#Compensation for Damages (Law)

[jdsquared]

Bava Kamma 85b

[accurate-alignment]

CRAZY Judge Grants TRO Against News Editorial Local Gov’t Disliked

[reasonsforhope]

"Oil company Chevron must pay $744.6 million to restore damage it caused to southeast Louisiana’s coastal wetlands, a jury ruled on Friday [April 4, 2025] following a landmark trial more than a decade in the making.

The case was the first of dozens of pending lawsuits to reach trial in Louisiana against the world’s leading oil companies for their role in accelerating land loss along the state’s rapidly disappearing coast. The verdict – which Chevron says it will appeal – could set a precedent leaving other oil and gas firms on the hook for billions of dollars in damages tied to land loss and environmental degradation...

The jury awarded $575 million to compensate for land loss, $161 million to compensate for contamination and $8.6 million for abandoned equipment. The amount earmarked for restoration exceeds $1.1 billion when including interest, according to attorneys for Talbot, Carmouche & Marcello, the firm behind the lawsuit.

Plaquemines Parish, the southeast Louisiana district which brought the lawsuit, had asked for $2.6 billion in damages...

How are oil companies contributing to Louisiana’s land loss?

The lawsuit against Chevron was filed in 2013 by Plaquemines Parish, a rural district in Louisiana straddling the final leg of the Mississippi River heading into the Gulf of Mexico, also referred to as the Gulf of America as declared by President Donald Trump.

Louisiana’s coastal parishes have lost more than 2,000 square miles (5,180 square kilometers) of land over the past century, according to the U.S. Geological Survey, which has also identified oil and gas infrastructure as a significant cause. The state could lose another 3,000 square miles (7,770 square kilometers) in the coming decades, its coastal protection agency has warned...

Thousands of miles of canals cut through the wetlands by oil companies weakens them and exacerbates the impacts of sea level rise. Industrial wastewater from oil production degrades the surrounding soil and vegetation. The torn up wetlands leave South Louisiana – home to some of the nation’s biggest ports and key energy sector infrastructure -- more vulnerable to flooding and destruction from extreme weather events like hurricanes...

Attorney Jimmy Faircloth, Jr., who represented the state of Louisiana, which has backed Plaquemines and other local governments in their lawsuits against oil companies, told jurors from the parish that Chevron was telling them their community was not worth preserving.

“Our communities are built on coast, our families raised on coast, our children go to school on coast,” Faircloth said. “The state of Louisiana will not surrender the coast, it’s for the good of the state that the coast be maintained.”

What does this mean for future litigation against oil companies?

Louisiana’s economy has long been heavily dependent on the oil and gas industry and the industry holds significant political power. Even so, Louisiana’s staunchly pro-industry Gov. Jeff Landry has supported the lawsuits, including bringing the state on board during his tenure as Attorney General.

Oil companies have fought tooth and nail to quash the litigation, including unsuccessfully lobbying Louisiana’s Legislature to pass a law to invalidate the claims. Chevron and other firms also repeatedly tried to move the lawsuits into federal court where they believed they would find a more sympathetic audience.

But the heavy price Chevron is set to pay could hasten other firms to seek settlements in the dozens of other lawsuits across Louisiana. Plaquemines alone has 20 other cases pending against oil companies.

The state is running out of money to support its ambitious coastal restoration plans, which have been fueled by soon-expiring settlement funds from the Deepwater Horizon oil spill, and supporters of the litigation say payouts could provide a much-needed injection of funds...

Attorneys for the parish said they hope that big payout will prompt more oil companies to come to the table to negotiate and channel more funding towards coastal restoration.

“Our energy is focused on securing appropriate verdicts and awards for every parish involved in these actions,” Carmouche said in a statement. “If we continue to be successful in our efforts, these parishes, and Louisiana, will have sent a clear message that Louisiana’s future must be built around a new balance between our energy industry and environmental necessities.”"

-via AP News, April 4, 2025

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Lincoln Brown

Beckett Law, a religious freedom advocacy group, has taken up the cause of three Jewish students at UCLA. The students claim that in the wake of the October 7 terrorist attack on Israel, they faced mounting antisemitism, which included barring them from access to areas of the campus. The students are also represented by Clement & Murphy, PLLC.

In the lawsuit, Frankel v. The Regents of the University of California, the plaintiffs claim that pro-Hamas/anti-Israel protesters set up barricades on the Los Angeles campus, effectively creating a "Jewish Exclusion Zone." Beckett Law states that after creating the encampment, protesters not only constructed barriers but also linked arms to prevent Jewish students from accessing the most popular areas on campus. They also imposed an ideological test, and those whose views were deemed to be sufficiently anti-Israel were issued wristbands and allowed to pass unmolested through the "checkpoints."  

By contrast, Beckett law says that Jewish students were harassed and even assaulted. Law student Yitzchok Frankel was forced to find other ways to reach his classes because his route was blocked by the exclusion zone. Sophomore Joshua Ghayoum could not attend classes or study sessions because of the zone and the antisemitic activities on campus. Additionally, he was forced to listen to chants of "death to the Jews" and "death to Israel." Eden Shemuelian had trouble getting to her final exams because of the zones and had to listen to the vitriol from the encampment as she tried to study. These, said Beckett Law, are just three examples of the problems faced by Jewish students at UCLA.

Mark Rienzi, president and CEO of Becket, stated:

If masked agitators had excluded any other marginalized group at UCLA, Governor Newsom rightly would have sent in the National Guard immediately. But UCLA instead caved to the anti-Semitic activists and allowed its Jewish students to be segregated from the heart of their own campus. That is a profound and illegal failure of leadership. This is America in 2024—not Germany in 1939. It is disgusting that an elite American university would let itself devolve into a hotbed of antisemitism. UCLA’s administration should have to answer for allowing the Jew Exclusion Zone and promise that Jews will never again be segregated on campus.

The suit notes:

Defendants have deprived Plaintiffs of the free exercise and enjoyment of religion without discrimination or preference, as secured by the California Constitution, through a policy and practice that treats Plaintiffs differently than similarly situated non-Jewish individuals because Plaintiffs are Jewish.

Defendants furthered no legitimate or compelling state interest by engaging in this conduct.

Defendants failed to tailor their actions narrowly to serve any such interest.

As a result of Defendants’ actions, Plaintiffs have been injured by losing access to educational opportunities, losing access to library and classroom facilities, losing in-person learning opportunities, losing the ability to prepare for exams, being denied equal participation in the life of the university, suffering emotional and physical stress that has diverted time, attention, and focus from study, and by other harms.

In addition to seeking compensation for damages, the primary goal of the lawsuit is to hold the leadership of the University of California accountable and ensure that such a situation never arises again.

As usual, "never again" is here and now. The fact that these "students" take a great deal of pride in slinging the term "Nazi" at anyone with which they disagree yet use tactics that echo those of the Third Reich is ironic and chilling. But their savage nature can be attributed, at least in part, to those who educated them. 

Given that, one must ask if the regents of the University of California were merely caving to mob pressure. Did they turn a blind eye to the madness out of fear or because of the optics? Ideally, there should be nothing wrong with discussing the war and even debating whether or not Israel's response to the Hamas attack has been proportionate. 

The regents, president, vice-president, and chancellors never stopped to think, "Gee, it seems to be getting awfully brownshirty around here." And if they did, they were too cowardly or indoctrinated to say a word.

[i4oba]

nct dream as… / fanfiction aus 𓈒✳︎🏡

[take the quiz here to see which one you get!]

✰ MARK — childhood friends to lovers!au

ever since you've basically known your name, mark has been the boy next door. there was the cheeky, red letters of "lee" painted on the mailbox, the windows were adorned with the same coloured curtains, and the same doormat has been sitting in front of their door for ages. you have loved mark ever since you two have met. there wasn't a day where you wouldn't think of him, and there hasn't been a day when you haven't loved him. it was like a vicious circle which you couldn't get out of, because those stupid feelings would destroy the oh so precious friendship of yours, and you cannot let that happen, right? i mean, that's what you've thought for far too long, since this friendship meant more to you, than the fragile feeling of love - you didn't want it to get to the point where you would rather spit on each other, than talk it out. maybe that's why you pushed him away from yourself? maybe you just did that because you weren't too sure of your own peace of mind? no matter what, you knew the decision itself was wrong, only to realize it way too late. damaging the friendship and crying yourself to sleep was all your fault, after all, being way too proud and scared, stupid even; when you came back to the town where you two grew up, the least thing you wanted was to meet mark lee, mainly because you wouldn't have been able to look him in the eyes after all these happened. but you had to, so soon you even got a little surprised. it's been a while since the last time you have been home, your bedroom seemed way too unfamiliar at that point, just like the vhs tape placed directly in the middle of your bed. one which you haven't seen yet. it didn't have a title, the white label completely empty as you picked it up. you were a little bit cautious when placing it in the system, waiting for it to play whatever is on it, not having such large imagination to expect anything. it was a home video montage, full of videos of you and mark: playing together, getting ready for the first day of school, going to the movies, the way you two got engaged in middle school as a joke, and the omnious day of prom... you got teary eyed, with one thing on your mind - you have to go and save whatever's left now. maybe you're not too late.

✰ RENJUN — soulmate!au

life had been pretty much grey and dreary until you found The One. the other half everyone had been so obsessed to find. you were never big on all this stuff, because you were convinced you'd be able to live as a single half for you whole life, and don't need anyone else to feel complete. deep inside you knew that all of this is bullshit, truly, and all that was coming out of you was true bitterness and constantly ongoing unsuccessful confessions, making you believe in your delusions. with every passing second, you had to see people find their other half, while you were left to deal with the grey world you were left in, not as a choice but as fate instead. you felt like a loser, a big zero, who doesn't even deserve a soulmate. you thought you were destined to die alone, maybe compensate with something of brilliance: be a composer or a singer, write or paint something extraordinary, lord knows what, just something of importance! you were looking for yourself in every corner of the world, not for a lover or a fling, not for an other half, fully ignoring the law of attraction. it might have been some reverse psychological trick, effecting it all. and this may have been the reason behind why you had to leave that horribly boring theatre play, sneaking out and bumping into The One, who handed back your accidentally dropped bag, slowly looking into your eyes. he might have worked at the theater as he was wearing a name tag on his elegant shirt - huang renjun, it said. but it doesn't even matter, because his eyes were brown! brown! not grey, brown! everything cleared up. you did find the half - with brown eyes and a smile so bright.

✰ JENO — coffee shop!au

it was pretty much bittersweet to step foot in your favourite café: it was getting dark out there, and although the rain has stopped pouring, you got absolutley soaked to the core along the way there, rain replacing the tears on your face by then. your hair was sticking to your forehead uncomfortably, your body trembling without stopping, as you entered. the bell placed above the entrance was ringing lightly, gathering everyone's attention to you, although there wasn't too much people there except for the baristas, maybe two wandering souls, working on their laptops or reading in a cozy corner. well, maybe if it wasn't for getting dumped literal minutes ago, you wouldn't be here either, but it was still the most reasonable choice compared to going to a club or a ruin bar, gettig incredibly drunk, Plus! a good espresso might be able to clear the fog in your head, which you were in need of during this stupidly stressing period of life. you expected hyuck to greet you by the coffee machine, grinning ear to ear, as he always does when you visit between two lectures, but there was a completely new face behind the counter. it's been a long time since you've last seen a new employee here. his smile was sweet and rather warm, eyes conveying a sense of concern as you took one step closer, rubbing your eyes while getting your purse out of your pocket - you discreetly looked at his name tag, right on his black apron: lee jeno. whatta name... by then, you were way to hopeless to try and guess how the day would go, but life had to surprise you, fate deciding funnily against all odds: next to your cup of coffee, there was a napkin, hiding a telephone number on it, messily written down with a short message as well: "would you go out on a date with me, darling? :)"

✰ HAECHAN — rivals to lovers!au

lee donghyuck's name rushed through the hallways of your music academy just as quietly as a whisper, and you never knew why was it all like that ever since you've stepped foot into the school. you couldn't even hide the way too obvious rolls of your eyes every time you heard it. lee donghyuck was one of the biggest prodigies at the academy, no one could even be considered as a rival for him, this is mainly why he was such a big living legend amongst the students - you couldn't even hide how annoyed this made you, especially because he made sure you knew this ever since you two were little. music played a huge part in both of your lives, and somehow, you two always seemed to be at each other's throat, the first place at being the best always changing between the two of you. you could never get rid of each other either; your dad, always being so positive, once said, on your way to the academy sometime between sophomore and junior year, that the only reason behind this is that you two are equally good at what you're doing. you were pretty much skeptic for the longest of time, and felt as if you were destined to be the forever second next to him. you've had enough of always bumping into walls, since hyuck was the one who could stand at the first place ever so proudly. in kindergarten, in middle school, and even in high school, every. god damn. time. and that infuriating smile was plastered all upon his face even when you two were asked to not perform alone on the annual charity gala of your academy - you two had to perform something phenomenal, putting the childish jarring aside, growing out of the silly phase of hating each other, which was all made up by you, and you only, pushing the poor boy away from you. the boy who had always been so obsessed with you, utterly and completely. he won this time again, isn't it right?

