; you loved that sound. “You mean your only husband, right?” He growled out playfully before swooping down to kiss you more passionately than before as he wrapped his arms around your waist to pick you up. You laughed into his mouth and you could faintly hear the sounds of cheering, whistles, and clapping somewhere in the distance.   

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from breaking down in tears. How dare he still wear that thing? After he’d pledged to love you for the rest of your lives together, no matter what? To be faithful to you even? You snatched your hand from underneath his and pushed the wood again, grunting loudly. 

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed.

His face appeared next, a lot closer to you than you had anticipated, and it took everything you had to keep standing. You could see devastation in those green depths that closely mirrored your own, the bloodshot eyes staring back at you along with a hint of dark circles underneath indicating to you that there had been a sleepless night or two very recently. His skin was at least two shades lighter than what it should be and his usually neatly trimmed beard was not as well kept. How dare he? How dare he look so hurt when he was the offending party? When he was the reason behind all of this pain he had caused you both?

“Please, honey,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

Your jaw clenched and you felt a tear start rolling down your cheek. Dammit, you had told yourself you would never cry in front of him, not after what he’d done. You would never give him the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply he hurt you. “I don’t want to talk to you, Jensen.” The pain in his expression intensified but you willfully ignored it. You also ignored the oh-so-ironically timed whine Milo let out nearby. “So just leave already. We’re done and nothing you say is ever going to change that.” You roughly wiped away the tear and ambled down the hall to the guest bathroom, slamming and locking the door shut behind you without once looking back.

Only when you turned on the shower did you collapse on the floor, your back to the tub, and bury your face into your knees as you broke down into sobs. You’d meant what you said; you and Jensen were done, and nothing he said could ever change that. Just when you thought your heart was beyond the ability of being damaged anymore than it already had been, you felt one final crack form as you poured out your anguish into the small tiled room.

A/N: Jensen disclaimer here. Btw, I am not suggesting anything about Jensen himself, his marriage or previous relationships, or anything related. I only chose "Jensen" because that character seemed to fit the themes I wanted to cover best. At first, I was going for Beau but then that didn't work for obvious reasons. Then Dean but again, didn't work. Ultimately, it ended up being "Jensen" in the end aka "just right". For story purposes, "Jensen" is not a parent when he meets the reader.

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

K's Master List

Hello there! I'm K and welcome to my side blog!

Minors please do not interact with my blog. I will block you. Blank blogs and ageless blogs have the same protocol. It's nothing personal, just trying to protect myself.

I do not do requests. It has nothing to do with you lovely people. I did requests for a previous fandom I was in and because I'm a natural people pleaser, it just became an unhealthy cycle. So, now I only write what I feel like writing.

Please do not copy or repost (i.e. copy and paste elsewhere - reblogging is a different thing and greatly appreciated) my work. This is the only place that I publish these works.

I don't do a tag list for all works since this side blog is exclusively dedicated to publishing and reblogging my own Top Gun content and an occasional announcement.

I do tag lists for ongoing stories/series. Simply reply to or reblog the work/series and say that you want to be tagged

To be tagged, you must have a reference to your age in your bio. No exceptions. It's nothing personal, but because this blog is 18+ Only, I'd look like a dumbass hypocrite if I tagged ageless blogs. Help me help you and put your age in your bio/pinned post.

Thank you for visiting and I hope you enjoy my works! My actual Master List is below the cut.

Works are separated by character. Characters with more than five posts have a separate master list. Major content warnings (i.e. pregnancy, death, etc.) are provided but please check each work for more specific warnings.

If you see a [*] symbol, it just means that work is more suggestive.

If a work is listed with "OC | Reader," the 'Reader' is biologically related to an established character (i.e. Maverick's daughter).

OC characters might have an established race/appearance, so check the summary/warnings of that work first.

Top Gun

Nick "Goose" Bradshaw

See Separate Master List

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell

Handyman - Fem!Reader (Wife!Reader)

Summary: When it comes time to give your newborn daughter a bath in the kitchen sink, it conveniently breaks. Fortunately or unfortunately, Maverick is a handyman.

Top Gun: Maverick

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

See Separate Master List

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

See Separate Master List

Javy "Coyote" Machado

A Walk Down Memory Lane - Bradshaw!Fem! OC | Reader

Summary: Rooster and Tweety Bradshaw look through their mom’s belongings as Tweety’s wedding to Coyote approaches.

Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia

Come Here - AFAB!Reader

Summary: You have your period. Fanboy takes care of you.

Family Man - GN!Spouse!Reader

Summary: After a long day at work, Fanboy returns home to complete his most important job: taking care of his family.

Robert "Bob" Floyd

See Separate Master List

Beau "Cyclone" Simpson

The Admirals Strike Back - Wife!Reader (Mitchell!Reader)

CW: Consensual and Very Much Legal Age-Gap Relationship (About 15 years); Non-Traditional Father-Daughter Relationship (Between Maverick and Reader)

Summary: Maverick knew that his somewhat estranged daughter was married. He just didn't know who she married.

Natasha "Phoenix" Trace

Bleeding Hearts - Male!Bradshaw!Twin!OC (Braedon)

CW: Hospitals; Exes; Unresolved Feelings; Best Friend's Brother

Summary: After the bird strike, Phoenix's ex, who just so happens to be Rooster's twin brother, comes to check up on her.

Daggers (All 7)

THE FAMILY AFFAIRS COLLECTION >

Mav's Reaction to Each of the Daggers Dating His Daughter - Mitchell!Fem! OC | Reader

Summary: Maverick finds out that his daughter is dating someone that he knows when she invites her new partner to dinner. And so he makes it his mission to greet them at the door first.

The Daggers and Their (Secret) Kids

CW: Pregnancy, see warnings for additional specific CWs by Dagger (include Reference Character Death, Strained Relationships, Divorce, etc.)

Summary: Headcanons about the families that the seven Daggers could have had going into TGM with, since there's nothing about their families mentioned in the movie.

The Love Game - Fem!Reader (Glitch)

CW: Unrequited Love; Angst; Emotional Angst; One-Sided Relationship; ‘He’s in Love with Someone Else’ Trope

Summary: Glitch has been in love with Hangman for years but he’s getting married to another woman.

A.N. Multiple Pairings: Hangman/Glitch; Hangman/Fem!OC; Glitch /Mystery Dagger

[jillianfahey]

Brozone brothers, Poppy, Viva, Brandy, and Y/N are spending some downtime getting to know each other. Aka JD is introducing you, his slightly estranged spouse to his family.

Bruce jr. trips and starts bleeding. Brandy immediately goes to help him and is surprised by you holding out a first aid kit.

Brandy: "You keep a fist aid kit on you?"

Y/N: "I'm married to a walking disaster. Of course I keep a first aid kit with me at all times."