✰ JAEMIN — photographer!au

when jaemin brought up the idea of making the last parts of his portfolio with you (which basically means about you), you were a little bit skeptic at first. you loved jaemin dearly, since he was a really understanding friend, but... you were simply terrified of cameras. you didn't really like the idea of being captured at all, you hated looking back at yourself on pictures taken of you, and you couldn't even think about how high quality his pictures would be with that hyper super machine, focused on all the little flawed details of your face that you absolutely despised. no, you couldn't even bear the idea of this whole project, and you stood by this decision of yours, jaemin waiting patiently the whole time, not pushing it too hard. since he wanted to work with you no matter what, giving up on his plan wouldn't be too typical of him - the fight didn't last long but it was pretty heated, him highlighting so many known things that needed to be said finally: it's childish how you reflect on yourself, and your delusions stop you from way too many things. the way he said straight into your face how beautiful he thinks you are, inside and outside, and that he wants the whole world to know how ethereal you are, made you tear up a little - especially when he said his heart breaks every time you speak so lowly of yourself. he truly thinks you're the modern manifestation of aphrodite, that you are his own venus, the muse of him, someone he can adore... that he's way too in love with you to let go of this, and-; the kiss you gave him was short, yet gave him exact answers. answers to hundreds and thousand of unsaid questions he kept hidden in himself for years and years on end.

✰ CHENLE — blind date!au

you clearly didn’t brace yourself for this whole fiasco proposed by donghyuck himself, foolishly believing his reasonings behind how perfect of a matchmaker he is. of course you knew that what he way saying was partly stupid, plus you were like a seventy percent sure he wasn't even sober when he set up a blind date during that omnious frat party he wasn't invited to. you didn't have to worry or anything, that's just how you were - overly anxious of such things, even if you weren't meeting a psychopath. you were only a bit vary of the awkwardness this whole new experience would bring, both of you rushing home way too soon from the date, trying to forget about it as soon as possible. these misconceptions about how the night would go stayed straight until you stopped in front of the restaurant to wait for your - then late already - date. you were a little nervous he stood you up, and you got yourself into the most beautiful piece of clothing from you wardrobe for nothing, but it was worth it, looking back at it, as zhong chenle arrived and you two simply just... clicked? automatically? not to mention you two decided to leave the place after the hors d'oeuvre, since you both found the place a little too fancy at that moment, going to a simple ice cream parlor instead, taking a walk in the park after, talking about anything and everything that came to mind: family, politics, movies and the most embarrassing memories from your childhood came up too, as you couldn't help but laugh at how chenle dropped his ice cream cone on the ground, while he simultaneously promised you that he wouldn't drop the cone on the next date - and you smiled, so happily.

✰ JISUNG — secret admirer!au

you were head over heels for jisung and his undying love for dancing. but, thinking a bit deeper about it, while writing that foolish, teenager like love letter for him, forced into the role of his secret admirer, there were much more of those things that made you feel head over heels for the boy: he showed you what persistence was, he spent the whole of his youth with you, and he wasn't afraid to spend the rest of his life with you, helping you out anytime you're in need of it, since he couldn't not do that as you "best friend". he couldn't be evil with you, he was never able to leave you and he couldn't even envision a future in which you weren't by his side. but the border he made up between the two of you, was never crossed - you two were friends, not more, not less. you were so torn deep inside, as you were helpless, being in the never ending limbo you would rather push forward, but he kept on tugging it backwards; the idea of writing letters was originally from your mother, who had enough of your obvious agony. she was positive you would write every feeling of yours out, making it easier as time goes by. their number kept growing, however, one letter becoming a dozen soon enough, maybe even more in the meantime, while not writing a name on any of them, referring to yourself only as a mere secret admirer. they suddenly disappeared from the bottom of your drawer one day, though, realizing way too late that the ringing phone in your pocket was in fact park jisung, the picture of him taking up the screen of your mobile - did he know?

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Law-Related Vocabulary

for your next poem/story (pt. 4/4)

Ambulatory - capable of being altered

Attainder - the termination of the civil rights of a person upon a sentence of death or outlawry for treason or a felony

Bestiality - the crime of engaging in sexual relations with an animal

Blasphemy - the crime of insulting or showing contempt or lack of reverence for God or a religion and its doctrines and writings and especially God as perceived by Christianity and Christian doctrines and writings

Brownfield - a tract of land that has been developed for industrial purposes, polluted, and then abandoned

Clemency - willingness or ability to moderate the severity of a punishment (as a sentence); an act or instance of mercy, compassion, or forgiveness

Cold blood - a state of mind marked by premeditation and deliberateness—usually used in the phrase in cold blood

Concubinage - the relationship between persons who are cohabiting without the benefit of marriage

Days of grace - period of time beyond a scheduled date during which a required action (as payment of an obligation) may be taken without incurring the ordinarily resulting adverse consequences (as penalty or cancellation); also called "grace period"

Donation mortis causa - a donation that is to take effect on the donor's death and that is revocable

Ex maleficio - arising from wrongdoing; created by law in response to a wrongdoing

Exonerate - to relieve especially of a charge, obligation, or hardship; to clear from accusation or blame

Express malice - the knowledge that defamatory statements especially regarding a public figure are false

Extreme cruelty - behavior toward a spouse that involves physical violence or threats thereof, acts calculated to destroy the peace of mind or health of the spouse, or acts destructive of the purpose of the marriage

Floodgate - something serving to restrain an outburst (as of litigation)—usually used in pl.

Flotsam - floating wreckage of a ship or its cargo

Flying squad - a usually small standby group of people ready to move or act quickly; especially: a police unit formed to respond quickly in an emergency; called also "flying squadron"

Fourth degree - a grade given to less serious forms of crimes

Freedom of the seas - the right of a merchant ship to travel any waters except territorial waters either in peace or war

Golden parachute - an agreement providing for generous compensation to an executive upon dismissal

Great bodily injury - physical injury suffered by the victim of a violent crime that causes a substantial risk of death, extended loss or impairment of a body part or function, or permanent disfigurement; physical injury that is more serious than that ordinarily suffered in a battery

Indemnify - to secure against hurt, loss, or damage

Messuage - a dwelling house with the adjacent buildings and curtilage and other adjoining lands used in connection with the household

Moiety - half of something

Moot - deprived of practical significance; made abstract or purely academic

Next friend - a person appearing in or appointed by a court to act on behalf of a person (as a child) lacking legal capacity

Nunc pro tunc - now for then—used in reference to a judicial or procedural act that corrects an omission in the record, has effect as of an earlier date, or takes place after a deadline has expired

Primogeniture - the state of being the firstborn of the children of the same parents; exclusive right of inheritance

Prurient - marked by or arousing an unwholesome sexual interest or desire

Putative - thought, assumed, or alleged to be such or to exist

Sedition - the crime of creating a revolt, disturbance, or violence against lawful civil authority with the intent to cause its overthrow or destruction

Seriatim - in a series; individually in a sequence

Strictissimi juris - according to the strictest interpretation of the law

Wrongful death - a death caused by the negligent, willful, or wrongful act, neglect, omission, or default of another

Wrongful life - a malpractice claim brought by or on behalf of a child born with a birth defect alleging that he or she would never have been born if not for the negligent advice or treatment provided to the parents by a physician or health-care provider (Note: Wrongful life claims have usually been rejected by the courts. The injury is not the birth defect, but the life itself, and courts are reluctant to declare life an injury. A specific calculation of damages for wrongful life would entail affixing a monetary value to the difference between life in an impaired state and nonexistence. There is no legally established right not to be born.)

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Law-Related Words ⚜ Word Lists

[notthisbread]

Safehaven | Stannis x Wife!Reader

Summary: Each year, Robert insists on throwing a grand feast on the anniversary of Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana's passing. This year, it weighs on Stannis more than usual, but his wife has a plan to ease his burden.

Length: ~7k words

Warnings: A bit of smut at the end, but mostly it's just a lot of acts of service fluff. Also Reader has an uncle who is Master of Law, a brother and a nephew. No House mentioned, though.

Also lightly inspired by @a-libra-writes wonderful Stannis works! :) (Those have kept me going more than once lol).

Y/N was on her way to his study, a plate balanced carefully in her hands, laden with his favorite morning fare: warm bread, thick slices of cheese, a few plump figs, and a small bowl of honey. Steam curled up from a mug of spiced tea, filling the hallway with its comforting aroma as she walked.

Her lord husband was rarely in bed for long, and in the almost eight moons that Y/N had been married, she had never managed to rise before him.

Yet, despite his early hours, he would almost always make it back in time to break fast with her. She still remembered the first time he did, upon her request. He had drawn his brows as if she had instead asked him to take up juggling for the court’s amusement. But he’d returned, hesitantly taking the seat across from her. They had spent that morning quietly eating, only interrupted by small questions about his day.

“I have a small council meeting this evening,” he had said. And from the way his hand curled tighter around the mug, Y/N knew it wasn’t something he was looking forward to.

She tilted her head. “A meeting about what?”

“A petition from Lord Ainsley,” he replied, his expression darkening. “He claims his lands are owed compensation for alleged damages caused by… geese from a neighboring estate.”

Y/N blinked, trying to hold back a smile. Usually, such a matter would be regarded during the hours of petition. However, Ainsley was one of Robert’s friends. It was a wonder he was not on the small council himself. The realm could use a Master of Geese, perhaps.

“A serious concern,” she replied, her tone mock-somber. “Perhaps we should knight these geese for their tireless service.”

A snort escaped him, and then, to her astonishment, he smiled. The smallest, briefest of smiles, but a real one, his eyes glinting with reluctant amusement. She felt a flutter of warmth at the sight—it was the first time she had seen his stern exterior crack.

“Lord Ainsley may not agree with you,” he murmured, though his voice had softened, the edge in his gaze replaced by something almost warm.

Y/N smiled back, basking in the quiet success of having drawn that rare, unguarded moment from him. The room fell into a comfortable silence once more, and he returned to his meal, his hand resting a little more relaxed around his mug.

But this morning, he hadn’t been there to tell her about the small council. His seat had remained empty, drawing a sigh from her. It usually meant that duty had drawn him elsewhere and kept him firmly in place. She’d be lucky if she saw him before nightfall if she didn’t stop by his study.

With the grand tourney and feast planned for the day, Y/N had little doubt as to the source of his unease. She had known before she married him that he viewed court life as little more than frivolous pageantry. Though Y/N wasn’t one to indulge in every celebration and certainly didn’t delight in them with Robert’s enthusiasm, she could still find enjoyment in them—especially when surrounded by the right company.

Since becoming his wife, however, Y/N had tried to make up for his absence at these gatherings. She attended every feast, every dance, every event, often with more enthusiasm than she truly felt. She moved through the halls, engaging with nobles and courtiers, dancing when asked, and always responding cheerfully whenever someone inquired about her husband’s whereabouts.

When Y/N reached his study and knocked softly, she heard a familiar, terse “Enter.” Stepping inside, she expected to find him hunched over his desk, absorbed in whatever documents or maps required his attention. Instead, he was standing by the window, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. His back was tense, hands clasped behind him, his shoulders drawn tight in a way that hinted at something more than mere annoyance. He didn’t turn to greet her; the weight of his thoughts was so palpable that it almost felt as though he hadn’t noticed her arrival at all.

He turned as Y/N placed the plate on his desk. Spotting her, his shoulders straightened even more, though she wasn’t exactly sure how that was possible. The sight of her often brought about this response in him, a subtle bracing, as though he faced a challenge to be meticulously assessed. He looked at her as if she were an uncharted territory on a map, or perhaps a report he needed to decipher, line by line, until he made sense of every part.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice a touch softer than usual—so at odds with the way he was appraising her. His gaze flicked to the plate she had brought—bread, honey, tea, and other comforts he’d never think to ask for himself but now accepted as part of their morning routine together.

Y/N smiled back, then moved to the windowsill—a place that had become hers in his study. Marked by the pillows and blanket that had appeared one day. Ah, the blush on his face when she had thanked him that day, kissing his cheek. He’d tried to pass it off as a practical measure: “If you’re to sit by the window, best you don’t get a chill,” he’d muttered.

As she settled, he shifted, glancing at her and then quickly back out the window, clearly a bit unnerved by her closeness. A faint pink crept to his cheeks, though he tried to hide it with a quick clearing of his throat.

"You didn’t need to bring breakfast here," he muttered.

"I wanted to," Y/N replied simply, watching as he looked anywhere but at her. It didn’t matter. She could still tell from the way he was now absent-mindedly massaging his jaw, that he had been grinding his teeth for the past hour or so. That was excessive for a feast, even for him. “You’re��� troubled.”

He didn’t look, clenched his jaw. Y/N half-expected him to brush it off, to tell her it was nothing for her to concern herself with. But Stannis wasn’t one to evade the truth, however difficult.

“The feast and tourney…” he began, each word seeming to weigh heavily on him. “They fall on… on the day my parents died. And Robert has made it his custom to use this day as an excuse for revelry. Drinking and…” he trailed off, pressing his lips into a thin line. “He insists I attend.”

Y/N’s heart twisted at the conflict she saw etched into his face, the silent frustration, the sense of duty wrestling with a desire to honor the memory of his parents in his own way. She could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, and as much as she admired his devotion to duty, she wanted—just for today—to offer him a respite from it. Knowing Stannis, she couldn’t say this outright. He would deny her without second thought.

She watched him for a moment, her heart aching for him. Then an idea sparked. Leaning forward with a glint in her eyes, she said, “My brother has asked me to visit recently. Rather urgent business. A matter with the harvest. And I know he didn’t plan to attend the tourney today… And, well, since it’s rather far and by the coast, I’m surely in need of my husband to accompany me. For safety.”

Stannis blinked at her, the faintest hint of understanding dawning on his face. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“For… safety, you say?” He asked, his mouth tilting ever so slightly in what might have been the beginnings of a smile.

“Oh, yes,” Y/N continued, her eyes widening theatrically. “Who knows what dangers could be lurking out there? Pirates could roam the coast; sea monsters waiting to awake. I think it’s only right that my husband, Master of Ships no less, should accompany me to ensure my well-being.”

He looked at her, half-amused, half-incredulous, and for a moment, the tension melted from his face. “Pirates?” he repeated, a rare glimmer of warmth in his voice. “I highly doubt—”

“Pirates,” Y/N insisted, trying to keep a straight face. “They’re ruthless, my lord. And, of course, pirates have a penchant for capturing particularly foolish noblewomen—”

“Enough,” he interrupted, his tone somewhere between exasperated and entertained, though the latter was a rarity for him. Yet he was close to laughing, Y/N could tell, and he was growing more at ease in this moment than she’d seen him in days. “My lady, I—”

She reached for his hand, gently lacing her fingers with his. The feel of his rough, calloused fingers against hers was grounding, and Y/N softened her voice, gazing up at him with a touch of sincerity. “Would you come with me, my lord?”

His expression faltered, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her hand in his. In the warm morning light streaming in from the window, he seemed uncharacteristically vulnerable.

A faint sigh left his lips, and he nodded, murmuring, “Very well, my lady. If pirates lie in wait, I suppose I have little choice.”

Filled with gratitude and something warmer, Y/N leaned up and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. She felt his faint intake of breath, the way he tensed slightly, but he didn’t pull away. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, and he seemed frozen, his hand still held in hers.

Y/N straightened, a playful glint in her eyes as she looked at him. "I’ll let my uncle know of our plans. And then, my lord, I shall meet you at the harbor—after you’ve had your fill of breakfast."

Stannis watched as Y/N moved gracefully from the room, and though the door closed behind her, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away, as if willing her to reappear. He replayed the conversation in his mind, the warmth in her eyes, the way she’d leaned in close, and a reluctant smile pulled at his mouth. His sense of duty should have barred him from entertaining such a reckless idea, but she had managed to sway him so easily. He almost laughed at himself, shaking his head.

She had effortlessly drawn him away from his duties—wrapped him up in a tapestry of her gentle scheming, leaving him strangely willing to follow wherever she led.

From the first time he'd met her, he should have known she’d be trouble. He could still picture her, sitting in her uncle’s study by the window, much like she had now, half-illuminated by the afternoon sun. Her presence had been unassuming at first; she was merely the niece of the Master of Law, listening intently as the men discussed matters of trade with Dorne. She was quiet, poised, and perhaps a bit too young to be involved in council matters. But when she’d finally spoken up, it had changed everything. He remembered the way she’d tilted her head, her brow furrowing thoughtfully as she interjected.

"But if you’re so eager to limit our trade with Dorne, my lords," she’d said, her tone calm yet firm, "perhaps you’ve no use for the southern wine you enjoyed so much last evening?" Her words had cut through the room like a knife through silk, silencing even the most pompous lords in attendance. Stannis had felt a rare flash of amusement at the stunned expressions around the room. The other lords had been taken aback, sputtering their excuses, but she’d only watched them with a quiet, knowing smile.

After that day, he had expected to see her only in passing, if at all. He hadn’t anticipated marriage—it had been a political suggestion by her uncle, one he’d accepted out of duty. And now…

He looked again at the plate she had brought him, and finally willed himself to sit down to eat.

After finishing his meal, he moved methodically to prepare for the journey, gathering his traveling cloak and satchel, then, almost as an afterthought, reaching for another thick cloak. The sky outside was darkening, and it wouldn’t do for his lady wife to be caught in the rain. Holding the extra cloak in his hands, he allowed himself a brief smile, imagining how she’d protest that she hadn’t thought to bring one herself.

When he finally made his way to the harbor, he spotted her at once, standing near the gangplank, a light in her eyes as she watched the boats. The wind tugged at her hair, pulling stray strands free, and he felt a strange rush of pride seeing her there, looking so steady and assured.

As he approached, her eyes met his, and she grinned, an expression so full of warmth that he felt it settle around him like armor. Before he could speak, she stepped forward, slipping her arm through his with an ease that left him momentarily speechless. He stiffened for just a moment, acutely aware of how close she was, of the gentle weight of her hand on his arm, of the trust that small gesture conveyed.

"Thank you for coming with me," she said softly, a smile in her voice.

He managed a nod, his gaze shifting to the gangplank. "It… wouldn’t be proper for you to make this journey alone," he replied, though his words felt insufficient, as if they didn’t quite capture why he’d agreed.

As the boat set out from the harbor, a gentle drizzle began to fall, the droplets misting across the deck. Stannis glanced up at the darkening clouds before looking back at her, one eyebrow raised in mild curiosity.

“So,” he began, his voice carrying the faintest hint of teasing, “you mentioned the harvest. Tell me, what other urgent duties has your brother tasked you with?”

She laughed, catching the playful glint in his eyes. “For one, he’s been asking for assistance with his steward’s accounts.”

Before he could respond, she continued with a mischievous smile. “And, naturally, there’s the matter of entertaining Willem.”

At the mention of her nephew, Stannis allowed himself a faint smile, remembering the lively child tugging at her skirts during their wedding feast, demanding to know what sorts of fish swam by Dragonstone’s shores and how many ships could fit in the harbor.

“And I mustn’t forget my most important duty,” she added, feigning a solemn tone. “I’m required to pet the dog, Sand, at least three times. My brother was quite firm about that. Apparently, he’s developed a fondness for belly rubs.”

“I don’t remember your brother mentioning a dog.”

“Oh, Sand’s rather new. A great beast of a hound, all paws and drool and the need for constant attention,” she replied, eyes twinkling.

“Sounds like a hound made for Robert,” Stannis muttered, without thinking.

She laughed, the sound warm and bright against the backdrop of the gray sky, and he found himself watching her with a softness he would never allow in the council room or on the field. She had a way of drawing him out, easing the rigid barriers he’d spent his life constructing. But as she described her “duties,” he caught himself lingering on the sight of her, bundled in his extra cloak, her eyes still shining despite the gathering clouds overhead.

Just then, the drizzle turned into a light rain, pattering against the deck. Without a word, Stannis drew the extra cloak he’d packed from under his arm and handed it to her, his movements uncharacteristically gentle. His brow furrowed slightly, and he looked almost bashful, as if he were uncertain how she’d react to such a small gesture.

She took the cloak, smiling as she shook it out. “Thank you, my lord. I suppose you anticipated my poor judgment in packing.” A playful glint danced in her eyes as she teased him, though her voice was full of warmth.

He cleared his throat, a hint of color rising in his cheeks, but he nodded in acknowledgment. “It looked like rain,” he replied gruffly.

She laughed, and before he could react, she leaned in to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, truly,” she murmured, her voice soft as she drew back, pulling the cloak around her.

~~~~~

She stepped off the boat ahead of him, her eyes bright with anticipation. He followed, adjusting the weight of his satchel and feeling a faint sense of belonging in this small moment by her side.

The moment her boots touched solid ground, there was a loud, enthusiastic bark. A large hound bounded out from the nearby grove, barreling toward her. She laughed in delight, dropping to one knee and throwing her arms around the massive creature’s neck as it eagerly licked her face, its tail wagging with an unrestrained joy that seemed to echo her own. “Sand!” she exclaimed, rubbing the hound’s belly with practiced ease. “There you are, boy.”

As Stannis looked on, he felt an unexpected fondness for the big, drooling beast, as though it somehow fit perfectly with this moment, with her.

Quite the introduction. But before he could dwell on it, a high-pitched laugh rang out, and a young boy, perhaps six or seven years old, with an impish grin that immediately reminded him of her lunged forward. The boy took no time in lunging forward and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She laughed as he clambered up her back, and, with surprising ease, she lifted him, securing him on her shoulders as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Willem! You’re getting heavier!” she teased, lifting him up and settling him comfortably on her shoulders as she stood, laughing. Willem grinned, his hands gripping her shoulders as he looked around, a wide smile on his face.

“Still not as tall as Uncle Stannis, though!” Willem declared, staring at Stannis with a mixture of awe and determination. “How are you still taller?”

Stannis raised an eyebrow. He had never truly considered the title, or even what it might entail, until now. His position was always Lord Stannis, Warden, Master of Ships. But in that moment, with Willem grinning at him and her laughing up at the boy with such unabashed love, he felt something shift, a gentler kind of duty he hadn’t known he wanted.

“I suppose I’ve had a few more years to grow.”

Willem, still perched on her shoulders, wobbled slightly, and Stannis instinctively reached out a hand, steadying him. The boy looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Are you staying with us long, Uncle Stannis?”

Stannis cleared his throat, unsure how to answer, but she stepped in smoothly. “Just long enough to remind you to mind your manners, Willem,” she teased. “You know, you can say hello properly, can’t you?”

Willem ducked his head slightly, a shy smile overtaking his initial boldness. “Hello, Uncle Stannis,” he said, his voice bright yet a touch bashful.

Stannis offered a small nod, unable to help the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Hello, Willem.” It felt strange, that title—uncle—falling into his life like a new cloak, fitting him awkwardly but somehow… comfortably, as if he could grow into it.

Before he could dwell too long on the thought, a familiar voice called out, drawing her attention. Her brother strode toward her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Well,” her brother greeted, his tone half-surprised, half-amused. “I wasn’t expecting you today. But I see my son has already claimed his rightful throne.” He nodded at Willem, whose face lit up even more at his father’s words.

“Ah, you know, I didn’t need to see Ser Barristan winning again when we could use our time a bit more productively.”

Her brother gave an enthusiastic nod. “Indeed… We intend to go to the feast later—”

Willem, still perched on her shoulders, tugged at her hair gently, clearly vying for her attention. “Auntie, are you coming to the feast too?”

She gave him an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll be there, Willem, but only if you promise not to fall asleep on me during the meal. You’re getting far too heavy to carry back to bed.”

Stannis felt an odd thought creep into his mind, one that took him by surprise. He watched her, her effortless affection for Willem, the natural way she balanced him on her shoulders, laughing as he leaned forward to ask her something in hushed, excited tones. The ease with which she fit here, among family, made him wonder, just for a moment, what it would be like for her to have children of her own.

Children. His children.

He had, of course, considered heirs before, but always in a practical, distant manner, a responsibility more than a desire.

Yet, now the image of those children held the mischief he had come so used to find in her eyes, her easy laugh.

~~~~~

The ‘duties’ of the day passed by in an easy flow, the air warm with the feel of home, of familiarity. She worked closely with her brother, helping him review the steward’s accounts and discussing ways to stretch provisions after the recent harvest had come up short. Stannis stayed nearby, offering the occasional insight and giving his stern, practical guidance, though he found himself watching her often, appreciating the diligence with which she worked. He hadn’t expected to be part of this quieter side of her life, yet he found himself drawn to it, to the easy camaraderie between her and her brother, and even to the way she glanced over now and then, catching his eye and giving him a smile that made him feel inexplicably… seen.

Willem would occasionally wander in, wide-eyed with the curiosity of youth, tugging on her sleeve and urging her to join him outside to see something new Sand had “discovered.” Each time, she would give him a small task to “help” his father and uncle, filling his face with pride as he eagerly set to work on these little responsibilities.

~~~~~

The ship rocked gently as it cut through the waves, heading back toward King’s Landing. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm glow across the water. Stannis stood at the edge of the deck, his hands resting on the railing, his gaze fixed out over the endless stretch of sea. The tension that usually shaped his posture had softened, his expression calm, even reflective, as though the open ocean had drawn something tender from within him.

She stepped quietly to his side, leaning against the railing and watching him for a moment.

It was rare to see him so… at ease. From the beginning, she’d found him handsome, drawn to the intensity in his dark eyes, the strong, chiseled lines of his face. His hair was dark and kept short, his face clean-shaven, giving him a look of sharpness, of restraint. He often seemed older than his years, carrying the weight of duty and responsibility in a way that hardened his expression.

But now, with the soft light of evening casting gentle shadows across his face, he looked his age—a man in his twenties, strong and steady but unguarded, even peaceful.

“What are you thinking about?”

Stannis was silent for a long moment, his gaze drifting back over the water. Finally, he spoke, voice almost lost in the sound of the waves. “My parents.”

She leaned in a little closer, just watching as he spoke, his face painted with gentle memories.

”My father, Lord Steffon, was… a man easy to laugh.” A faint smile crossed his lips, a shadow of some forgotten warmth. “Not unlike Robert, in some ways. He had a way of filling a room, bringing laughter with him. And my mother…” He hesitated, his eyes softening. “She was quieter, but no less spirited. Gentle, but strong. She had a laugh, though—soft, like the waves at dawn.”

She felt a quiet ache at the way he spoke of them, his words laced with a nostalgia she hadn’t often seen in him. He rarely shared anything of himself, and yet here he was, as though the vastness of the sea had given him the space to voice what he kept so carefully hidden.

Stannis’s hand tightened slightly on the railing. “They were…” He trailed off, as if he couldn’t quite find the words, then cleared his throat. “They suited one another.”

She hoped that, in some small way, he was beginning to think the same of the two of them. Her gaze lingered on his profile, the way his jaw had relaxed, the lines of tension smoothed away as he looked out over the waves, lost in thought. Gently, she lifted her hand and let it rest on his.

He didn’t tense or pull away.

“You remember them well,” she murmured, her voice quiet, inviting him to share as much or as little as he wished.

“Aye. There are few things that stay as clear as that.”

~~~~~

The hall at King’s Landing was alive with music and laughter, the warm light of countless candles casting a glow over the feast. She moved through the crowd with ease, greeting familiar faces and occasionally stealing a glance back at Stannis, who stood by the edge of the room. He seemed less stiff than usual, a subtle ease in his stance as he sipped his wine, observing the bustling crowd.

She slipped over to him, a mischievous smile on her face. “Come now, my lord, I promised you wouldn’t be stranded alone tonight.” Gently, she steered him toward her uncle, who was deep in conversation with a few lords. He looked up as she approached, eyes brightening.

“Niece!” he greeted warmly, giving her a nod before casting a respectful look toward Stannis. “And Lord Stannis, it’s good to see you again.”

She leaned in to her uncle, voice low. “Keep Robert’s… attentions from lingering too long on my husband, hmm?”

Her uncle chuckled, understanding instantly. He didn’t say another word, instead drawing Stannis into a conversation with her brother.

Moments later, a small hand tugged insistently at hers. She turned to see Willem, his face alight with excitement. “Dance with me?” His cheeks were flushed, and he could hardly contain his excitement, standing on his toes in anticipation.

Laughing, she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, twirling him around as he laughed, his small feet trying to keep up with the rhythm. His laughter echoed in the hall, infectious, and soon others were watching, amused by the spirited little boy and his doting aunt.

After a song or two, Willem grew distracted, caught up in the swirl of color and light around him. She let him run off to find his father, and she continued to make rounds, chatting with old friends and acquaintances, dancing a bit more, stealing glances across the room whenever she could. Each time she looked, she found Stannis still engaged in conversation, comfortable but ever vigilant.

But then, she noticed Robert making his way through the crowd toward Stannis. She saw the gleam in his eye, his slightly too-wide grin that meant he was in a particularly merry—possibly reckless—mood. Without missing a beat, she called to Willem, who was only a short distance away, and whispered to him with a wink.

Willem’s eyes went wide, and with a grin, he dashed over to Stannis, tugging at his sleeve. “Uncle Stannis!” he whispered urgently. “Could you tell me more about ships? I want to know everything!���

Stannis glanced down, surprised but clearly pleased by the eager request. With a nod, he began guiding Willem toward the quieter end of the hall, away from Robert’s boisterous path.

She let out a breath, smiling as she watched them go. Willem was practically bouncing as he peppered Stannis with questions, and Stannis took his time, explaining in quiet tones, gesturing here and there to illustrate points.

As the evening continued, she caught sight of them now and then—Willem raptly listening, and Stannis guiding him through the answers.

After a while, she made her way back over to where Stannis and Willem were still deep in conversation about ships, anchors, and all manner of things that kept her nephew wide-eyed with fascination. She gently touched Willem’s shoulder, guiding him away with a warm smile. “Willem, why don’t you go find your great-uncle and tell him everything you’ve learned? I’m sure he’ll be eager to hear.”

Willem nodded with enthusiasm, offering Stannis a little bow before running off in search of her uncle, leaving her and Stannis standing together in the quieter corner of the hall. She leaned in close, voice low and filled with a playful edge.

“Well,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his gaze, “your brother has seen you now—duty fulfilled. We could… simply leave.” The suggestion lingered between them, light and tempting.

For a moment, Stannis seemed to study her, a spark in his eyes that softened as he took in the warmth of her expression, the slight arch of her brow. He took her hand, a gesture firm and purposeful, and without another word, he led her from the hall, guiding her through the grand doors and into the quieter corridors beyond.

As they made their way out of the bustling feast and into the cool, quiet air of the night, a new ease settled between them, laughter bubbling up as they both felt the freedom from the formalities of the evening. She kicked off her shoes, balancing on one foot, and Stannis instinctively reached out, steadying her with a strong arm around her waist. His hand was warm, holding her close, his grip firm but gentle.

As they walked together down the quiet corridor, she couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension of the evening melting away. “I think I can finally breathe,” she joked, tugging off her shoes, sighing in relief.

She wobbled slightly, and his hands moved to steady her, one warm hand on her arm, the other at her waist. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice low.

Then, without quite knowing why, he leaned in. The kiss was intense, a flood of feeling and longing he couldn’t contain. She melted into him, her hands slipping up to his shoulders, and he drew her closer, his mouth moving over hers with a fervor he hadn’t known was possible. It wasn’t just passion—it was an overwhelming pull that felt as if it had been waiting to surface for longer than he cared to admit.

She felt his heart pounding, each kiss more fervent than the last, as if he were finally, finally letting go.

And maybe he was.

When she pulled back, her breaths coming fast, her cheeks flushed, she looked at him with a depth he’d rarely seen. He swallowed, his thumb brushing over her waist as he steadied his breath, his gaze still on her. Something was different tonight, something beyond what words could explain, and though he couldn’t name it, he felt it keenly. His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, aching feeling that he had no name for, but that tugged him toward her with an urgency he hadn’t expected.

“Y/N…” he murmured, the weight of his own heart in his voice.

She reached up, running a hand along his jaw, feeling the roughness of his skin beneath her fingertips, a smile flickering at her lips. “If I’d known you would kiss me like that, my lord, I might have whisked you away from these feasts a little sooner,” she teased, voice soft but edged with the thrill of this unspoken, simmering connection.

He swallowed, his thumb grazing her cheek in a gesture that was almost reverent. “You—you did all of this tonight,” he murmured, voice low, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “Arranged every moment… you didn’t have to.”

She leaned into his touch, a gentle smile playing at her lips as she looked up at him. “I wanted to, Stannis. You bear so much, day in and day out. I only wanted to give you a day without that weight—a moment to simply… be.”

A flicker of something softened in his eyes, something almost vulnerable, and he released a breath he didn’t seem to know he’d been holding. “You see more of me than most,” he murmured, his fingers tracing gentle patterns against her cheek. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“Where else would I be?” she whispered, resting a hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

His heart pounded with a vulnerability that felt dangerously close to surrender, a feeling he wasn’t prepared to face here. His grip tightened slightly at her waist, searching for some way to escape the tumult within him.

Then, as if finding a solution, he slipped his arms around her and lifted her in one swift, unceremonious motion, cradling her against his chest. It was purely practical, he told himself, sparing her the discomfort of walking barefoot through the stone corridors and making sure she didn’t have to endure any more of the evening’s festivities.

“Stannis!” She laughed softly, surprised but delighted, as he held her close and set a brisk, determined pace toward their chambers. “There’s no need—”

“Your shoes clearly need refitting,” he replied, his tone gruff but his expression softened by the warmth in his eyes. He held her as if he’d never let go, his heart racing with each step.

As he moved down the hall, she tucked herself against him, her arm wrapped around his neck, allowing herself to relax in his hold. She caught sight of several of the guards casting curious glances her way, and one in particular, Ser Barristan Selmy, raised his brows ever so slightly, his expression unreadable but with a faint glint of quiet amusement in his eyes.

Stannis quickened his steps as they approached their chambers. Once inside their dark chambers, he carried her directly to the bed, lowering her gently down. The shoes clacked as they fell onto the floor. The moment her back touched the sheets, she reached up, catching his face in her hands, her thumbs grazing the rough lines of his jaw.

“Stay,” she whispered, pulling him down with a softness and strength that left him unable to resist.

Stannis hovered above her, every careful breath he took betraying the restraint he was struggling to hold onto. But in the quiet, with only the soft glow of the candles around them, her fingers in his hair, the warmth of her body beneath him, his resolve was beginning to crack.

As Y/N’s hands roamed down his back, she felt the tightly coiled strength in him, the tension he always seemed to carry. She pulled him closer, pressing herself fully against him, urging him on with each gentle, deliberate movement. And slowly, he let himself relax, leaning into her embrace, his mouth moving over hers with a hunger he could no longer contain.

His hand slipped from her waist, tracing a line up her side, feeling the soft fabric of her gown and the warmth of her skin underneath. Her breath hitched as he leaned down to press his lips against her neck, a trail of heated kisses that left her skin tingling in their wake. She tilted her head back, granting him access, and he took full advantage, his mouth lingering just above her collarbone before returning to her lips with a fierceness that made her heart race.

Stannis’s hands moved back down her body, finding the edge of her gown, the delicate fabric gathered in his grip as he lifted it slightly, exposing more of her to the cool air and to his warm hands.

His fingers deftly traced along her bare thigh, igniting a shiver of anticipation. She, in turn, brought her hands up to his collar, her fingers steady as they began to unlace the front of his tunic. Each pull of the string brought him closer to her, each tug freeing him of the armor of fabric that separated them. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint tremor in his muscles as he fought to keep some semblance of control.

But when her hands finally slipped beneath his tunic, feeling the warmth of his bare skin, the wisps of dark hair on his chest, beneath her fingers, his restraint shattered. He shrugged off the garment, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, and leaned down to capture her lips again, his kiss more urgent, almost desperate.

Her gown loosened under his touch, slipping further down her shoulders, and he helped her free herself from it, his hands reverent, almost trembling as he guided it away.

His mouth found hers again, more fervent and hungry, his hands exploring her body with a tenderness and intensity that left them both breathless.

Her bare legs wound their way around his waist, forcing his body against hers, fingers scratching along his back. The groan escaped him unbidden, his self-control slipping further as he pressed himself against her.

“Stannis, please,” she murmured, her voice a soft plea, almost musical in its sweetness. The sound unraveled him entirely, and without hesitation, he discarded the last of his clothes in a hurried, almost frantic motion, heat rising at the thought of her watching him, feeling this fierce need he could no longer restrain.

But before he could move to cover her, she pressed a firm hand against his chest, guiding him back against the bed, her movements steady and assured as she positioned herself over him. He let out a sharp, involuntary breath as her warmth settled against him, her skin brushing against his, igniting every nerve.

Her hands rested on his chest as she leaned forward, her lips trailing from his jaw to his neck, setting his skin alight with each soft kiss. He gripped her hips, steadying her as she began to sink onto him, her body enveloping him in a warmth that left him utterly undone. His breath hitched, a moan escaping him as she began to move, her hips rocking against his, each movement drawing them closer together.

The rhythm she set grew steady and insistent, her movements graceful and unrestrained, her hands splaying against his chest as she rode him with an intensity that bordered on reverent. His calloused fingers pressed into her hips, anchoring her, guiding her, holding her as close as he could, as if he could fuse himself to her completely.

Her fingers traced patterns along his chest, her nails grazing his skin, leaving faint marks that felt like small claims on him. He looked up at her, his gaze following the lines of her form in the dark, her hair cascading over her shoulders. He imagined her skin flush, the same way he had seen it so many times before.

His head fell back, a low moan breaking from him as she moved over him, her rhythm unwavering, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. Minutes passed, each one charged, each one adding to the heat between them until he heard her soft whimpers, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. She clenched around him, and he could feel himself unraveling with her, his fingers gripping the cover beneath him as she brought them both to the edge, his entire being focused solely on her and this moment they shared.

Finally, she gasped, her body shuddering as she reached her release, his name spilling from her lips in a broken whisper that sent him over the edge. He felt himself follow her, his own release crashing over him in waves, his body tensing, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he held her close, grounding himself in the feel of her.

She leaned down, her mouth finding his neck, lips grazing the sensitive skin as she whispered his name, her voice low and breathless. The sound of it, spoken so intimately, ignited something deep within him, a possessiveness he couldn’t deny.

They remained there, bodies still intertwined, hearts slowly calming, yet neither willing to part. He was acutely aware of her every movement, every gentle rise and fall of her chest as she lay on him, her face pressed against his neck, her fingers tracing gentle circles over his skin. The touch was comforting, grounding him, and he found himself reaching up, hand drifting up her back, drawing lazy lines along her spine as they lay together in silence.

Stannis felt her breathing slow. He wanted her to stay, to linger in this quiet haven they’d found, he found. Glancing at her, thinking back on the day, of how much dread he held this morning… She had swept it away so effortlessly—from the breakfast she’d brought him, to her playful scheming, to the way she’d led him away from the feast. All of it, he realized, had been for him.

When she dared move her head even a little, he felt his grasp tighten.

"You..." he began, his voice soft, "... you should stay here."

A small, surprised laugh escaped her, and she lifted her head slightly, before she leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. Her voice was barely a whisper as she replied, “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere, Stannis.”

With that, she nestled back against his chest, contentment settling over them both as he wrapped his arms around her again, holding her close as they drifted into a quiet, shared stillness.

[berryhobii]

HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! 🖤🖤🖤In honor of this wonderful month and the history of our people, I want to provide information on pieces of black history that is often overlooked due to the whitewashing of education.

First up, the race riots and black massacres that occurred. Many people do not know but before, during, and after segregation and Jim Crow laws, black people had built wealthy black communities and were striving despite racial discrimination.

A black community in Tulsa, Oklahoma was known as Black Wall Street. Black owned businesses thrived and we were reaching the same levels as our white counterparts. The masacre started on Memorial Day weekend when a young black man by the name of Dick Rowland was accused of assaulting a young white woman. After this hearsay reached the white community, they gathered their arms, Rowland was arrested and set to be lynched with no trial. Due to a white man being lynched the year before, white people took this as an opportunity to get revenge. After a report that hundreds of white men had gathered to hurt Rowland in prison, a group of 75 black men also gathered to protect him. However, a white officer convinced them to leave. It was later found that Rowland was beaten by this officer already but didn’t want anyone else to find out.

Referring to as a “rolling gunfight”, more instances of white people provoking black people led to a shootout between both communities. When outnumbered, the black people were forced to retreat.

As news of his gun violence spread, mob violence reached its peak. For an entire day and night, white rioters looted stores, burned down buildings, destroyed homes, and unalived many black people. It’s also believed that white rioters started this massacre as a way to knock black wealth down out of jealousy and white supremacy.

A little over 10,000 black people were left homeless and the property damage to the community was set close to $1.5Million and personal property at $750,000(equal to about $36.92 Million today). Due to racial discrimination and redlining, the city and banks refused to compensate black people while simultaneously handing out loans to white businesses that were not affected during the riots. This caused many black families to leave Tulsa in search of a new place to settle. Due to white people’s power over media, the Tulsa Riots remained omitted from national histories. It didn’t even get published into history books until the 1960s.

While Tulsa is the most common masacre we hear about, it’s not the only one. The destruction of black communities have led to the property value in those areas steadily decreasing. Redlining made it so that black people could not rebuild and the majority of money was funneled into white communities. Today, it’s why POC communities are more likely to be dilapidated and poverty stricken while white communities are maintained and clean.

I will provide a list of other race riots and black massacres here.

Educate yourself. Teach the children. Don’t let them gaslight you. Our history is long and harsh and it deserves to be spoken about.

[youthchronical]

N.Y.C. Man (Not George Costanza) Sentenced for ‘Vandelay’ Con

Thomas John Sfraga would approach friends and neighbors with a promise of extraordinary returns if they invested in his businesses. Sign a check for $40,000, Mr. Sfraga told one, and get your money back in just one year, plus more than 30 percent interest. But the name of one business — Vandelay — was a red flag that the investments were about nothing. Mr. Sfraga’s Vandelay Contracting Corp. —…

[cerebralinvasion]

yandere october 2023 event day 2

“lock”

you were not a criminal. despite your many faults, it was one of the things you could be confident in. of course, you wouldn’t say you’re the most innocent person on earth nor that you were any kind of saint, however you were, at the very least, not a criminal. and certainly not on any level that would cause the hunting dogs to be after you. so why were you being treated like some kind of terrorist?

innocent civilians don’t get chained up and monitored by a member of the military. so maybe there was some sort of alternative explanation. one that an ordinary person like you wouldn’t automatically think of. one that would make more sense. maybe you had been framed. framed for something really, really bad. so bad that the government didn’t even want to risk taking you in normally and had to come in and abducted you like this. once you could talk to that military officer you'd seen, you could explain everything to him. it would all be annoying, sure. having to wait through a trial while you proved you weren’t guilty for… whatever this was would be a terrible waste of time. but at the very least you’d get out of it relatively soon. maybe you would even be compensated for the emotional damage.

thoughts like that calmed you down. they always did. coming up with rational explanations of the irrational and unexplainable never failed to mollify you in stressful situations. with a few deep breaths, your heart stopped racing and you were done panicking. all you had to do was wait for him to talk to you and you would explain everything.

you didn’t have to wait very long.

you had no more than a total of twenty more seconds to yourself before the silence was broken by the sound of a door creaking. you shifted, turning your body in the direction of whoever had entered the chamber that laid somewhere between the line of a bedroom and a cell. his presence was overwhelming. he was tall, and you being seated on the ground did nothing to help how he loomed over you. despite how his eyes remained closed, you could tell all his attention was hooked on you, all his senses piercing through your soul. your breath hitched. all the words you had been planning out left your mind and you felt yourself freeze.

“hello” he smiled at you when he spoke. a smile far softer, far more dissarming than it had any right to be.

like a deer caught in headlights, you couldn’t bring even your mouth to move. instead you stared up at him with wide eyes. too scared to even attempt to respond. all the calming yourself down had been for naught, it seemed. because just looking up at the man had sent you right back to square one.

“no ‘hi’ back? that’s a little rude, don’t you think?” he tilted his head just barely. an action too innocent for someone so innately threatening.

your mouth opened and closed repeatedly but no sound came out. you tried your best to mold your words into some kind of apology, but you just couldn’t manage. he noticed this and laughed at you.

“seems you're a little worked up. not to worry, you’re safe here.”

“i’m- i’m not a criminal!” finally your mouth gave way to movement and you managed to blurt out the words.

“i know that.” he didn’t miss a beat before the words fell from his mouth.

and suddenly you were cold. because with only three words he had thrown out any little bits of rationalization you had managed to scrounge up. you were back to square one with no idea as to what was happening. not an inkling to the man’s motivation or intentions.

then he smiled as if he could read your mind. a knowing edge clung to the faint smirk which was smeared across his face.

“you’re not a criminal, and thus you’re not being detained. do you know what that means?”

his grin widened as he leaned down, closer to your level but still towering above you. after a short beat of silence he continued.

“it means that even the law can’t save you from this prison. there will be no proving of your innocence, because i already know you are innocent. you aren’t here for legal affairs, no, this is… personal.”

“personal? i don’t even know you!” your voice betrayed more of your genuine fear and uncertainty than you’d have liked it to.

“then how about we change that? because i know you, very well in fact.” he gave the words a second to sink in and for you to reach your own conclusions. “you may call me jouno. from this point forward, you’re officially mine.”

[whump-in-the-closet]

Savior Universe

Worldbuilding that I'm too lazy to include in the storyline without an insane amount of exposition.

Savior Agency is based in a dystopian setting, somewhat current, somewhat near future; in a society similar to ours but with centralized power. 

This hero agency acts as an extension of the government, superseding law enforcement but not quite military 

Abilities are something dormant in every person but are only “unlocked” under severe stress/ pain. This isn’t publicized– emphasis is placed on keeping the creation of heroes a very tight secret, keeping the active number of heroes in each city manageable. 

It’s very rare to discover someone with traditional superhero abilities (i.e. invisibility, super strength, super speed) and much more common to have an ability that’s less stable/ less useful in combat (i.e. a polyglot who unlocks an ability to speak a language as soon as they hear it, someone who’s emotions draw plants to them, without really controlling them). 

Those with more typical superhero abilities tend to go very far in Savior, saving the city from dissenters and protecting average citizens from crime in very public stunts. Every hero has a purpose under the all-seeing eye of Savior. 

The law states these heroes have signed up voluntarily, and their compensation is in their newfound abilities. The contract doesn’t specify the amount of time they have to work for Savior. Although articles are published about normal people with superhero abilities, no one has encountered them outside the Agency.

Sometimes, ridiculously rich people or corporations acquire heroes as personal bodyguards and go against the law to achieve their personnel, paying Savior off under the table for their training. 

It’s not uncommon for dissenters or protestors against Savior to go missing and be coerced into signing on. Nor is it impossible for someone to have their enemies “recruited” by Savior. 

Training involves a whole lot of torture, mostly psychological, drugs, isolation, and beatings. Heroes who vocally resist their training are “muted”-- vocal cords are removed or severely damaged. 

Before heroes have unlocked their abilities, but after they’ve joined Savior, they will be under the instruction of a Mentor, whose purpose is to “break” the recruit down until they reach the lowest possible point where they can then unlock their abilities and continue onto training. 

Often, a Mentor is someone with powerful abilities who can withstand any attacks from the new hero lashing out at them with their discovered abilities, and then punish them for doing so. 

Training facilities are described as grey or beige, with “white rooms” for isolating training heroes. 

A typical uniform for a hero involves a blue hero suit and mask. A typical trainee uniform is a blue shirt and shorts. 

Outside of Savior, there are a few dissenters who help runaway heroes/rescued trainees. The movement itself doesn’t have a name as secrecy is key. Raids are common and feared. All involved in helping a runaway hero usually end up inside a training facility, outside of the law. 

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Air Canada court ruling sees former Aveos maintenance workers aim for $100M in compensation

Judge decided on formula to calculate damages for 2,200 former employees in Montreal, Winnipeg, Mississauga

Air Canada could have to pay more than $100 million in compensation to workers who lost their jobs at maintenance centres more than a decade ago, say lawyers in a class-action suit.

A 2022 ruling in Quebec Superior Court found the airline violated federal law by failing to keep three centres operational when Aveos Fleet Performance Inc. — the contractor that ran them — collapsed in 2012.

Air Canada has filed an appeal, which has not yet been heard.

This week, the judge decided on a formula to calculate lost wages and other damages for the 2,200 former employees of the shuttered Aveos plants, located in Montreal, Winnipeg and Mississauga, Ont.

The compensation will likely top $100 million — at least $45,400 per employee — said Elodie Drolet-French, a lawyer representing the workers. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

[rayclubs]

Thoughts on the Zoldyck family dynamics because I'm normal and fine and normal.

Their grandfather is law. He seems to handle the most dangerous contracts, he oversees the kids' training, but he doesn't seem very personally involved - as in, he doesn't interact with them directly and doesn't appear to be interested in what they do at all, unless it's work-related. I think he's one of those set-in-their-ways old people who's had a long streak of valuable achievements throughout their life so they think themselves infallible. I think Kuroro would have obliterated his ass but he would die before he admitted it.

Now, Silva, being the father figure of the family, is compensating like all hell. Literally no other reason for a man to be this tits-out gigantic, but Zeno is still the head of the family, and that deals major damage to Silva's ego. In way of self-validation, he arranges this distant yet carefully controlled relationship with his kids, and he likes being seen as the Cool Dad, but only very rarely, so that every crumb of his attention is sought after with utmost devotion. I don't actually think he hates Zeno or anything though, I think he kind of secretly also wants to be validated by him but it's just not happening because Zeno doesn't give enough of a fuck.

Kikyo is not a presence in the Zoldyck family business. She's also supremely mentally unwell. She's generally well-treated but often neglected by her husband, she's not as successful at her job as the men of the family due to having to split her time between assassinations and child care, she feels unfulfilled as a result and does it have any functional coping mechanisms for it. Like Silva, she seeks validation from her kids. Unlike Silva, she cannot build herself a Cool Mom profile that the older kids would respect, so she dotes on the younger children instead.

Illumi is the oldest child, so he was trained by either Zeno, Silva, or both, personally. He's diligent but untalented. He has a lot of discipline but very little main character juice in his veins. Due to his father's policy of keeping his kids at a distance, as well as his mother's overbearing control, most of the actual parental responsibilities regarding all the younger kids were pushed onto Illumi. He was a bit too young to get overly attached to Milluki in this manner, but he feels very protective of Killua both because they're fairly close as brothers, and because Illumi views his younger siblings as his responsibility. If anything were to happen to one of his brothers, it would be seen by the rest of the family as a failure on Illumi's part. However, due to being the oldest child, he actually spent the most time with Silva, so he lacks the puppydog instinct the man so fervently instills in all the other kids. Illumi is not looking for validation. He's terrified of his parents and grandpa.

Milluki is the failure of the family. He's desperate to please but neither talented nor diligent. His grandpa views him as moderately worthless, his father is too emotionally constipated after involving himself with the parenting of Illumi to even notice Milluki, and Illumi was too young when Milluki was born to become a substitute mentor figure for him. Milluki thinks Killua is stealing the attention he so desperately wants. How, you'd think that since Illumi is papa's boy, then, logically, Milluki would be mama's, and fucking hell he wishes he was, but his anime figurine collection is too cringe, and remember - he's desperate but not diligent. He's obedient but not clever. He can't pick up on social cues and emotional signals. He wants to do what his mom wants from him but can't meet her unpredictable tastes and unstable moods. She mildly dislikes him.

Killua is the prodigy. Illumi loves him, Silva can't wait to emotionally manipulate him to make himself look good, and Zeno pays attention to him but doesn't bother all that much with parenting him - all for previously established reasons. Kikyo tries to dot on him but he's only talented, not diligent - like Milluki, he can't give her what she wants. Unlike Milluki, Killua has a spine. He already has Silva's and Illumi's approval and validation, so he's not running after his mother looking for affections. He kind of starts doing his own thing after he meets some folks outside the family and they introduce him to the concept of free will.

Alluka is transfem and her father hates that whole ordeal viscerally. Like Milluki, she's neither talented nor diligent. Unlike Milluki, she has evil autism ontop of it all. Zeno and Kikyo wish she didn't exist. Milluki senses the similarity between them and doesn't actively dislike her but he's too busy chasing after everyone's approval to actually be a good brother to her. Illumi was so beyond traumatized by the time she was born, I'm actually fully convinced he removed her from his memory entirely or he would go insane. Killua likes her because she's weird and epic, she likes Killua because he's exactly the same.

Kalluto is finally a mama's boy, and holy shit does he play into it. She dresses him up and does his hair and kisses his forehead and calls him a sweetie, and he just wants to go outside for one (1) day. Silva likes him fine but he's still riding the high from Killua looking at him with admiration in his eyes once so he leaves the matter to Kikyo and Illumi, as per usual. Illumi loves Kalluto in a similar way to how he loves Killua, but Kalluto is more protected and far, far more obedient, so Illumi isn't scared for him nearly as much. Milluki thinks Kalluto is annoying, but Kalluto is emotionally intelligent enough to avoid conflict and not provoke any hatred. Killua thinks Kalluto is a stupid little baby and Kalluto honest to god does not care. Kalluto likes Illumi, is indifferent towards Silva and Zeno, tolerates and at times even loves Kikyo, and is too young to properly remember Alluka. Thank god the spider adopted him.

Thanks for reading, 'ight cheers.

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (14/22)

Chapter summary: Vision sends you a demand letter for physical assault; Yelena makes a discovery that could shake the delicate foundations of your newfound 'friendship' with Wanda.

Chapter word count: 5.6k | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: Enjoy? :)

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next chapter: Fifteen

--

Fourteen

The demand letter sits in front of you, openly mocking you with its mere existence. It arrived at the most unanticipated time, suspiciously just a few days after your birthday. It is drafted by one of the most sought-after law firms in New York and co-signed by one Victor Shade, but you doubt that he had any hand in composing it. 

You've read it at least a dozen times now, its words wasting no time diving into the heart of the matter, “On January 4th, 2022 I suffered severe and critical injuries, when the actions of your insured, Ms. Y/N L/N…”

Deep down, you think you’ve been expecting this. The way Vision looked at Wanda the last time you saw them hinted at his lingering feelings. You knew he would do something to ease Wanda's rejection of him, and now he wants a specific amount as compensation: "Total Damages - $831,615.60."

With steady breaths, you carefully fold the letter back into its envelope. 

You wonder if Wanda knows about this. Clearly, whatever she and Vision previously agreed on to delay this matter has now unraveled. And if that’s the case, you want to make sure that Wanda stays out of this, and that her ties to Vision are permanently severed.

As you’re pondering the financial repercussions should you opt to settle, and the added frustration of Natasha not returning any of your calls, your office phone rings, startling you.

"Yes?" you answer when your assistant speaks.

"Sorry to bother you, but Ms. Yelena Romanoff is here to see you," your assistant tells you.

"Send her in, Martin. Thanks." you say and hang up, hurriedly clearing your desk, thoughtlessly placing the letter on top of the pile of documents you need to burn through for today.

A few moments pass, and then Yelena appears at the doorway of your office, wearing a bright smile that matches her vibrant pink lipstick. Coyly, she taps on the door, even though it's already slightly ajar. She's dressed in tight, ripped jeans, paired with knee-high boots and a vibrant red jacket–easily a sight for sore eyes. 

“Hey, baby, you busy?” she asks sort of mischievously. 

You shake your head, grinning “Not for you.”

"Good," she replies, stepping into the room and locking the door behind her. You begin to rise from your seat, but she stops you with a hand. Making her way around your desk, she forcefully pushes you back into your executive chair.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, entranced, and watch as she straddles your thighs.

"Assaulting my girlfriend," she murmurs with a wink, her choice of words momentarily freezing you in place. But as her lips find their way to your neck, any further thoughts dissipate, distracting you from everything else in that electrifying moment. Your hands rest innocently on her hips, massaging her gently as her hips start a slow, gentle rhythm. Tilting your head back, you surrender to her fervor as she traces the length of your throat with her nose, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the way.

Yelena's jacket slips from her shoulders, cascading to the floor, revealing a thin turtleneck that clings to her form. With haste, you lift it up, exposing her flushed chest that’s heaving with her every breath. But before you can bury your face into her soft mounds, the phone rings again, prompting your girlfriend to get off your lap. 

You let out a frustrated curse under your breath, while Yelena giggled, amused at your striking annoyance.

"What is it, Martin?" you answer as calmly as you could while trying to get the image of Yelena’s breast out of your head. 

"Mr. Stark is calling in the managers for an emergency meeting," Martin informs you.

That completely diverts your attention away from a half-naked Yelena panting on your desk. 

“He’s here?”

"Yes, ma'am," Martin confirms.

"Uh, okay. Give me two minutes," you say, ending the call. 

Having overheard the conversation, Yelena quickly retrieves some tissues and proceeds to gently wipe away the lipstick stains she had left on your neck. “Shit, sorry, babe.”

"Don't worry about it," you stammer, still finding it difficult to concentrate amidst your lingering arousal.

“Yeah,” Yelena smiles knowingly. “Maybe another time, then.”

"Would it be more practical if I put that in my calendar?" you suggest, half-jokingly.

Yelena scrunches her nose at the idea of scheduling sex. “Where's the fun in that?” she retorts.

"You're right. I’m a fussy nerd, I know," you admit with a chuckle.

"A sexy nerd," Yelena corrects, planting a full kiss on your lips. "Now, go get 'em, tiger."

She playfully nudges you towards the door, urging you to make your way to the meeting. As you straighten the creases on your skirt, you quickly reassure her, “I'll be back in a few, okay?” There's a hint of worry in your voice, as if you fear she might leave without your knowledge.

Yelena's eyes meet yours, and she gives you a reassuring smile. “I'll be here,” she promises.

As soon as you leave the room, Yelena retrieves her jacket from the floor and tidies her appearance. In an instant, she transforms into the journalist persona that she hasn’t allowed you to see. She had visited you for another purpose today, and the unexpected opportunity that presented itself left her both surprised and eager to fulfill her intentions. 

Call it an instinct or a persistent gut feeling, but Yelena had been on edge since your birthday. A sense of unease had settled within her, accompanied by an unexplained nagging sensation that there’s something she needed to uncover. It feels as though you’ve been keeping a secret from her for quite some time.

Carefully, she rummages through your drawer, cautious to leave things as they are. And then, out of the corner of her eye, something catches her attention—an envelope. It doesn’t look like it belongs there, on top of documents and folders that have the stamp of Stark Industries in them. No, this envelope bears the distinct markings of an infamous law firm. And clearly, you’ve read whatever is inside, considering the gaping tear on the side of the envelope.

With steady hands, she retrieves the envelope, her movements purposeful and precise. Carefully unfolding the letter, her eyes swiftly scan its contents, absorbing the information with speed and accuracy. She knows that time is of the essence, aware that you could return at any moment, leaving her with limited opportunity to delve into its contents.

Yelena slips the letter back in its envelope and returns it to its original position, making sure to arrange it exactly as she found it. Were you going to tell her about this? Would you have asked for her help or her input as your partner? Or would you just go through the tides without her ever knowing? 

Her intuition had been spot-on; there was indeed something to uncover, and it was undeniably connected to your ex-wife.

She promised you she’d be waiting, but if she wants to help you out of your situation, she better get going.

***

Later that same day, Wanda stands behind the sleek espresso machine, a confident smile on her face as she prepares to demonstrate to Peter a coffee technique known as "pour-over brewing". The café is relatively quiet, with only a few customers lingering over their cups of coffee. Valkyrie left just a while ago after enjoying her usual brew. Before leaving, she had presented Wanda with a thoughtful gift—a bag of exotic coffee beans collected during her recent business trip to Cape Town. Valkyrie had hoped to impress Wanda not only with the beans themselves but also by showcasing herself as a renowned photographer. Eager to try them, Wanda saw this as the perfect opportunity to share one of her favorite brewing techniques with Peter.

As Wanda expertly pours hot water over the meticulously arranged coffee grounds, she explains the process. "Pour-over brewing allows us to extract the full flavor from the coffee grounds. It's all about precision and patience. The water must be heated to the right temperature, and the pouring technique should be slow and steady. It results in a clean and nuanced cup of coffee."

Crouching down to bring himself to eye level with the coffee, Peter’s concentration deepens as he poses a question: "So, how can you tell when it's ready?"

“Generally, it takes around two to three minutes for the water to pass through the coffee bed, depending on the desired strength and flavor profile." 

Wanda leans in, pointing out the subtleties of the process. “As you observe the flow of water, pay attention to the color and consistency. The water should form a gentle, controlled stream, evenly saturating the grounds. If it rushes too quickly or seems to pool in one spot, it may be a sign to adjust your pouring technique.”

“Additionally,” Wanda continues, “Watch for the final stages of the pour-over. As the water nears the end of its journey, the drips become slower and more intermittent. This gradual decrease signifies that the process is almost complete.”

With a smile, Peter watches as the coffee brewing process unfolds before his eyes, precisely as Wanda had described. As the last drops fall into the waiting cups, Wanda proceeds to pour the freshly brewed coffee, dividing it between two cups—one for herself and one for Peter to try.

“For the rest of the week, you’ll be covering all the coffee orders, alright?” Wanda says.

Peter nods eagerly in excitement. 

Just as Wanda is about to bring the cup to her lips, the cheerful chime of the café's entrance sounds. Her eyes widen in surprise as she catches sight of the least expected person to walk through the doors of her coffee shop.

Yelena. 

Confusion immediately clouds Wanda's face, but before she can react, Peter takes the initiative to greet their customer. Yelena responds with a faint smile as she approaches the counter, drawing closer to Wanda until they’re standing face to face, finding themselves in a similar situation just a few weeks prior.

“One cup of coffee, please,” Yelena orders meekly, pulling a twenty-dollar bill off her purse.

“Coming right up,” Peter promptly replies, ready to assist, but Wanda interjects.

“I'll get this, Peter. Why don't you attend to the stock for now?” Wanda suggests.

“Certainly, Ms. Max–Wanda,” Peter says and scurries off to the back room, giving the two some space. 

Wanda's smile brims with gratitude as Peter leaves, granting them a moment of privacy. She then shifts her undivided attention to Yelena, whose growing discomfort doesn't go unnoticed, stoking Wanda’s own anxiety about the purpose of her visit.

Pushing aside her inner reservations, Wanda adopts a professional demeanor, masking her own concerns. From this point onward, it’s all business.

"Specifically, what coffee would you like?" she asks.

Yelena shrugs. "Anything, really."

Wanda chuckles softly, appreciating Yelena's laid-back approach. "Alright, then. Would you prefer it hot or iced?"

Yelena raises an eyebrow. "Who drinks cold coffee?"

Wanda's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Actually, many people do. But I have something special for you. I just brewed some off-the-menu grounds from Cape Town. Would you like to try that?"

“Sure. How much?” 

Waving her hand dismissively, she insists, “On the house. It's a gift from a friend anyway.”

It’s met with a quiet nod from Yelena, who slips the twenty dollar bill into the tip jar as a token of appreciation.

“How about something to eat?” Wanda asks.

“I’m good,” Yelena politely declines, shaking her head.

However, the next words that escape Yelena's mouth are anything but polite, catching Wanda off guard. 

“Are you trying to get her back?” 

Wanda almost drops the cup she was in the midst of placing on a tray for Yelena.

Staring at each other, tension lingering palpably before Yelena clears her throat, breaking the moment. She gestures towards a more secluded area of the café. “Should we, uh, talk over there?”

With a hesitant nod, Wanda acquiesces, her thoughts filled with a flicker of doubt about her choice to open a café rather than a bar. At this very moment, she wishes for nothing more than a shot of whisky before having this ‘talk’.

Yelena doesn’t jump back right in after they are seated. Instead, she takes a sip of her coffee, humming pleasantly at the flavor that touches her taste buds.

“How did you find this place?” Wanda asks. How did you know where to find me?

Yelena, unfazed by the question, responds matter-of-factly, “I'm a journalist. Finding out things isn't too hard for me to do.”

"So, are you trying to get her back?" Yelena repeats as her eyes lock on Wanda’s.

Wanda's response is swift and sincere. “I'm not,” she states firmly. If Yelena had asked her that question before the night she nearly died, she would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. But now, she has nothing but respect for your relationship with Yelena, and doesn’t want to come in between the happiness you’ve found with her.

“But you still love her, don’t you?”

Wanda acknowledges her feelings for you in a slow, deliberate nod, seeing no point in denying it.

“I don’t know why you feel the need to ask me this,” Wanda says. "Y/N loves you. She wouldn't be with you if she didn't."

“I know,” Yelena says with conviction. "But that doesn't mean she’s mine completely."

Wanda's eyes narrow, searching for the true intent behind Yelena's words. Does Yelena genuinely believe that? Could there really be a possibility that you still love her?

Wanda swallows dryly. “I–”

Yelena interrupts, her tone heavy with resignation. "You should have just stayed away," she sighs, her gaze shifting downwards, as if the realization dawned on her just a little too late. She didn’t mean to start talking to Wanda about her insecurities, but Yelena couldn’t help but think about the depth of your attachment to this woman the more she looks at her. 

As she gazes at Wanda, she can't help but wonder where your love for Wanda ends and hers begin.

“I am staying away,” Wanda firmly declares, her posture shifting as she straightens her spine in the chair. All of her encounters with you except for the time you were the one to come to her have been purely coincidental–despite how often they happen.

“Except for matters concerning Sparky,” she adds, correcting herself, “He used to be Y/N's dog as well. It was important for her to be informed about what was happening with him.”

“So, you didn't contact her on her birthday?” Yelena probes, watching Wanda intently for anything that would suggest that she might be lying with her answer.

Wanda, to her credit, doesn't even flinch as she replies, “I did.” It’s immediately clear that Yelena has no idea that you ran into her that night. Wanda understands that it is a matter to be discussed between you and your girlfriend, and she has no intention of revealing something that is not hers to disclose. But it’s another question that will definitely consume her thoughts later.

Yelena tightly clenches her jaw, trying to stay calm. She's always trusted you and never invaded your privacy, never checked your messages. But now, she can't help but wonder if she should have been a bit more vigilant.

“I see,” she drawls, and then finishes the last of her coffee. She doesn’t think she wants to know the details of that any further. “You claim that you’re trying to stay away from Y/N, but obviously, you’re not doing such a great job of it.”

Confused, Wanda furrows her brows and asks, "What do you mean?"

Yelena reaches into her purse and retrieves a thumb drive, sliding it in Wanda's direction.

Wanda looks at the curious little device. “What’s this?”

“Before I tell you, there’s something you should know,” Yelena pauses, making sure that Wanda is thoroughly listening before she shares the news. "Victor Shade has just sent Y/N a demand letter for damages related to physical assault."

"V-Vision?" Wanda’s voice trembles as she speaks.

Yelena nods knowingly. "I assume there's only one Victor Shade in your life–"

"He's not in my life." The words escape Wanda's lips with a forcefulness and intensity that surprises them both. “Not anymore.”

A pregnant pause hangs between them, Yelena patiently waiting for Wanda to gather herself as she observes the rapid whirl of thoughts inside her head. 

After a beat, Yelena continues the slew of disclosures. “I assume his decision to exact revenge on Y/N has something to do with you.” 

Wanda's voice rises in defense. “Are you accusing me of conniving with that–”

“No, not exactly,” Yelena says. “He’s a kid who grew up in a wealthy family, never being denied anything in his life. I think his letter was driven by jealousy. All I’m saying is that this could have been avoided if he had not seen you two together.

“Which brings us to that,” Yelena's gaze shifts to the USB device, which sits untouched near Wanda's hands on the table. It's as if Wanda is actively avoiding it, treating it like a dangerous explosive, which in retrospect, could be deemed as such if its contents were ever revealed. 

"Look, I don't have concrete proof of him stalking you, but I believe this is substantial evidence to shake him off balance."

Wanda fixes Yelena with an expectant gaze, her eyes brimming with anticipation.

Yelena lets out a resigned sigh. "Fine, I'll tell you, since you're so patient.”

Wanda resists reacting to the veiled sarcasm, sensing that what Yelena is about to reveal aligns with her worst fears.

“Vision filmed you both having sex,” Yelena states bluntly, not concerned with softening the crude reality of the situation. “I was able to retrieve just one. I don’t know how many there are. And from the way the recording was cut an hour later when you’re already sleeping means you have no idea he was doing this.”

At Wanda's lack of response and the visible dread in her eyes, Yelena decides to speak up again.

“That's an invasion of privacy. In the state of New Jersey, you can send someone to prison for that for up to five years. Now, it’s up to you to decide what to do with this information.

“I know you care about Y/N, “ Yelena takes a deep breath, as if that fact physically hurts too much for her to accept in light of things. “I know you’ll do everything to help her in this situation.”

“How much is he asking from Y/N?” Wanda mumbles after a long time. 

“More than $800,000 in damages.”

“Jesus,” Wanda gasps at the amount, instinctively bringing her hands up to her face, covering her eyes and burying her features in her palms. Although insurance might cover it, it’s still potentially crippling. Determined to figure this out, she finally picks up the USB from the table and secures it inside her pocket. 

“How did you find out all of this? And how did you even get this video?” Wanda inquires curiously.

“I don’t reveal my sources.” Yelena replies with a smile, leaving Wanda suspicious about the legality of her methods. And equally suspicious of Yelena’s intentions, Wanda asks, “Why are you helping me?”

Yelena's snort breaks through, a genuine expression of glee that surprises Wanda. "I'm not. I'm doing all of this for Y/N."

"Fair enough. But why approach me then? You could have immediately gone to Y/N about this, even shown her the video?” Logically, it would be a strategic move for Yelena. Witnessing the gritty details of Wanda’s cheating would undoubtedly reignite the grievances in your heart. And she’d never have to worry about you going back to Wanda ever again. 

The look that Yelena throws at her is a mix of pity and disgust. “I’d never intentionally hurt Y/N. I came to you because it's your responsibility to fix this mess. It's the least you could do for all the pain you've caused her.”

With those words hanging in the air, Yelena rises from her seat. Casting one final glance at Wanda, she adds, "If you think I’d resort to dirty tricks just to keep Y/N, then you really have no idea how to love her in the first place.”

***

“You have no idea how happy I was when you said you wanted to see me.”

Vision smiles at Wanda as her gaze unwillingly falls upon him, her body trembling with a fury she never realized existed within her. The moment Yelena left her café, Wanda wasted no time in reaching out to Vision, and he promptly answered her call, as if he had been eagerly anticipating that very moment all along. She had chosen a crowded restaurant, in one of the busiest streets in Manhattan near Town Square, seeking safety in the presence of a man she knew deep down couldn't be trusted.

"I didn't want to. I had to," Wanda admits sharply, crossing her arms in front of her. "I thought we had an agreement. That you would stay away from Y/N. And your idea of that is extorting money from her?"

“My circumstances have changed,” Vision argues, sounding almost remorseful. “My dad decided to cut me off, and I can no longer fund my move to Tokyo to pursue my film studies.” 

Vision searches Wanda’s face, hoping to see a reaction, but she remains indifferent to his news of departure, seemingly unaffected by what's happening in his life.

“That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard,” Wanda says spitefully. And then she sighs in defeat. “If I give you the money, will you–”

"I don't want the money from you," Vision declares, placing his fork down with a loud noise. "She did put me into a coma–”

“Because we fucking drove her to it!” Wanda screams her frustration. The outburst attracts the attention of others in the restaurant, and Wanda looks around apologetically before sinking back into her chair with a sigh.

“The assault happened and I can prove it in court if it ever comes to it.” he says after Wanda has grown quiet.

“You’re not going to prove anything because you’re going to retract that letter and you’re going to leave her alone just like you promised.” Wanda’s words carry a sense of finality, as if there is no other option for Vision.

“You can’t tell me what to do anymore–”

“I can,” Wanda says with a bout of confidence. "Otherwise, you're looking at up to five years in prison for filming me without my consent."

It takes Vision a moment to grasp the meaning behind Wanda's words, and Wanda takes pleasure in observing the color drain from his face. 

“You hacked into my stuff?” he stammers in disbelief.

“You fucking filmed me,” Wanda reiterates, as they both remain fixated on their respective grievances. “I can’t believe I ever trusted you. I’ve never felt so betrayed and disgusted with myself as I do now.”

“How did you get the file?” he asks.

“I don’t reveal my sources,” Wanda says, echoing Yelena’s statement from earlier.

He locks eyes with Wanda, attempting to gauge if she's bluffing, but Wanda remains resolute, maintaining a stoic expression. Then, a small laugh escapes him, shaking his head as if the situation is nothing more than a joke. Wanda fumes as she takes a sip of her water and sets it back down heavy-handedly.

“Here’s the thing,” Vision casually signals for the waiter to refill his wine. “We’re all backed into a corner. If you use that against me, she'll find out, and it will only fuel her hatred towards you. Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

Wanda hesitates, her lips parting with uncertainty before closing them in a swift decision. It's a high-stakes gamble, an all-or-nothing move that reveals the vulnerable hand she holds.

You really have no idea how to love her in the first place. She doesn’t exactly know what Yelena meant by that, nevertheless, it makes her doubt her ability to love you properly. She wishes there was a manual that she could read from cover-to-cover until the pages are worn from countless readings. All Wanda can do is prove that she can; even though loving you is the one thing she wants to get right, but has failed multiple times.

“You don’t get to question me about what I’m willing to risk.” she says as she stands up to leave.

Vision calmly wipes his mouth with a table napkin. “Then I guess we’ll just have to find out what Y/N’s next move is.” 

***

Standing on the balcony of your high-rise Manhattan apartment, the view from up here is breathtaking.

The city below pulsates with vibrant energy, resembling a living organism with a heartbeat all its own. Its grandeur is reminiscent of the landscapes that once inspired poets and artists in centuries past. However, the awe-inspiring scenery does little to quell the turmoil raging within you, as you grapple with the decision of whether to pick up the phone and call Wanda or let the silence linger.

You haven't told Yelena about the demand letter that you received from Vision’s law firm yesterday. You want to protect her from getting involved in the convoluted aftermath of Wanda's cheating, which evidently still affects you like aftershocks from an earthquake. You tell yourself that you will let her know, in time, when you figure out what to do. 

With Wanda, there's a strong likelihood that she is already caught in the midst of this storm. You vividly recall the last encounter with Vision, his demeanor exuding a sense of power, as if he held the ability to dismantle your life in a single moment. He subtly implied that it was solely Wanda who prevented him from doing so. 

You wonder if Wanda’s aware that Vision has carried out his plans for revenge; she needed to stop protecting you from him. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself and accepting the repercussions of your own choices and actions. 

As you deliberate on what to say to Wanda when you eventually call her, the sound of your building lobby intercom blares through the living room. The voice on the other end informs you, "Ms. Y/L/N? A certain Wanda Maximoff here would like to see you. Shall I allow her in?"

Your heart skips a beat and you press the button for you to speak. "Please, thank you.”

There’s the answer to one of your questions–Wanda probably knows about Vision’s stipulation  regarding the substantial sum of almost a million dollars.

It’s a few minutes of waiting before you hear the doorbell ring.

You open the door to find a visibly fatigued Wanda standing timidly before you. Dark circles under her eyes and a certain gauntness in her cheeks catch your attention, details that you may not have noticed before due to her naturally pronounced cheekbones that give her a sharp, distinct look. 

"I should've called," Wanda says, offering a thin smile as you welcome her inside. "But my feet were already bringing me here before I even thought about it."

"It's no problem at all. Would you like some water or something to drink? I have kombucha, tea... There's also a French Cab breathing in the kitchen, though I know it's quite early."

"I think I'll go for a glass of wine," Wanda replies.

"Coming right up," you say with a warm, good-natured smile, playfully mimicking Wanda's typical line in her own café.

“Is Yelena around?” Wanda asks as she nervously takes in her surroundings.

“She’s working,” you reply as you trudge towards the kitchen.

Left on her own, Wanda perches awkwardly on one end of the couch, her eyes scanning your quaint living room. She can discern the details that reflect your personality, but it doesn’t appease the fact that she has never felt more like an outsider in your life.

"Here," Wanda hears you say from behind her. She turns her head to find you giving the wine glass a gentle swirl, observing as the liquid moves about slowly and clings to the sides—a clear indicator of its high alcohol content. Bringing the glass to your nose, you take a whiff, seemingly enticed by its aroma. Finally, you extend the glass towards Wanda, offering it to her.

Wanda takes a sip–it’s rich and heavy, and the warmth it brings immediately spreads to her chest, instantly soothing her.

You look at her expectantly, choosing to sit on the opposite end. Seeing how worried she looks, you feel that she might finish her glass before she could utter a single word about what she came here for. 

Deciding to help her out, you break the silence first. 

“I take it you know about Vision’s demand letter,” you start, running your fingertip along the rim of your own wine glass. “It’s what you came here for right?”

Wanda nods and then raises the glass to her lips once more, taking another sip until she empties its contents. A small dribble of red liquid escapes from the corner of her mouth, which she promptly wipes with her thumb.

“What are you going to do?” Wanda asks, somber eyes fixed on her lap. Guilt weighs heavily on her, feeling like she brought this on you–which, in hindsight, she probably did. 

As Wanda wrestles with her own feelings of culpability, she hears Calliope's voice echoing in her mind. “You can’t shoulder all the blame, Wanda,” she told her. “It just leaves you lonely and stuck in a situation you have no control of.” 

Control is an illusion, Wanda reminds herself.

“I already set an appointment with my own lawyer. She’s going to go over the figures so we can renegotiate.”

It’s not at all what Wanda is expecting.

“You’re paying him off?” she asks, gaping at you openly for a moment.

"I did send him to the hospital. For quite a while actually," you admit, blinking slowly. "And if he had never woken up, I could very well be in prison right now."

As Wanda struggles with lingering guilt, you find yourself unable to deny the truth either and it weighs heavily on you. Frankly, you see no other way around this. Evading the consequences of letting your anger overwhelm you to the point of potential homicide is no longer a viable option.

You can see Wanda struggling with your decision, and you bitterly think that it’s too late for her to protect you in any way. She’s inflicted her own damage; and the consequence for her is watching the implications of it unravel before her.

“I–I have another way,” Wanda says.

Arching an eyebrow, you’re torn between curiosity and doubt. Wanda is aching for another glass of wine, but she has been consciously limiting her alcohol consumption lately. She doesn't want to repeat the countless occasions where she has either blacked out or come close to it.

“Wanda, stop,” you say, your voice gentle. “I don't want to know. I need closure. I need to get it in the right way, not through shortcuts. Please, don't protect me from this.”

Wanda’s eyes close on their own accord at your mention of the word ‘closure’. Does that closure include her?

“Just hear me out, please,” she implores with urgency. “There’s… there’s something he did that you can bring up with the law as well. And Vision has no proof that you were ever in his apartment, right? So if it comes to it, he really can’t prove that you’re the one who attacked him.”

Wanda looks pale even as she speaks with a kind of preternatural calm that you recognize only comes out when Wanda has come to terms with something. You lean back on the arm rest with an expectant look.

“He recorded us having… having the affair,” The words wrench themselves out of Wanda’s mouth and it takes a while for them to sink into your brain; when they do, you quickly look away, wishing you had instructed the concierge to deny Wanda's request to see you earlier. 

You make a conscious effort to rein in your emotions, particularly the anger that wells up inside you. Wanda's infidelity is something you have learned to cope with long ago. But to discover that it can be substantiated with moving pictures and sounds leaves you grappling for answers.

“Did you know?” you ask steadily–while you can. “Did you know you were being recorded?”

Wanda can’t read the emotion behind your words as she shakes her head no. 

Wanda inches closer to you, until your legs are almost touching. With utmost care, she takes hold of one of your hands and places a flash drive in your palm, closing your fingers around it. Your instinctive response is to maintain a firm grip, clenching your fist tightly around the drive.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” she whispers. "If it wasn't for... for what I did, you’d be... we’d be..." Wanda's voice trails off as tears well up in the corners of her eyes, which she hastily wipes away.

Your own eyes moisten at the sight of her, but you manage to hold onto your rage to keep yourself from shattering altogether.

“I'm sorry he's resorting to this,” she continues, her gaze fixed on your clenched fist. “I'm sorry that this exists,” she adds, acknowledging the evidence of her betrayal in your hand. “I’d take it all back if I could.”

You feel the bandaid being ripped off the same wound that refuses to heal. 

How deep does this go and where does it end?

Wanda's breath hitches, her struggle to hold back a sob. You impulsively attempt to create some distance, a physical retreat. Yet, as you lean back, the solid presence of the armrest behind you seems to trap you in a greater sense–of simultaneously wanting Wanda close and wanting her as far away from you as possible.

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Law-Related Vocabulary

for your poem/story (pt. 3/4)

After-born - born after a certain event (as a father's death or the execution of a will)

Aliunde - from another source

Alluvion - material (as clay, silt, sand, or gravel) deposited by running water

Bona fide - characterized by good faith and lack of fraud or deceit; being real or genuine, sincere

Brain death - the final stopping of activity in the central nervous system especially as indicated by a flat electroencephalogram for a usually statutorily predetermined period of time

Cas fortuit - fortuitous event (i.e., an event of natural or human origin that could not have been reasonably foreseen or expected and is out of the control of the persons concerned)

Choice of evils defense - a defense to a criminal charge based on the assertion that the criminal act was committed to avoid the commission of an even greater evil

Civil fruit - the revenue derived from property especially by virtue of an obligation (as a lease)

Death with dignity law - a law legalizing the self-administration by a terminally ill person of life-ending medication prescribed by a physician; also called "right-to-die law"

Defalcation - failure to account for or pay over money that has been entrusted to one's care; a failure to meet a promise or an expectation

Embracery - an attempt to influence a jury corruptly

Evidentiary harpoon - evidence consisting especially of a police officer's statement that is improper and is knowingly offered by the prosecution to prejudice the defendant in the eyes of the jury

Ex aequo et bono - according to what is equitable and good

Excited utterance - a statement that concerns a startling event (as a physical assault) and that is made by a person while under stress caused by the event

Featherbedding - the unfair labor practice of causing an employer to pay for services which are not performed (as by requiring more workers than necessary)

Feticide - the act of causing the death of a fetus

Fishing expedition - an investigation that does not stick to a stated objective but hopes to uncover incriminating or newsworthy evidence

Flagrante delicto - in the very act of committing a misdeed; also: in the midst of sexual activity

Flat rule - a generalized rule applied without consideration for specific circumstances; called also "per se rule"

Gift inter vivos - a gift made during the lifetime of the donor and delivered with the intent of surrendering immediately and irrevocably dominion and control over the property

Hedonic damages - damages deemed to compensate for the loss of enjoyment of life resulting from a wrongful act

Inadvertent discovery - unexpected finding of incriminating evidence in plain view by the police

Mental cruelty - conduct by one spouse that renders the other's life miserable and unendurable and that is a ground for divorce

Mens rea - a culpable mental state

Noscitur a sociis - a doctrine or rule of construction: the meaning of an unclear or ambiguous word (as in a statute or contract) should be determined by considering the words with which it is associated in the context

Pecuniary - consisting of, measured in, or relating to money

Peonage - labor in a condition of servitude to extinguish a debt

Perils of the sea - perils that are peculiar to the sea but are of such an extraordinary nature and power that one cannot guard against them using ordinary skill and prudence

Quashal - an act of quashing something

Riparian - of or relating to or living or located on the bank of a watercourse (as a river or stream) or sometimes a lake

Scintilla - a small trace or barely perceptible amount of something (as evidence supporting a position)

Silent witness theory - a theory or rule in the law of evidence; photographic evidence (as photographs or videotapes) produced by a process whose reliability is established may be admitted as substantive evidence of what it depicts without the need for an eyewitness to verify the accuracy of its depiction

Vulture fund - an investment company that buys up bankrupt or insolvent companies with the goal of reorganizing them so they can be profitably resold as going concerns

Wrongful conception - a malpractice claim brought by the parents of a healthy but unwanted child usually against a physician or health-care provider for alleged negligence in performing a sterilization or abortion procedure and sometimes against a pharmacist or pharmaceutical manufacturer of contraceptives; also called "wrongful pregnancy"

Youthful offender - a young person (as one within a statutorily specified age range) who commits a crime but is granted special status entitling him or her to a more lenient punishment (as one involving probation or confinement in a special youth correctional facility) than would otherwise be available

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Law-Related Words ⚜ Word Lists